Most of us have been motivated by food at some point or the other and, by virtue of our urban lifestyle, regularly resorted to unhealthy eating, eating at the wrong time or not eating at all. Therefore, when I recently came across a small snippet in a newspaper about the World Wide Fund for Nature’s Living Planet Report 2024, I was pleasantly surprised to find that India’s food consumption pattern has been the most “sustainable among G20 countries”.
As per the report, adopting India’s food pattern would be “least climate damaging for Earth to support food production by 2050”. Among other alarming information highlighted in the WWF report, wildlife populations have fallen by a staggering 73 per cent since 1970, and the single-biggest driver of nature’s decline is our food system. We overeat the wrong things, and we produce them in the wrong way.
The report modelled diets across the G20 and found that if the whole world ate like India does, we would need just 0.84 Earths to feed ourselves by 2050. By contrast, adopting the dietary habits of the United States or Argentina would require more than five and seven Earths, respectively. Even emulating China’s diet pattern would cost 1.7 Earths, twice that of India’s food footprint.
A taste of the thali
The number—0.84 Earths—is not just a statistic. It’s a reminder that moderation, variety, and plant-rich traditions have ecological meaning. Remember our Nani’s nuskas? Eat your vegetables, curd, pickle, salad and grains? India’s thali—that colourful, round plate balancing grains, legumes, vegetables, dairy, and spice—turns out to be not just nutritionally wise but environmentally sound. Our grandparents ensured that our plates were mixed with health and nutrition.
But the very balance that makes the Indian plate planet-friendly is being lost to monocropping and uniform diets.
There is another disturbing trend—an increase in allergies, food intolerances and gut issues. These can all be linked to genetically modified high-yielding food varieties of wheat grown to eradicate world hunger, but clash with our DNA. Many in urban India suffer from gluten intolerance.
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The monocrop paradox
For the past half-century, India’s Green Revolution ensured food security but at a steep environmental price. The twin crops of rice and wheat became dominant across our fields, often replacing the biodiversity of traditional millets, pulses, and oilseeds. Monocropping was efficient on paper, but ecologically expensive. It depleted soils, guzzled groundwater, and made farmers dependent on chemical inputs.
For example, in Punjab—the “food bowl of India”—soils are increasingly barren and have lost the ability to regenerate themselves. Once bustling with beetles and earthworms, the soil now needs an increasing amount of fertilisers to yield the same crop it did 10 years ago. It is a matter of time before this model of food production runs out of steam.
The irony is that even as our farms became less diverse, our diets too became narrower. Urban populations began eating more refined cereals, sugars, and processed foods. Supermarkets replaced grain bazaars; convenience displaced culture. In the process, we have started to lose both nutritional and ecological resilience. Rice and wheat form part of our staple diet now, and most of it is genetically modified seeds.
The WWF report warns that the food system now accounts for about 40 per cent of global habitable land use and is the leading cause of habitat loss. In India, where smallholders depend on healthy soils and predictable rainfall, a changing climate amplifies these risks. Re-diversifying what we grow and what we eat is adaptation, not nostalgia.
Dietary consequences of monocropping
● Decreased dietary diversity: A 2021 study found that farmers with less crop diversity were more likely to experience a decline in dietary diversity during market disruptions.
● Nutrient-poor diets: The focus on calorie-dense staples has led to a decline in the consumption of nutrient-rich traditional crops like millets and pulses, which have superior nutritional value.
● Loss of biodiversity: More than 75 per cent of the world’s crop varieties have been lost over the last century due to the dominance of a few species. In India, this includes the disappearance of more than 1,00,000 traditional rice varieties since the 1970s.
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The millet message
The world is slowly beginning to recognise what India knew all along. Millets—once dismissed as ‘poor man’s food’—are emerging as superfoods for a hotter, hungrier planet. They need less water, fewer fertilisers, and thrive in semi-arid regions where climate stress is highest.
The WWF report and India’s own PIB brief highlight how these ‘nutri-cereals’ exemplify a sustainable shift. India’s International Year of Millets initiative in 2023 wasn’t just branding—it was an ecological strategy. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has also been aggressively pushing for millet cultivation and consumption. I was pleasantly surprised to see millet ice cream parlours on a recent visit to Puducherry.
