Under Kerala’s sun, cataract is striking earlier among outdoor workers

In Kerala, outdoor workers are being diagnosed with cataract earlier than expected, raising questions about ultraviolet exposure, coastal geography and gaps in eye care.Alapuzzha, Kerala: In 2005, during a medical examination for a visa, Vavachan Cherathamthuruthil (45), a construction worker from Alappuzha, was told that something was wrong with his eyes. He did not know what. The doctor assured him it was nothing to worry about as he was not going to Oman for office work anyway.Over the years, vision in his left eye weakened gradually. Nearly 15 years later, when he had almost lost sight in that eye, he finally learned what the problem had been all along: cataract. To regain his vision, he would need surgery.Vavachan Cherathamthuruthil working on his Chinese net (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)According to the National Programme for Control of Blindness and Visual Impairment survey conducted between 2015 and 2019, cataract accounts for 66.2% of blindness in India. Though widely understood as an age-related condition, epidemiological research has repeatedly pointed to prolonged exposure to ultraviolet radiation as a contributing factor.The lens of the human eye absorbs ultraviolet radiation to protect the retina. Over time, prolonged exposure disrupts the lens proteins, causing them to clump together and cloud vision, a condition known as cataract.“Unlike most cells in the body, the cells in the lens are not replaced,” explained Sumesh Soman, research coordinator at Sreedhareeyam Ayurveda Eye Hospital in Koothattukulam. “New cells keep layering over old ones. As the older cells degrade, cataract develops. This process usually takes decades, which is why cataract is considered age-related. But it can speed up or slow down depending on lifestyle, genetic factors, and exposure to radiation.”Patterns of early cataract are often visible in community eye camps. At one such camp organised by Little Flower Hospital in Angamaly, 12 of the 20 patients diagnosed with cataract reported long hours of daily sun exposure.Ravikumar Mangalath was 44 when he was diagnosed. “It felt like a lightning strike,” he said. “Except I could only see it through my left eye.” Ravikumar, now 48, has worked as a security guard for years, standing outdoors from 7.30 am to 5.30 pm, through sun and rain.“When I was a student posted to community eye camps in Alappuzha, the turnout was always high,” Dr Sanitha Sathyan recalled, who later conducted a study to understand pre-senile cataract prevalence in Kerala. “Usually, we see cataracts in patients above 60. But we often saw cataract in people under 50, without diabetes or trauma. Their sun exposure stood out.”Ravikumar Mangalath, 48, waits at Angamaly eye camp to check the progress of his cataract (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)What kind of UV reaches the groundUltraviolet radiation is classified into three types: UV-A, UV-B and UV-C. UV-C, the most harmful, is almost entirely absorbed by the stratospheric ozone layer.About 90-95% of UV-B is filtered out, while UV-A makes up most of the radiation that reaches the Earth’s surface.“Even though UV-B forms a smaller proportion, it is far more biologically harmful,” said MG Manoj, a scientist at the Advanced Centre for Atmospheric Radar Research at Cochin University of Science and Technology. “Just 15 to 20 minutes of unprotected midday exposure can cause sunburn. UV-B also damages DNA and is linked to cataract formation.”“When we analyse cataract cases,” said Soman, “people with long hours of sun exposure such as construction workers, fisherfolk, agricultural labourers…consistently show higher risk.”Vavachan, now 65, has spent most of his life on construction sites in Kerala, later working briefly in Oman. He worked from 8 am to 5 pm, without hats or sunglasses. “I’ve lived under the sun all my life,” he said. “Is that why this happened?”Rather than attributing cataract to a single cause, ophthalmologists describe it as the result of multiple interacting factors.“Population-level studies show a link between UV exposure and cataract,” said Dr Sanitha Sathyan, ophthalmologist and editor of the Kerala Journal of Ophthalmology. “But for an individual patient, we look at several factors such as sun exposure, diabetes, hypertension, trauma. If other risk factors are absent, UV exposure may have played a major role. Still, we cannot say so with absolute certainty. To make a definitive claim, we would need extensive patient-level data and analysis across multiple variables.”Kerala’s exposureKerala’s geographical location places it closer to the equator, where sunlight strikes more directly throughout the year. Cloud cover during the southwest monsoon limits UV exposure for several months, but clearer skies dominate much of the remaining year.