Water, Wisdom and the Fortitude of the Indian Farmer
There are days that begin as routine engagements and quietly unfold into moments of reflection—days that leave behind not just memories, but also a gentle reordering of one’s thoughts. My visit to the ICAR – Central Research Institute for Dryland Agriculture (CRIDA) in Hyderabad on the occasion of World Water Day, celebrated every year on March 22 under the aegis of the United Nations, was one such experience. What began as a social commitment turned into an encounter with science, governance, and, most importantly, the enduring fortitude of the Indian farmer.
My journey to this moment has been, in many ways, a continuum of seemingly disparate paths. From my early days in defence research, working under the visionary leadership of Dr. A. P. J. Abdul Kalam on civilian spinoffs of defence technologies, to later stepping into healthcare and contributing to the development of affordable coronary stents, I have often found myself moving across domains. Telemedicine drew me further into global collaborations, connecting institutions across continents, and eventually, these experiences led me—almost organically—into agriculture and rural development.
Perhaps that is why, when Dr. Vinod Kumar Singh invited me to participate in the Water Day celebrations at CRIDA, I accepted without hesitation. Dr. Singh is an alumnus of G. B. Pant University, my alma mater, and he worked for 18 years in Meerut, my native place. Also, there was a sense of returning to a set of questions that lie at the heart of our civilisation: how we use water, how we grow food, and how we sustain life itself.
The morning unfolded in three distinct yet interconnected encounters. I reached the institute early, thanks to the quiet Sunday traffic, and spent some time with Dr. B. M. K. Raju, Head of Statistics. What he shared was both simple and profound. In a field study conducted within the same region, with identical seeds, soil and water conditions, maize yields ranged from 3 to 15 quintals per acre. Such variability, he explained, is not accidental. It reflects a complex interplay of management practices, timing, micro-climatic variations and subtle human decisions.
In that moment, his observation crystallised into a striking insight: artificial intelligence, at its core, is nothing but real-time statistics. Behind the sophistication of algorithms lies the same fundamental principle—recognising patterns, understanding variability, and making decisions under uncertainty. What we often perceive as a technological leap is, in essence, a more refined way of seeing what has always existed within the fabric of reality.
The second encounter brought me face-to-face with the benevolent side of governance. I met Sri M. Kodanda Reddy, a seasoned political leader whose presence carried both experience and quiet conviction. As we spoke, he affectionately embraced me and said that I carried the aura of Dr. Kalam—a remark that moved me deeply, for it reflected not just personal warmth, but the enduring imprint of a great soul on those he touched. He then recalled his time as an MLA, when President Kalam addressed the Andhra Pradesh Assembly, and how that moment had left a lasting impression on him. It served as a reminder of how ideas, when supported by committed individuals, can travel across institutions and geographies, leaving a lasting impact.
Our conversation turned to the role of elected representatives in translating ideas into action. A dedicated MLA or MP, he said, does more than allocate funds; he or she creates visibility, aligns administrative attention and brings the weight of the system behind meaningful initiatives. Publicity, often dismissed as superficial, can become a powerful catalyst when aligned with purpose. It ensures that good work is not only accomplished but also seen, replicated and scaled.
Yet, the most enduring part of the day lay not in discussions of data or governance, but in my interaction with the farmers who had gathered for the event. These were individuals of modest means, invited to be recognised for their work in water conservation. Their presence carried a quiet dignity—yet beneath it lay something stronger: fortitude shaped by uncertainty, climate variability and systemic inequities.
There was a language barrier between us, but it seemed almost irrelevant. Many came forward, shook my hand and communicated through their eyes—a silent exchange of warmth and respect. There was something deeply moving in that unspoken connection, as though we were acknowledging, without words, a shared understanding of effort, endurance and purpose.
When I addressed them, I spoke in Hindi, reflecting on their role in sustaining life itself. It is easy to overlook the sheer scale of what they do: producing just one kilogram of paddy requires nearly 3,000 litres of water. Yet, the economic structures surrounding agriculture seldom recognise this hidden cost. Farmers bear the burden of production, while much of the value is appropriated by intermediaries. The system, in many ways, remains deeply misaligned—both economically inefficient and ecologically unsustainable. One is compelled to ask: by what logic must India produce water-intensive Basmati rice for export—and for whose benefit? Is our water, after all, without value?
We speak of scarcity, yet continue to design systems that encourage waste; we celebrate productivity, yet rarely reward stewardship. What emerges is a deep paradox—one that technology alone cannot resolve. It calls instead for a fundamental rethinking of our incentives, our policies and, above all, our values. Water has never been seen as a commodity.
