Travelling through Chhindwara district in India’s central peninsula, Shirin Mehrotra learns about why kutki (little millet) needs little water to grow, the most common way it is eaten, and why it has disappeared from the diets of Adivasi communities here.
Almost at the very centre of India, there was once a garden of sugar date palms. But this past October, when I visit Madhya Pradesh’s Chhindwara (chhind means sugar date palm, and wada means place), I discover that the trees that once grew here and give the district its name are few and far between.
Chhindwara lies to the southwest of the Satpuras—a mountain range that runs over 800 kilometres across wide swathes of India’s central peninsula. It neighbours Seoni, a largely forested district where Rudyard Kipling found inspiration for The Jungle Book. As I drive towards Chhindwara, billboards welcoming me to the ‘Birthplace of Mowgli’ flash past. Dry deciduous forests are everywhere—about 50 kilometres northwest is Satpura National Park, and to the southeast, Pench.
Chhind, along with mahua and chironji trees, once formed an integral part of local lives and livelihoods here; the region is home to several Adivasi communities (mainly the Gond, Pardhan, Bharia, and Korku people) who form over 30 percent of the district’s population.
Known for its sloped terrain, and hardy, black gravel soil, the area is also ideal to grow minor millets like kutki, kodo, and sanwa—all historically integral to local diet and agriculture. But the landscape has altered dramatically over the past five or six decades.
Once I drive past more inhabited towns, I am greeted by vast, golden fields as far as the eye can see. My first stop is Diwangaon, a village located about 65 kilometres away from the district headquarter of Chhindwara, with a population of less than 500 people at last count.
The unfurling gold is corn, a cash crop that has taken over the majority of farmlands here. The corn, however, is not for human consumption; much of it is sold as cattle feed. Hybrid corn has taken over the desi makka and millets that once grew here in abundance, and formed part of the daily diet of farming families.
It takes an expert eye to spot the kutki (Panicum sumatrense) growing in what looks like wild patches of land overgrown with weeds. But it’s there—delicate, wheatish coloured grass—hidden among other grasses. Kutki, or little millet, is one of the smallest minor millets cultivated in India; its size, as small as mustard seeds.
Over a cup of tea with Sunil Kakodiya, a farmer in Diwangaon, I learn more about why kutki is important to local communities here. “Kutki toh oas se hi pak jaat hai,” he says, meaning kutki gets ready with just dew, alluding to the minimal amount of water and labour required to grow it. The cereal grain has been grown in Asia since around 2700 B.C. Sown during the kharif (monsoon) season, its planting begins in June. The crop—able to flourish in less fertile and hilly landscapes—also has a short growth cycle; ready to be harvested in about 65 to 75 days.
Most farmers here, like Kakodiya, are marginal land-holders; agriculture the mainstay. Now, rice, wheat, and corn are staple agricultural outputs, so much so that Chhindwara has been named ‘Corn City’. But even just 50 years ago, kutki and kodo were major crops, along with millets like jowar and bajra, indigenous rice varieties, and desi makka.
“Adivasi communities inhabited the core or the buffer areas of the (Kanha) forest and were dependent on the forest itself for their livelihood. They weren’t into cultivating rice or wheat,” says Vipul Gupta, founder of Earth Focus.
Earth Focus is a community-led organisation that works with Adivasi communities in Balaghat district, especially Kanha National Park’s buffer area, to build ecological and socio-economic resilience. “Adivasis were moved out of the forest areas after the launch of Project Tiger and given patches of land for agriculture”, Gupta adds. “Coming in contact with the formal economy made them shift to growing rice and wheat which is more lucrative in terms of money.” This, along with other agricultural changes at the time (like the advent of tubewell irrigation and fertiliser subsidies) pushed the production of minor millets to bare minimum.
Some farmers still grow kutki, but in smaller patches. In the past two decades, the production area of minor millets across Madhya Pradesh has declined by more than 50 percent. One of the major reasons for the drop in production are low yields. The added burden of processing, and weak market links mean that growing little millet does not bring enough profit even though its market price is higher than other staple grains; kutki is priced at Rs.3500/quintal while wheat is approximately Rs.2800/quintal. Many families, though, have stopped growing kutki altogether, even for their personal consumption.
“When Adivasi communities lost access to forests, their nutritional as well as medicinal basket was disturbed,” says Gupta. “A lack of work and loss of dignity also increased their consumption of mahua liquor.” Mahua, along with rice, is a potent reason for diabetes, and has caused many deaths at a young age in the region. Earth Focus aims to understand what Adivasi communities consumed years ago, and to bring back the food forests provided.
