I have been a wishful consumer of Farm Aanandaa’s YouTube videos for many years now, with dreams of one day having my own permaculture farm, a safe haven in which to live a fulfilling life and die guilt-free of ignorant consumption.
I arrived at the farm close to noon, Manisha herself came to let the taxi into the gate and swiftly introduced herself. It’s always strange meeting someone for the first time after having watched the online version of them for so long.
I had applied for the farm stay at Aanandaa because I was looking for a safe space to feel
grounded and allow my nervous system a few days to heal. I also hoped to reignite a spark I had held for many years which over time had been suppressed by a constant stream of negative voices and the growing inaccessibility to land - a dream of living off grid and in sync with the Earth’s cycles. It has also been of great importance to me to, at minimum, zero out any negative impact my lifestyle has on Mother Earth, and at best, contribute in some positive way.
It’s safe to say that the farm offered all of that, and so much more.
Manisha, her husband Agam and her daughter Radha were incredible hosts, with warm open hearts, and plenty of stories to share. They welcomed me as part of the family, and we sat together for meals at the dining table, often joined by Mishti and Bholu, their feline children and the newest members of the family. The meals we shared were not simple by any means, though they could be mistaken as such by those who value the show of quantity over quality.
I have in fact never had a host share a meal with me into which they have put the kind of effort that Manisha and her family have. Each potato carried the story of that land, the labor of love of 16 years of the farm, rehabilitating the soil, saturating it with rain, filling it with nutrition, drenching it with sunlight, creating a nourishing home for millions of species to flourish, including that potato.
As the days went by, each meal was more and more satisfying, and my hunger reduced to the point where 3 meals a day felt excessive. Manisha explained that the produce we were consuming was so nutrient-dense that we really didn’t need to eat much to feel wholly satisfied.
In fact, all hungers were satisfied, not only for food, but for natural beauty dense with greenery, genuine connection and conversations, and the energy of living happening all around us, reminding us that we are part of something magical. I spent my days walking barefoot, as Manisha did, feeling the soft mounds of worm castings squish under my feet and the cool grasses, which remained so even at the hottest time of the day. Knowing where I was, and walking barefoot, I watched the earth, stepping carefully so as to not disturb an unsuspecting critter or its home.
I noticed this practice, which happens so naturally, is one that was taught by the Buddha, called ‘Mindful walking’ : stepping carefully, and in wonder of the miracles of this existence. I imagined him walking in a forest or next to a river, the place would have been teeming with life just as this farm was. There would have been an abundance of insects, frogs, snakes, slippery mosses, spiky twigs; the very nature of the environment requires one to walk mindfully, and in observing all these life forms, how they coexist, the incredible diversity, one feels so fulfilled, and maybe even touches peace. Never once was I pricked by a thorn.
Every night I fell asleep to a symphony of croaks, clicks and chirps, like a thick weighted blanket letting me know the air was clean and that I was safe.
I spent a few days aimlessly roaming the property, going for walks twice a day, enjoying the ability to walk freely, without concern of stepping on broken glass or trash, or being disturbed by traffic and pollution. I spent most of my time at the cottage, flipping through a permaculture book, which had Manisha’s highlights and notes, and admiring the effort that she put into creating this place. To go from a corporate life in Mumbai to a 12 acre farm in Boonga, Haryana is quite a journey to witness.
For a few evenings, I would join Manisha to take the cats for a walk. She pointed out some of her favorite plants and even showed me a photo of a blue-banded bee that she had taken on the property, an extremely rare species that is native to Australia. We would chat about various topics: permaculture, family life, traditions, art, music, animals; the conversations could go on for hours. She is an excellent storyteller and her energy and love for life is contagious. Her latest project is a book with a collection of traditional songs to be sung during the sangeet at a Punjabi wedding, a culmination of her love for music, storytelling, and community. She showed me a draft print of the book, flipping through and singing a few of the songs, often cracking into laughter while explaining the lyrics as some of them were quite silly. As someone who has been averse to the idea of marriage, I could see a time when it truly was a celebration of communities coming together, and not solely about two people and some unrealistic notion of romance.