Rivers, in our civilisational consciousness, are not mere channels of water—they are mothers; and rain is seen as a benediction from the heavens. When I spoke of the Godavari and Krishna as mothers, the entire audience responded with spontaneous applause—an instinctive affirmation of a truth they have lived with, not merely learned. In that moment, it became evident that this is not symbolism alone, but a deeply internalised way of relating to nature. This cultural memory carries profound ecological wisdom. It reminds us that sustainability is not a modern construct to be engineered, but an ancient practice to be remembered—one that we have gradually drifted away from, even as its relevance has only grown stronger.
On a lighter note, I shared a simple thought with the farmers: that amidst all the discussions of water scarcity, each of us should at least ensure we drink three to four litres of water a day—the most basic foundation of health. It drew laughter and applause, but it also carried a subtle message—that even in complexity, there is space for simplicity.
As the event concluded, I was presented with a Kondapalli bullock cart—a handcrafted toy that carries a history of over 400 years. Made from softwood sourced from nearby hills, these artefacts represent not just craftsmanship, but a way of life rooted in patience, precision and continuity. They are reminders that tradition, when preserved with care, becomes a living bridge between the past and the present.
As I drove back home, I found myself reflecting on the quiet coherence of the day. Science, governance and culture—often treated as separate domains—had come together in a single narrative. And at the centre of it all stood the farmer: resilient, adaptive and quietly steadfast.
In a world increasingly defined by complexity, speed and abstraction, there is something profoundly reassuring about this grounded strength. It reminds us that beneath layers of systems and structures lies a core that continues to sustain us—a core built on effort, trust and a deep, almost instinctive connection to the land.
Perhaps that is the quiet lesson this day offers. That progress is not merely about adding new layers of technology or policy, but about rediscovering and strengthening what already exists. The future of water, agriculture and sustainability may not lie solely in grand solutions, but in the careful alignment of knowledge, intent and human values.
And above all, that amidst all our discussions of scarcity and crisis, there remains a quiet, enduring abundance—in the fortitude of our farmers, in the wisdom of our traditions, and in the possibility of doing things differently, if only we choose to see clearly.
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A thoughtful reflection on how progress isn’t just about new technology, but about understanding and aligning what already exists. It reminds us that the challenges that we face in agriculture, water and sustainability are not merely technical- they are shaped by how we make decisions and design systems.
It also raises important questions about the systems we built around agriculture. Farmers, despite their resilience and deep connection to the land, continue to bear disproportionate risks while receiving minimum rewards. The misalignment between economic incentives and ecological sustainability is hard to ignore. You highlighted that true progress lies not only in innovation but in rethinking policies, and recognizing the quiet strength and wisdom that already exists within our communities.
Professor Arun Tiwari’s essay is a reminder that sustainability is never a single discipline—it is a living conversation between land, people, governance and culture. His account of the CRIDA visit beautifully shows how the same principles that guide resilient agriculture also guide resilient buildings: variability, micro‑decisions, and the quiet intelligence of systems. His observation that AI is “real‑time statistics” resonates deeply with our work in climate modelling, water budgeting and performance optimisation. He makes technology feel less like an abstraction and more like a refined way of seeing reality.
What moved me most was his portrayal of governance as an enabler of sustainability. The way he describes Sri Kodanda Reddy’s role captures a truth we often witness in green infrastructure—good ideas scale only when leadership gives them visibility and administrative alignment. His writing bridges that gap between technical insight and public action with rare clarity.
The farmers he met embody the country’s original sustainability practitioners. Their lived experience with water, uncertainty and climate echoes the very challenges we try to solve through design frameworks. His reflection on the ecological cost of producing water‑intensive crops is a powerful systems‑thinking lesson—one that exposes the misalignment between economic incentives and ecological realities.
What elevates the essay is his invocation of cultural memory. When he speaks of rivers as mothers and rain as benediction, he reminds us that India’s ethos of sustainability is ancient, not imported. The Kondapalli bullock cart he receives becomes a symbol of low‑energy materials, local craft and continuity—principles modern green building now celebrates.
Step by step, his blogs are doing something rare: they are making sustainability intuitive, AI understandable, and national development feel like a shared responsibility. As his junior from Pantnagar, I see in his writing the same interdisciplinary spirit our university instilled—where agriculture, engineering and society are not separate domains but one continuum. His reflections continue to strengthen that bridge for all of us.