“Climate change has altered cloud patterns,” Dr Manoj said. “There are fewer sustained cloud systems and more broken or thin clouds. On partly cloudy days, UV levels can spike due to cloud-edge scattering, sometimes exceeding clear-sky levels.”An analysis of Kerala’s ultraviolet index (UVI) between 2004 and 2022 by researcher Ninu Krishnan found that 79% of daily UVI values fell within the ‘very high’ or ‘extreme’ categories. Between 2005 and 2010, the proportion of days with high UVI increased sharply, even though year-to-year averages fluctuated.The data does not show a smooth upward trend. Instead, it points to persistent high exposure, seasonal peaks, and short-lived spikes. These are the conditions that matter most for people who work outdoors for long hours, experts said.A person’s geographical location shapes how much they are exposed to the harmful UV radiation. A 1995 study by ophthalmologist Jonathan C Javitt found that moving one degree closer to the equator increased the likelihood of cataract surgery by 3%.“Landscapes affect UV penetration,” Manoj added. “Dense forests reduce exposure. Coastal areas increase it.”Beaches reflect sunlight. Dry sand can bounce back up to 30% of incoming radiation. Sea surfaces scatter light off waves, increasing effective exposure. Coastal air contains aerosols that further diffuse UV from multiple directions. “People receive radiation from above and below,” Manoj explained.This matters in Kerala’s coastal districts.Mary Sebastian, assistant administrator at Little Flower Hospital, described a similar pattern. “In the 1990s, each camp saw 600-700 patients, with about 15% diagnosed with cataract. In coastal areas, that figure often went up to 30%.”An Indian Council of Medical Research study comparing cataract patients in Gurugram, Guwahati and Prakasam district in Andhra Pradesh found that although lifetime sun exposure was highest in Gurgaon, measured UV levels were highest in Prakasam. Cataract prevalence followed UV levels rather than exposure duration alone.Kerala’s cataract surgery targets have more than doubled — from about 98,000 in 2006-07 to over 2.1 lakh in 2024-25. Coastal districts such as Ernakulam, Thiruvananthapuram and Malappuram have consistently recorded the highest numbers.Between 2020 and 2025, cataract surgeries rose by 28% in Ernakulam, 23% in Thiruvananthapuram and 12% in Malappuram.Despite this, awareness of the UV-cataract link remains limited. The Kerala State Disaster Management Authority issues UV alerts, but they are rarely connected to eye health.Fishermen sitting in the sun (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)The cost of delayA 2019 study estimated that poor eye health costs India 0.57% of its GDP, through lost employment, reduced productivity, caregiving burdens and premature mortality.“I remember a fish vendor in her sixties,” Sanitha said. “She could barely read currency notes but had not told her family because she feared the cost. After surgery, her life changed.”For Vavachan, cataract altered daily work. Unable to compete with younger migrant labourers, he now limits himself to small construction jobs in his village. He supplements his income by fishing with a Chinese net outside his coastal home. The net needs frequent mending, costing up to Rs 3,000 each time. “If my eyesight was better, I could fix it myself,” he said.Augustine CJ, 69, a house painter from Alappuzha, has stopped travelling for work. “I cannot read bus boards,” he said. “Now we survive on my pension and my wife’s income.”Meanwhile, Anju Baby, a project officer at Little Flower Hospital, told 101Reporters that “at eye camps, only about 30% of those diagnosed with cataract actually undergo surgery,”. Surveys show that financial constraints, lack of caregivers, fear, and poor access remain major barriers.Many patients below the poverty line wait specifically for free eye camps. “We now conduct at least four camps a week,” Mary Sebastian said. The load per camp has reduced because more institutions now organise eye camps, but the need remains high.”When NSS students of a school in Alappuzha organised a weekday camp, 153 patients attended in three hours. Seventeen were diagnosed with cataract. Vavachan was among them.Treating cataract, amid constraintsKottayam Medical College, once the primary referral hospital for five districts, has faced repeated infrastructure failures. For over a year, its OCT eye scan machine remained non-functional. Patients were sent eight kilometres away for scans, only to return with photographs of results stored on mobile phones after the printer at Kottayam General Hospital stopped working.Laser machines too were unavailable for long periods, forcing patients to travel to Ernakulam or Alappuzha. One new machine has recently been installed, but slots remain limited.An ophthalmologist at the medical college said an additional OCT and laser machine would significantly reduce patient burden.Despite cataract being a treatable condition, its consequences accumulate quietly, under the sun, over decades, before patients arrive at hospital doors. For many in Kerala’s coastal and outdoor-working communities, that arrival comes earlier than expected.This project is supported by the Internews Earth Journalism Network with funding from the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (Sida) Cover photo - Eye camp happening at St. Raphael HSS, Alappuzha (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)

