Learning from grandmothers: Oral traditions of wild food plants

In the quiet courtyards of Himalayan villages, knowledge does not always come from books. It flows gently from the hands of grandmothers — while cleaning greens, drying fruit on rooftops, roasting over open fires or stirring iron “kadhais” on a slow flame. Long before nutrition charts and “super food” labels became fashionable, they understood forest as a living pharmacy and the field as a seasonal “thali”.

For generations, wild food plants have formed an integral part of everyday diets in rural India. What many today dismiss as “weeds” were once treasured vegetables. Plants such as watercress, chickweed, asthma weed, bladder campion and tiny vetch were gathered from field margins, kuls (traditional irrigation channels) and forest floors to prepare nourishing leafy “saag” that aided digestion, purified blood and strengthened the body. To them, a “weed” is simply a plant the virtues of which the younger generation has forgotten.

This knowledge was rarely written down. It was observed, practised and orally transmitted embedded in proverbs, rituals and seasonal calendars.

Grandmothers knew which plant should be harvested before flowering, which leaf required boiling to remove bitterness and which wild fruit should never be eaten on an empty stomach. Their understanding wove together ecology, health and ethics: take only what you need, leave the roots intact and respect the forest as a generous provider.

As the global food system faces the twin pressures of climate change and nutritional homogenisation, we are finally awakening to a truth our ancestors always knew: the most resilient “super foods” are not found in plastic packaging but in the so-called weeds at our feet. Today, however, this intimate bond with the wild flora is weakening. Many edible fruits, including several fig varieties, wild dates, Wild Himalayan Cherry, Wild Date Plum and Himalayan strawberries, go waste at the resource level. Rapid urbanisation, changing food habits, and the allure of packaged foods have distanced younger generations from traditional ecological knowledge.

Scientific research now validates what grandmothers instinctively practised. Many wild edibles such as common purslane, amaranth varieties, burans flowers, “kachnar” buds, glue berry, blur clover, hairy bitter cress are rich in antioxidants, micronutrients and medicinal compounds. Wild mushrooms, ferns and yam varieties were once cherished seasonal delicacies. Yet documentation remains fragmented and field realities often differ from textbook descriptions.

Elderly women frequently reveal preparation methods and therapeutic uses absent in formal literature. This underscores an urgent need to bridge academic research with community knowledge before it fades irreversibly.

Preserving oral traditions is not an exercise in nostalgia; it is an investment in food security, climate resilience and sustainable living. Wild food plants are naturally adapted to local climates, require minimal inputs and often thrive without irrigation. In times of crop failure or economic hardships, they serve as nutritional safety nets. Recognising and revitalising this heritage can strengthen rural livelihoods and promote healthier diets.

Perhaps, revival begins at home — by listening. Sitting beside a grandmother and asking, “What did you eat in your childhood?” may unlock forgotten recipes and resilient food systems. Recording their stories, encouraging schools to document village flora and motivating restaurants to feature seasonal wild dishes can transform fading memories into living traditions.

Threat of ecological amnesia

We stand at a crossroads. As younger generations migrate towards urban centres and convenience-based diets, the chain of oral transmission is fraying. When a grandmother passes away without sharing her knowledge of local flora, it is as though a library has burned down.

This “ecological amnesia” deprives us not only of flavour but also of food sovereignty. In an era of supply chain disruptions and climate uncertainty, knowing how to transform “weeds” in one’s backyard into a nutrient-dense meal is a powerful form of independence.

Reclaiming the roots

Reviving these traditions does not mean rejecting modernity; it means integrating ancient wisdom with contemporary science. Across the world, foraging walks and community kitchens are emerging, inviting elders to guide younger generations. We are discovering that one of the most sophisticated survival technologies we possess may simply be the stories shared over a pot of wild greens.

In rediscovering wild food plants through the wisdom of grandmothers, we rediscover something deeper — a relationship with nature grounded in respect, restraint and gratitude. The forest is not merely a backdrop to our lives; it is a teacher. And often, our first teachers were the women who quietly carried its knowledge in their hearts.

In the high valleys of Himachal Pradesh, people say, “The hills have eyes”, reflecting the watchful nature of close-knit communities. For the grandmothers of these hills, however, the mountains also have a menu, a silent green pharmacy that has nourished the Pahari people for generations — waiting patiently to be remembered, respected and revived.

(The writer is Head of Department of Botany at Vallabh Government College, Mandi, and a specialist in wild food plants)