India today does not suffer from a lack of awareness about its water crisis—it suffers from a lack of response proportionate to that awareness. For over a decade, institutions like the Central Groundwater Board have warned of aquifers falling faster than they can recharge. Satellite observations by NASA have repeatedly shown northern India among the world’s most rapidly depleting groundwater zones. And yet, extraction continues—unmetered, unpriced, and largely ungoverned.
At the same time, rainfall itself is changing character. The India Meteorological Department has documented a shift from steady monsoons to erratic, high-intensity bursts. This creates a paradox: floods and droughts now coexist in the same geography, sometimes within the same season. Water arrives in excess, but not in a form that can be stored, absorbed, or equitably distributed. I wish the culture of stepping well is brought back to store rainwater.
Sir, as I understand, the deeper issue is structural. Water in India is not treated as a system—it is treated as a series of disconnected events. Agriculture pumps groundwater with subsidised electricity. Cities import water from distant rivers while paving over their own recharge zones. Floods are managed as disasters; droughts as relief exercises. There is no unifying framework that sees water as a continuous cycle—from rainfall to recharge to use to reuse.
This is not a technological failure. The solutions are well known: watershed management, aquifer mapping, decentralised storage, wastewater recycling, and pricing mechanisms that reflect scarcity. India has demonstrated many of these successfully, in pockets. The tragedy is that these remain pilots, not paradigms. I wonder why no concrete actions are not taken despite all the awareness.
Happy to see your picture with your signature, gracious smile. The real inertia lies in politics and culture. Water is still perceived as an entitlement rather than a managed resource. Pricing it rationally is politically sensitive. Regulating groundwater is administratively complex. And long-term interventions rarely yield immediate electoral dividends. Yet, the cost of inaction is no longer abstract. It is visible in the farmer drilling ever deeper borewells, in cities that flood overnight and run dry by summer, and in the silent migration from water-stressed regions.
India stands at a threshold where incrementalism will not suffice. What is required is a shift in imagination—from extraction to stewardship, from abundance assumed to scarcity managed, from fragmented schemes to integrated water governance. The crisis is not that we do not know what to do. The crisis is that we have not yet chosen to do it—at scale, with urgency, and with discipline. I am tempted to buy a Kondapalli Bommalu bullock cart. Interestingly, it is available on Amazon.
Prof Tiwari, Thank you for the reflection on what we often take for granted. Am so humbled that you remembered to encourage the audience to remember themselves in taking the so unassuming essential ingredient to life, three to four litres of water every day “Indeed, amidst all …that even in complexity, there is space for simplicity”
Hon’ble Arun sir, Thanks a lot for writing such a nice blog on water, sustainable agriculture, growers, scientists, and political leaders as policy-makers. The amalgamation of all these can play a pivotal role in saving and/or judiciously using water for sustainable development. Indeed, water is becoming increasingly scarce due to human activities, climate change, pollution, surface irrigation for many crops, including rice, wheat, and sugarcane, among other factors. We have a shared responsibility to save water using available technologies, including sensors and AI in agriculture and related sectors. CRIDA is doing fantastic work in the sector, producing many crops in drylands with minimal water use under the able leadership of Dr VK Singh; similarly, CAZRI, Jodhpur, is performing the same way in the arid and semi-arid zones of the country. I had the opportunity to work in CAZRI from 2002 to 2008. Other ICAR institutions and agricultural universities, line departments of the central and state governments all over the country, are also trying in a similar manner, but much remains to be done. While I was working as Member (Agriculture), the Cauvery Water Management Authority (jurisdiction area: Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, and Puducherry) advised the farming community and other stakeholders to use short-duration rice crops and diversify into semi-arid crops, fruit crops, afforestation, and animal husbandry, besides precision farming with fertigation, etc. So we can have more water and other natural resources for future generations.
So nice to know that you carry the aura of Dr. Kalam and about your ‘silent talk’ with farmers. The whole country is talking about water conservation for many may decades and doing practically nothing about it. Seminars are arranged and covered in press; questions asked about rice export. But what are the alternatives…can we just say to the farmer…its very bad on your part to use any water to produce rice…please do not grow rice. We are geographically placed in such a disadvantageous location that climate change ( which we can actually feel and see ourselves) has already playing havoc with out crop production. Rice is highly susceptible to temperature rise, but has out vast and enormous agri research network, which consumes huge capital, produced some rice varieties which can grow in almost dry lands????
China has…