How climate change is drowning Kerala’s Mundar island

Erratic weather, rising waters, and stalled government response are making life on the island impossibleKottayam, Kerala: “Most residents here keep a second house in the nearby town to secure a better future for their children,” said Rangaprasad RS (42), a farmer who travels daily to Mundar island in Kerala’s Kottayam district to tend his fields and visit his parents. Though just 4 km from his new home, poor roads mean it takes him at least 30 minutes to reach central Mundar.Rangaprasad RS, standing in central Mundar, the region most troubled by floods (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)“Every six months, floods force us to move, adding nearly Rs 7,000 a month in extra expenses,” said Sulochana (50), a MGNREGA worker. Her two sons now live in a rented home outside Mundar, while she and her husband, a farmer, remain behind. During farming season, their household income ranges between Rs 15,000 and Rs 30,000 per month.In June 2024, when Mundar flooded, Sulochana had to walk 20 minutes on a slippery, erosion-prone bund road, the only elevated stretch, just to reach a functioning toilet at her father’s house.(Above)The condition of bund road (below) bund road covered with geo textile (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)Mundar, part of the below-sea-level farming region of Kuttanad, has always been flood-prone. Reclaimed from Vembanad lake, the island was declared a Ramsar site in 2002. The 2,500-acre landscape, with lotus-filled canals snaking through green paddy fields, is ideal for growing tapioca, bananas, and vegetables. But increasingly erratic and frequent flooding has made life harder here.“When land in Ernakulam cost Rs 10,000 per cent, an acre in Mundar was just Rs 7,000,” said Sasikumar VK (62), a farmer and member of the Kallara panchayat. “That affordability drew 426 families, mostly from Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe communities.”Now, only 191 families remain. Many children have moved out, often offering parents temporary shelter during floods. “Our grandchildren keep calling us, and our daughter doesn’t let us sleep here when water rises,” said Ramendran VK (65), a farmer. “By evening, we go to her house and return in the morning.”Sarallappan Kuttappan (56) said his daughter, like most island women, moved out during her pregnancy.Electricity consumption data proves this. In 2015, only 10% of houses were partially vacant. By 2022, this rose to 27.4%, and between 2015 and 2023, nearly 45% were vacant at some point.Yet only two households have discontinued power connections, a sign many still hope to return.Roads built in phases, spanning over decades (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)Double troubleIn 2024, Mundar saw four floods and by July of this year, it had already seen three.“Some 40–50 years ago, this place used to flood twice a year,” said Shaji AP (55), a farmer who now sells lottery tickets. “But now, even a short downpour can submerge Mundar.”“Earlier, rainfall was spread over days. Now we get a day’s worth in just two hours,” said an irrigation engineer.These intense showers overwhelm Mundar’s canals, triggering flash floods. Since the island lies in a floodplain, excess water from the Muvattupuzha river’s catchment pools here before draining into Vembanad lake.Notably, one-day heavy rainfall events in the region have become 17% more intense over the last 45 years, according to World Weather Attribution. If global temperatures rise by 2°C, that could increase to 21% compared to 1750 - 1850.Kerala’s flood days have also risen. In 2018, the state saw 65 flood days. In 2021, 68. In 2023, 33.Rain volume and patterns have also shifted. Kerala saw 36% excess rainfall in summer 2025, with Kottayam recording 50% more from March to May 18, according to the India Meteorological Department.Heavy rains were once confined to the June-September monsoon, but since 2000, unseasonal downpours have been starting as early as May.These rains often coincide with the opening of the Thanneermukkam bund shutters. Built in 1975 to block saltwater from Vembanad lake and aid paddy farming, the bund once helped clear canals of weeds by letting saline water in.Now, when the shutters open during summer rain, freshwater dilutes the saline inflow. “Saline water used to kill weeds and clear overgrowth. But if it rains while it enters, it doesn’t work. The natural cleansing isn’t happening,” said Shaji.Uncontrolled aquatic weed growth is another culprit for the increasing inundation as it can cut water flow by 