“Just as you name your children, learn to name the seeds you sow.” — Dr R. P. Kaushik, Scientist (Now Retired), Rice & Wheat Research Station Malan, Palampur, HP, India
The Road to Palampur
The night bus from Delhi’s Kashmiri Gate climbed slowly into the lower Himalayas. At sunrise, we woke up to see beautiful rice fields in shades of green and yellow, with the Dhauladhar mountains in the background. By 9 a.m. we were stepping off at Palampur, met by Dr Kaushik — emeritus scientist, raconteur, and our bridge to the region’s rice stories. After a breakfast of fresh parathas at his home we drove to the research station in Malan. En route we stopped to leave our bags in the hotel Dolfin which was 5 Km before Malan, at a place known as Dadh.
There, between test plots of revived red rice, Dr Kaushik handed us a map, a handshake, and a local companion: Sanjay Sudyal, our field guide for the week. That afternoon we were already in Malan village (950 m above sea level), meeting Kalasa Devi and half a dozen neighbours. The most preferred rice variety of the village ‘Parmal’ was stated as traditional by them. However, later we got the information from Dr. Kaushik that the ‘Parmal’ was not a traditional variety rather it was an improved variety.
What Makes a Farmer Choose a Seed?
Yield vs. Labour — Hybrids like Parmal or ₹300 a kilo unnamed seeds promise double the grain on half the labour. Rice cultivation requires availability of labours and this, as per the farmers, is a landscape where MNREGA has lured workers off the farm. This is a crucial factor behind many farmers leaving rice cultivation in this area.
Panicle Strength & Lodging — “Tall rice varieties like Madhumalti or Jhumka can face strong winds and hail without breaking, but they often bend or fall because of their own weight. Short hybrid varieties stand straight, but their grains fall off easily.”
Climate Shocks — Hailstorms used to happen sometimes, but now they damage crops every year. Farmers remember strong varieties like Chinu or Nakanda that didn’t lose grains — but now, those seeds are hard to find.”
Taste, Digestibility & Medicine — Old Basmati for fevers and gut trouble; purple leaf Tapta for easier weeding; black stem Kandmundu prized for colour and low water need.
Resource Intensity — Hybrids gulp fertiliser: 4 kg of urea replaces an ox cart of manure. “Either eat poison or go hungry,” Kishori Lal shrugs.
Memory & Name — After 15 years even an improved line is called ‘traditional’. Farmers don’t remember the names anymore — they just say things like ‘the ₹260 one’ or ‘the one from the university’.”
Sornu & Patti: Altitude, Hail, and Hybrid Dreams
On the second day, we held tightly onto Sanjay’s bike as it climbed the narrow path to Sornu (1,321 m). Basmati fails here, but Rekha Devi still plants a token patch for festival kheer. Bindra Devi named strong old varieties like Jhindi, Kadu, and Japani that used to survive hailstorms. Now, even Parmal turns pale and white after a storm.
By afternoon, we reached Patti (1,131 m), where only 1% of families grew rice this year. Early rains ruined the nurseries, and most labourers had left for MNREGA work. Keshu Ram was trying hybrid rice with 30 tillers per plant, but he was worried he’d have to buy new seeds every year.
As we were talking about the weather induced losses, to our surprise it started raining. Within half an hour it got even worst when the rain turned into a hailstorm. The jumbo sized hails kept on falling for more than 30 minutes.
One of the farmers informed us that the area had faced many such hailstorms this year that had ruined almost entire rice crop this year. He confided that he would not grow rice from the next year onwards.
Upper Pundar: Thirty Tillers and the Lure of Hybrids
In Upper Pundar (1,049 m), every field was full of hybrid rice — but no one knew the names. Pritama Devi showed us plants with over 30 tillers and said, ‘The university people told us to try it, so we did.’ Only Sunita Devi still grew Kandmundu, a black-leaf variety, even though it needed a lot of hard work. This was the first village where we heard farmers say, ‘If a rice variety gives good yield for 10 years, we start calling it traditional.