On my last day at the farm, I offered to document butterfly species. Manisha had mentioned it a day earlier and even offered a book of Indian butterfly species that I could reference. As I walked around the farm with a newfound focus I immediately felt a shift in my connection with the place - I was no longer a mere observer; now I was “plugged in”
At first I tried to chase the butterflies, some landed long enough for me to get a picture, others flew with such speed and chaos that trying to follow their movements left me dizzy. One such species was the Great Orange Tip. My heart would race once I spotted those bright orange wing tips, what a lovely photo it would be! But, alas, the fellow was just too quick! I would start taking clicks from a distance, trying to catch up, hoping that one of the photos might capture enough to at least identify the species.
Then there were other species, like the Zizeeria and Jamides, both small species of butterflies, who like to sit calmly in easy to reach places, like the brick pathway or on leaves and branches at eye level, allowing me to get the camera just a few centimeters away for some incredible close-ups. Other species, like the Ariadne merione, or Common Castor, seemed to play a game with me, inviting a chase, flitting from leaf to flower to leaf. I would contort myself trying to position the camera, zoom and click in the few milliseconds it would land before flitting away again. After several minutes of failed attempts and dozens of blurry photographs, just as I was about to give up, it gracefully floated onto a leaf right in front of me, perched and ready for a photo shoot, almost mockingly.
I started to notice certain patterns: the larger butterflies were higher up and moved with quick chaos, the smaller ones were lower and landed more often, the colored ones like the monochromatic yellow Phoebis agarithe would often land on plants with yellowing leaves or flowers of the same color. I observed a Papilio demoleus, or Lime Butterfly, laying its eggs one at a time on the Bael tree, making sure to leave enough distance between each one. In observing these creatures - trying to understand their movements, witnessing the millions of years that led to their evolution and the kind of environment they needed to flourish - one need not put aside time to meditate on the wonders of life as they were so obviously present.
On the final morning at the farm, I joined the farm tour along with a few other visitors from Dehradun and Gurgaon. Manisha started the tour with a buzzing energy and enthusiasm which not only sustained but seemed to increase over the course of the two and a half hours. She spoke eloquently, her words were well rehearsed from years of tours, and deeply grounded in the roots of her lived experience. She answered questions with haste and intelligence, kept things to the point, and retained the focus on the subject matter which she had so beautifully curated. I could see how she had applied the corporate business mindset to the systems of permaculture farming, with surprising parallels that just made sense.
Her teachings were so practical and logical, she “cut the fat” so to speak. Though I had watched many of her videos, the impact of a live tour was unmatched. The most inspiring aspect of the tour was witnessing her commitment to helping others wake up to the realities of our broken systems and offering a foolproof and practical solution. She was firm in her belief that the practice of permaculture was within reach and could, without a doubt, help heal the earth and, in turn, us. After all, as she pointed out, we are one and the same.
And just like that, the week had passed by. I loaded my bags into the taxi, along with some precious purchases from the organic store. After a quick photograph, the family sent me off with a sweet farewell. The taxi driver was curious about what I was doing there in Boonga, Haryana, and I shared my experience at the farm. He, too, was from a farming background and was impressed by my advanced knowledge. He shared his own story, and his troubles with farming, which eventually led him to become a taxi driver. I encouraged him to visit the farm and attend the tour and he seemed genuinely intrigued.
As the taxi entered the city of Dehradun, I felt my stomach collapse into a bottomless pit of hunger that most of us are all too familiar with. I immediately knew that this hunger would not be satisfied by any amount of food I consumed. It was a hunger for so much more, for a life in tune with the rhythms of Mother Earth, a life that can only be lived, not consumed.