30-40%, according to the International Commission on Irrigation and Drainage.As agriculture became less profitable, many fields were left fallow, and canal maintenance suffered. “Of Kallara’s 6,000 acres of paddy land, around 2,200 are fallow and 75% of that is in Mundar,” said Joseph Refin Jefri, former agricultural officer of Kallara panchayat, under which Mundar falls. “Since these areas aren’t cultivated, canals nearby are choked with weeds and silt. That’s worsened flooding.”Infrastructure bottlenecks add to the problem. “When a bridge is built across a canal, two four-metre pillars are inserted. But the river isn’t widened. It’s like squeezing a four-lane road into two and water faces traffic,” the irrigation engineer said.Sea level rise has further strained drainage. Kochi’s mean sea level rose from 6,816 mm in 1940 to 7,060 mm in 2023, per the National Oceanography Centre. This has slowed the outflow of water from Vembanad lake into the Arabian Sea, raising flood risks for low-lying areas like Mundar.Paddy after 13 days of harvest, waiting to be picked up (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)The floods that broke Mundar“The consecutive floods of 2018 and 2019 were too much even for flood-prone Mundar to recover from,” said Dileep P N, a lawyer in his 40s who moved off the island in 2011.On August 15, 2018, Kerala received 853% excess rainfall. Reservoirs overflowed after days of downpours. A year later, on August 8, 2019, another flood struck, this time triggered by a rare mesoscale mini cloudburst, an extreme climate-linked event unprecedented in the region.Rangaprasad said that during the 2018 floods, while Mundar residents stood chest-deep in water, his family's new home in Kapickad, 4 km away, saw water only up to the foundation.Sulochana, who took a Rs 3.5 lakh loan after 2018, recalled, “Except for a few floating vessels, we had to buy everything again. The floods destroyed it all. We might have borrowed Rs 10,000 from Kudumbashree [Kerala’s poverty eradication programme] before, but never at this scale.”Between 1953 and 2011, Kerala recorded Rs 6,935.66 crore in flood-related losses, according to the Central Water Commission. In just three years, 2016 to 2018, the state saw Rs 3,363.44 crore in damages, the Ministry of Jal Shakti said.After the floods last year, all affected families received state disaster rehabilitation funds through local bodies.Ramendran, whose rebuilt home is already cracking after another spell of floods, said, “The Panchayat gave us Rs 1.5 lakh, but it took way more. We spent Rs 2.5 lakh.” Canal sprawling with lotuses running through Mundar island (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)The hidden costs of staying backDuring floods, education suffers. A private jeep ferries some children, but others wade through muck or skip school entirely. Some teachers even drop students off themselves. Sanitation is another challenge, particularly for women. “Most women here get urinary infections, some which continue for months,” said Sulochana. Long exposure to stagnant, contaminated water also causes skin and stomach infections.Ammini Chacko standing in front of a truckload of mud bought by a resident for filling puddles (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)While the National Service Scheme school offers shelter during floods, few use it. “We hate going to camps. We have to leave our cattle behind. Even if we go, we come back by morning to check on them,” said one resident. The animals are usually tied together on the high bridge during that time.This year, summer rains bled into the monsoon. “Usually, we drain the paddy fields early to prevent flooding. But this time, the canals and fields were both full. There was no way to pump water out,” said PK Vishwambharan (59), a farmer.For 45 days, large parts of Mundar were underwater. Drinking water ran out as most panchayat pipes were submerged. Traveling to and from the island is also a cause of concern. “Autos only come if they have no other ride. We pay Rs 150 for 3 km, normally it’s Rs 100,” said Shaji. “Can’t blame them, the bund road ruins their vehicles.” Bike repairs are frequent: “At least Rs 1,000 a week,” he said. “Muck gets into the engine and parts break every couple of months.”Even getting paddy to market is hard. “Last year, three trucks broke down,” said Shibu. “We pooled Rs 9,000 for mud to patch the road so Kerala State Civil Supplies Corporation would send a truck. Even then, it got stuck. We had to hire a JCB to pull it out ourselves.”Dealing with health emergencies is even worse. “One person had a heart attack. We couldn’t get him to the hospital, we just carried his body,” said Ammini Chacko (67). After being hospitalised for an illness, Rajan RS had to live elsewhere for three months before doctors cleared him to return to remote Mundar.The only reason many still stay is because they can’t afford to leave. Most residents, like those in Mundar, would relocate, if they had the means, Sarallappan told 101Reporters. A study on vulnerable populations states that poverty undermines resilience to climate shocks. A resident walks on a log connecting his house to the bund road, as floods recede (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)Saving MundarEven as residents are forced to live with regular flooding, there are some who believe that the situation is not beyond repair.