Mudhi: Wild Boars, Blue Bulls, and the Limits of Yield
When we reached Mudhi (693 m), we met only men — worried and tired. Blue bulls, monkeys, and wild boars were destroying every green crop. Maize had already disappeared from their farms. Prakash Chand wanted to grow the strong old rice varieties again but wasn’t sure if their seeds even existed. Many farmers in the village shared their concerns about how fast the environment was changing. They said there were fewer frogs now, which they believed had led to more mosquitoes. They also noticed that snakes had become rare — earlier, they used to see them often.
Birta & Railu: When Labour Leaves the Fields
In Birta (726 m), a young farmer named Siranjan had never heard of old rice types like Nakanda or Madhumalti. His children don’t want to continue farming. By the time we reached Railu (803 m), the evening sun was shining on terraces full of Chinu — a variety once called tabbar pal because it swells while cooking and feeds the whole family. But Ranjana Devi said she hides its thick, coarse grains when guests come over. Kanchana Devi, now in her second year of growing hybrids, saw fewer tillers than last year. She decided to set aside some land next season for traditional varieties — better for her cattle.
Gains and Losses in the Fields
They Gain They Lose
➕ Double to triple yields ➖ Distinctive flavours & aromas
➕ Less manual weeding & transplanting ➖ Medicinal rice for fevers, digestion
➕ Faster harvest — vital with labour drift ➖ Lodging resistance in storms
➕ Advice & seed access via nearby university ➖ Seed sovereignty; must buy annually
➕ Soft straw only in select early lines ➖ Memory of names and traits
The Disappearing Names
Ask a farmer about the rice variety, and you’ll hear: ‘Got it from the block office,’ ‘the ₹300 one,’ or ‘the one from the university.’ Dr Kaushik’s lament echoes: without names, diversity dies in silence.
Close to the University, Far from Labour
Palampur’s closeness to CSKHPKV allows farmers easy access to scientists and quick solutions like pest-control sprays — but over time, this comfort has also reduced their need to explore or question seed choices on their own.
Challenges on the Horizon
Rodents: Denser in shrinking fields, gnawing profit.
Hailstorms: “Jumbo sized” stones stripping panicles white.
Panicle Shattering: Hybrids drop grains under wind; tall elders lodge under rain.
Resource Hunger: Four kilos fertiliser where a trolley of manure once stood.
Reflections at the Kisan Mela
On our last day, we attended a Kisan Mela at the Wheat and Rice Research Centre in Malan, invited by Dr. Kaushik. It was a chance to share our field experiences and discuss farmers’ rice preferences. We raised the issue of how many farmers now struggle to tell traditional varieties apart from older improved ones. Dr. Kaushik shared his concern too, saying he often reminds farmers: “Just as you know your children by name, you should know your rice varieties the same way.” After the discussion, we joined the farmers at the pandal — where nearly every dish in the lunch was made of rice.
Saving Seeds, Saving Stories
Rice diversity in Palampur is more than just genetics — it holds memories, flavours, and quiet forms of resilience. When a name disappears, so does the knowledge of which rice to feed a sick child, or which straw keeps cattle healthy through winter. Over time, farmers — often following advice and hoping for better returns — have moved towards high-yielding varieties. In doing so, some of the older wisdom has faded, not by choice, but through change. The question now is not whether to grow new seeds, but how to remember the old ones as we prepare for tomorrow’s uncertain seasons. Because if we cannot name our seeds, we may soon struggle to name the flavours of home.
We had to catch our return train from Una the very evening. Dr. Kaushik dropped us at Malan Bus station from where we got on the bus to Kangada.
Author’s Note
This narrative is based on a field visit I undertook in September 2013 as part of a project by Gene Campaign (Delhi based NGO), under the project by International Treaty on Plant Genetic Resources for Food and Agriculture (ITPGRFA) of FAO. I was accompanied by another researcher. While the fieldwork was conducted for project research, this article presents a personal reflection on the people, rice varieties, and stories encountered in Palampur. This is a personal storytelling effort to preserve voices from the field.
I am not aware of how things have changed — or not changed — in these villages since that time. I remain curious, and hope these stories still hold relevance.