It is interesting to see our urban youth reverting to the crops of our ancestors—traditional grains like jowar, bajra, and ragi, sometimes served in modern forms—smoothies, pancakes, and baked goods. Jowar and ragi ambalis are perfect traditional dishes with gut-healing benefits as discovered by modern science. Yet the revival remains fragile. For it to stick, the millet movement must go beyond festivals and hashtags. It needs procurement reform, recipe innovation, and patient public policy that rewards biodiversity on the farm.
The balanced plate and what it symbolises
The Indian thali—with its mix of pulses, rice, vegetables, curd, and chutney—is more than a cultural artefact. It represents a balance between plant and protein, taste and health, self and society. I spoke at a conference at a US University over ten years ago about the balanced Indian food plate, where I had highlighted how adopting the Indian food plate would reduce methane emissions and reduce global warming.
It also embodies a philosophy opposite to monocropism: diversity within unity. No single item dominates the plate; each complements the other. That same principle must guide our food systems—a balance between yield and ecology, between affordability and sustainability.
If monoculture is the disease, the balanced plate is the cure. A country of 1.4 billion cannot afford to romanticise scarcity, but neither can it equate prosperity with excess. India’s dietary sustainability lies in its moderation: lower meat intake, higher reliance on grains, legumes, and vegetables. This restraint, born of necessity, could become a model of planetary prudence if consciously nurtured.
The danger of dietary drift
However, the very factors that make India’s diet sustainable are under strain. Rising incomes, urban lifestyles, and aggressive marketing of processed foods are shifting consumption toward ultra-processed and animal-based diets.
Fast food is replacing fresh food, and supermarkets are crowding out local grain networks. The global nutrition transition — toward sugar, salt, and fat — is arriving late but fast.
Vegetarianism—a concealed boon
While I do not interfere in people’s personal food choices, and this article is not for promoting vegetarianism, India’s largely vegetarian dietary choices are likely the cause of sustainable and green food consumption patterns. At least 25-40 per cent of Indians are vegetarian, and 60-80 per cent prefer vegetarian food. This reduces the requirement for land allocated to grazing and ‘growing’ cattle as food. Thus reducing methane emissions, which are a large source of climate-warming gases.
The protein deficiency, which is a problem for some Indians which is easily manageable by consuming many plant-based proteins by being nutritionally literate. The WWF report also warns that if G20 food patterns as a whole persist, emissions from food production will overshoot the Paris Agreement’s 1.5 °C limit by 263 per cent by 2050.
What needs to change
The idea of the balanced plate can serve as both a policy compass and personal practice. Indians need to revert to their ancient, sustainable food choices, and these could be well emulated by the world to reduce the emission footprint.
● Re-diversify agriculture. Encourage multi-cropping systems and agroecology. Incentivise farmers to grow pulses, oilseeds, and millets, not just rice and wheat.
● Integrate sustainability into nutrition policy. When we talk of protein and calories, we must also talk of water and carbon.
● Educate for conscious consumption. Just as Swachh Bharat changed behaviour around waste, India now needs a campaign for sustainable eating. Modiji’s Millets Mantras will not succeed unless people actively switch to the cultivation and consumption.
● Protect smallholders. Transitioning away from monocrops must not penalise farmers. Carbon credits, green subsidies, and insurance reform can help.
● Measure what we eat and how it’s grown. Build national dietary surveys linking nutrition, biodiversity, and emissions.
In the end, sustainability is not just about what governments or corporations do; it is about what we choose at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Each plate is a small expression of what we value — convenience or continuity, appetite or awareness.
If India can reclaim the spirit of its balanced plate — diverse, frugal, and respectful of nature — it can lead the world in redefining prosperity itself.
A century ago, MK Gandhi said the world has enough for everyone’s needs, but not for everyone’s greed. A hundred years later, the WWF Living Planet Report puts that truth in planetary numbers.
Meenakashi Lekhi is a BJP leader, lawyer and social activist. Her X handle is @M_Lekhi. Views are personal.
(Edited by Saptak Datta)
The world can learn to develop diabetes mellitus-2 from Indian food plate.