“When floods become severe, the only solution is to clean water bodies and dig more canals,” suggested an irrigation department engineer.But canal maintenance has suffered in recent years. Earlier, farmers played an active role in desilting the canals. After the harvest, they would use paddy waste to create a gum-like substance to make bio-bunds which not only held back water but also ensured the canals were cleaned every year as part of the process.Now, the government has taken over bund construction under schemes like Haritha Kerala, replacing traditional bio-bunds with permanent stone structures. While this has strengthened embankments, it has also reduced community participation and made access to canals more difficult and as a result the upkeep has declined.“Under Haritha Kerala, the government came and took estimates to clean the canal. But nothing came of it,” said Sasikumar. “Just weeks ago, a Hitachi machine came, cleared a portion, and left before locals could respond.” Residents saw this as a token effort: work done merely for official records without actual impact.“There’s no single fix,” said Jefri. “All paddy lands should be cultivated twice a year as cultivated land holds more water. Encroachments must go. There was even a proposal by an MLA to desilt the entire 67-km-long canal network in Kallara. That would’ve made a difference.”But for now, the official response remains limited. “The only thing we can do is move people to camps and give them essentials,” said Johny Thottungel, President of the Kallara panchayat, when asked how they plan to tackle Mundar’s worsening flood situation.A Kerala State Disaster Management Authority study warns that under a high-emission scenario, Mundar could see floodwaters rise between four and eight metres in future extreme events.For many residents, that may leave no choice at all.This project is supported by the Internews Earth Journalism Network with funding from the Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (Sida) Cover Photo - Sulochana washing dishes during the third week of floods (Photo - Nisha Matamp, 101Reporters)

Amid erratic climate, Kerala's paddy cultivation dwindles, demands more irrigation

Despite copious monsoon, rain-fed paddy is on the decline, forcing farmers to look towards scientific methods of farming that involve the use of less water.Idukki, Kerala: Farmers in Kerala are growing increasingly dependent on irrigation to grow paddy —  despite the state receiving an average annual rainfall of 3,610.2mm in 2021, far higher than the state average of 2,924.7mm.“Earlier, when labour wasn’t too expensive, paddy could be harvested twice a year. But by 2008, everyone around us began to level their fields to grow tubers and other perennial trees. We couldn’t because the new law (Kerala Conservation of Paddy and Wetland Act 2008) prevented us from converting our land. By then, the landscape around us had already changed, and we were unable to grow paddy anymore,” says  Pothanmaanayil Joseph, a farmer from Pothy, Kottayam district who now grows grass with his cousins on three acres.While the landscape change keeps their field flooded during the monsoon, the surrounding canals carry too little water post monsoon, making paddy cultivation impossible throughout the year.“Years later, if government irrigation projects reach our village, we may be able to resume paddy cultivation,” Joseph adds. Pothanmaanayil Joseph, a farmer standing in his paddy field which now grows grassGovernment irrigation projects haven’t reached Elamdesam panchayat in Idukki either. But unlike Joseph, VS Kareem says his fellow paddy farmers irrigate their farm with water from their nearby pond.“If the November rains falter, we have to look for irrigation sources. In 2019, we incurred losses because we had to hire diesel-run motors to irrigate our fields, which are more expensive than electric motors,” says Kareem, who only cultivates paddy once a year. Irrigation a necessity due to erratic climateThe sixth assessment report of the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) has predicted an overall rise in demand for irrigation water by 2080, causing a further decline in rain-fed agriculture.According to 2019-20 Kerala agriculture statistics, 75.69% of the paddy grown in the state was irrigated. This loss in rain-fed paddy cultivation is evident all through the three paddy seasons in Kerala — autumn (April-May to September-October), winter (September-October to December-January) and summer (December-January to March-April). In 2005-06, the rain-fed paddy cultivated in autumn and winter were 79.8% and 22.5%, respectively, which dropped to 68.7% and 4%. Only summer rain-fed paddy recorded a slight rise from 0.08% in 2005-06 to 0.16% in 2019-20.Grass growing in Pothanmaanayil Joseph paddy field at Pothy PadamSome 120km to the west of Idukki, farmers had requested for irrigation to grow Pokkali rice, a highly rain-dependent paddy crop. The rising salinity in the coasts post monsoon limits paddy cultivation to just the rainy season, when the downpour lowers the salinity of the land.