This shift in dietary patterns has had a cascading effect on rural health. According to a 2022 report by the Madhya Pradesh Women and Child Development Department, Chhindwara district had the second highest number of malnourished children, when measured for the last quarter of that year. Local diets are often deficient in protein, iron, micronutrients, iodine, and vitamins, and the nutritional vulnerability among children born in the region often turns into chronic malnutrition. Even after receiving treatment at the Nutritional Rehabilitation Centre, children fall back into a cycle of ill health once they return to their homes. According to 2019-21 data from the National Family and Health Survey for Madhya Pradesh, 72 percent of children (aged 6-59 months) were anaemic, and over 50 percent of all women (aged 15-49) were also anaemic.
While there are various cultural, nutritional, and healthcare accessibility factors involved here, one of the reasons cited by people I spoke to is the absence of kutki from their diets. The millet is high in iron, calcium, and dietary fibre, something that a carbohydrate-heavy wheat and rice-based diet cannot completely fulfil.
I also begin to understand one of the key reasons for the fall in kutki consumption when I spend time with the women of Sakarwada village; processing kutki can take up hours of their time and labour. Radha Dehariya, Anura Kakodiya, and Maya Verma tell me that cleaning harvested kutki is difficult, compared to larger millets, since it is mixed with a lot of kachra (wild weeds that grow alongside it). Then, it takes six to eight hours to dehusk, clean, and process the minuscule grains.
Some farmers still grow kutki, but in smaller patches. In the past two decades, the production area of minor millets across Madhya Pradesh has declined by more than 50 percent.
While there are commendable efforts towards creating awareness around millets among urban consumers (the National Bank of Agricultural and Rural Development has been organising workshops, seminars, and food festivals for millet promotion, and working towards creating a more robust value chain) there needs to be more conscious work to bring millets back into rural and Adivasi diets.
P.S. Vijay Shankar, Director of Research, and a founder member of Samaj Pragati Sahayog (SPS) says, “There has to be an approach that looks at the entire value chain of millets in Madhya Pradesh, like the Odisha Millet Mission [that focuses on household level consumption].” SPS is a grassroots initiative that works in the central Indian Adivasi belt. “There’s not enough focus on including millets in mid-day meals and other public feeding programs.”
The current government plan around millet production and marketing focuses more on rural and Adivasi livelihoods, rather than bringing it back as a staple grain for consumption. For the communities that traditionally grew and ate these grains, this could be a way to narrow the ever-widening nutrition gap.
The current government plan around millet production and marketing focuses more on rural and Adivasi livelihoods, rather than bringing it back as a staple grain for consumption. For the communities that traditionally grew and ate these grains, this could be a way to narrow the ever-widening nutrition gap.
Unlike the many recipes that the millets lend themselves to in urban spaces, Gond farmers cook them in simple ways. The most common way to eat kutki is as rice, along with a vegetable preparation or dal. Kutki bhat—cooked like rice in a double steamer—is usually paired with chane ki bhaji and black-eyed peas, locally known as barbati. It is also often mixed with dal and cooked like a khichdi.
The millet is also used to make a drink called pej, where the unwashed kutki is boiled with water till it is cooked through. Once done, cold water is added to make it runnier. Pej is seasoned with just salt and drunk like dal.
Back in Delhi, it’s lunch time. On my plate is kutki. During my visit, I was told about the combination of kutki, eaten with a bhaji made with tender shoots of green chickpeas, or hare chane (Find the recipe for Kutki Rice with Hare Chane ki Bhaji here). These shoots, also called chane ka saag, are harvested when the plant is still young.
I don’t have access to them, so I cook the tiny bitter gourd and some okra I picked from Aman Chand Uikey’s vegetable patch when I was in Bandhi, one of my last stops in Chhindwara. This, along with a wild cherry tomato chutney, make for a wholesome meal—one that’s easy on my digestive system after the hectic travel and erratic meals.
I can see proof of the wisdom shared with me by Sunil Kakodiya’s grandmother—“Kutki parheji khana hai.” Kutki is nutritious, and good for the gut.
Shirin Mehrotra is an independent writer and researcher who writes about the intersection of food, culture and communities with a special interest in urban foodscapes and migration. Her work has appeared in Whetstone Magazine, The Juggernaut, Feminist Food Journal, HT Brunch among others.
This article is part of the Millet Revival Project, The Locavore’s modest attempt to demystify cooking with millets, and learn the impact that it has on our ecology. This initiative, in association with Rainmatter Foundation, aims to facilitate the gradual incorporation of millets into our diets, as well as create a space for meaningful conversation and engagement so that we can tap into the resilience of millets while also rediscovering its taste.
Rainmatter Foundation is a non-profit organisation that supports organisations and projects for climate action, a healthier environment, and livelihoods associated with them. The foundation and The Locavore have co-created this Millet Revival Project for a millet-climate outreach campaign for urban consumers. To learn more about the foundation and the other organisations they support, click here.
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