“Although we lost around 15% of our rice to post harvest moisture, we are still happy with this year’s (2021) produce,” says KA Thomas, who suffered losses in 2019 and 2020 due to dry spells. Fearing similar losses in the future, Thomas and his fellow Pokkali farmers of Kadamakudy in Ernakulam district had requested for irrigation.“Due to erratic rains and frequent dry spells, rain dependent paddy cultivation is nearly impossible in Kerala. Paddy requires 100% soil moisture. It is difficult to revive paddy if the soil loses even 10% to 20% of its moisture,” says Babu Mathew, a retired irrigation officer. Can irrigation prevent food insecurity?Despite Kerala spending Rs 9,645.7 million on irrigation till 1990-91, exclusively to boost its paddy cultivation and attain self-sufficiency in food supply, paddy produce declined steadily. Ironically, despite the annual expenditure on irrigation, several traditionally irrigated paddy farms that relied on natural canals and ponds have either been lying fallow or converted to grow other crops. In 2020–21, current fallow constituted 54,255.40 hectares and fallow other than current fallow accounted for 42,751.70 hectares.“As much as 70% of the fallow land you see today is forced fallow,” says Mathew.Irrigation projects were meant to raise paddy production to 2.1 million to 2.7 million tonnes annually, but in 2019-20, Kerala could only produce 500,000 tonnes of rice, while importing the rest from Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka. The IPCC report further estimates a 10% to 30% drop in rice production in India if the global temperature rises between 1°C to 4°C.A thesis submitted by Basil Abraham, a research scholar from Kerala Agriculture University, Thrissur, predicts a further rise in irrigation needs through all cropping seasons in the future. The research placed special emphasis on Thrissur, which has the state’s second largest area under summer paddy.The study also predicts a severe decline in rainfall in the coming years, which would raise the requirement for irrigation water by 200 billion litres to grow winter paddy and about 750 billion litres for summer paddy in Thrissur district. The future of rice While investing in irrigation may not be able to protect Kerala from food insecurity in the future, farmers and scientists have found different ways to grow paddy using much less water.“In China, paddy is cultivated using drip irrigation. With proper technology, aerobic rice can be grown by ensuring that the ground is wet,” says Mathew, the retired irrigation officer.“We tested the System of Rice Intensification (SRI) on several farms in Palakkad district; those farmers still grow paddy using this method. But other farmers (ones who practice traditional paddy cultivation methods) are unwilling to try SRI due to lack of schemes,” says Dr Karthikeyan, a scientific staffer at the Regional Agricultural Research Station, Pattambi. “An acre of paddy can yield up to 2,800kg using the SRI method, while the traditional anaerobic cultivation means can only produce between 1,600kg and 1,700kg," says P K Thankappan, a decade-old SRI convert in Palakkad. "But unlike the traditional methods, SRI doesn't require the fields to remain flooded throughout the cultivation period, which results in rampant weed growth. It's also difficult to find labourers for this method.” Moreover, a closer look at the agriculture statistics report comparing 2008-09 to 2019-20 reveals that it's the high-yielding varieties that demand more irrigation than the local varieties.Irrigation percentages of 2008-09 and 2019-20 of both HYV and Local paddy varieties (Source: Agriculture Statistics Report)“If the local variety is cultivated scientifically, not only can it produce yield on par with high-yielding varieties, it also reduces the water required to grow paddy,” says Natarajan K, a retired agriculture officer who has been successfully cultivating a variety of local paddy in Palakkad on his 2 acres. “I've never lost paddy to rains, except in the 2018 deluge,” says P Bhuvaneshwari, a 62-year-old 2022 Karshakasree winner from Palakkad. While her neighbours only grow paddy once a year, she still grows autumn and winter paddy. Around 12 years ago, she began with less than an acre of paddy farm. Today, her field spreads over 10 acres. She believes her chemical-free farming and rich soil biodiversity may have been preventing such losses.Edited by Rashmi Guha RayAll photos: Nisha Matamp