<b>Geetanjali Krishna:</b> Spring with GM mustard

The other day, a group of drivers and watchmen in the neighbourhood approached me when I was out for a walk. They'd been reading about the controversy surrounding genetically modified (GM) mustard, they said. "We're all from different parts of the country -Kumaon (Uttarakhand), Haryana and Madhya Pradesh, and all our families back home grow mustard. We're not being able to understand from the papers, however, how GM mustard will affect us, if at all," said one. Mustard was, they all said, an integral part of their lives. Not only did they grow it, they also used it in every possible way - as an oilseed, vegetable and also, in some instances, as medicine.

GM mustard, I told them, like other genetically modified seeds, promised to increase crop yields by 20-25 per cent, and make mustard crops resistant to common diseases. "In the hills, mustard is prone to several pests," countered the chap from Kumaon. "But my grandfather has always planted marigold, turmeric and other pest-repelling plants alongside the main crop in the fields. They kept pests away naturally." The driver from Haryana said his family used to spray herbicides and pesticides on their mustard crop when they earlier used indigenous seeds, but had lately switched to a non-GM hybrid. "They say the hybrid seeds are showing good results," he said. "They probably won't shift to GM mustard."

When I said the environmentalist lobby was alleging that GM mustard would probably entail a higher intake of chemicals (just as the history of usage of other GM seeds like cotton has shown), the men were troubled. "It could mean that if our families buy GM seeds, they'll also have to buy more chemicals and consequently spend even more money on farming," said the Kumaoni. "Traditionally, farmers in the hills spend very little on farming. They use manure from their own livestock, water from local brooks and streams, and very little else." GM seeds, they all agreed, could change it all.

It all came down to how much commercialisation we were willing to introduce in agriculture. "None of us are real farmers anymore, so perhaps we don't truly understand the heartbreak of losing a crop to blight or aphids," said the watchman from Madhya Pradesh. "My family went under a ton of debt a few years ago when their wheat crop failed. If scientists and the government come up with technologies that reduce the poor farmer's uncertainty, I wonder if there's anything wrong with that." The problem with most of these genetic technologies was, I countered, that their long-term effects hadn't been properly studied. Also, the Kumaoni pointed out that when his family used indigenous seeds, they required lesser maintenance even though, admittedly, they yielded less than hybrid seeds. "Also, who's to say if the big companies who introduce these GM seeds are not doing so to make a profit at our expense," he said.

I commented that if planted, the seeds of GM mustard could travel long distances through bees and other pollinators. This could sound the death knell for indigenous varieties of mustard. "Nobody knew yet, what other impact that could have," I said. I was thinking of the potential health implications of GM mustard, but my question resonated at a more emotional level with the group. "Every time I see fields of mustard shining gold in the sun, I know spring is here… I still wonder if it would feel the same with GM mustard," queried one of them. They all fell silent. I resumed my walk that unnaturally warm February evening, wondering if we were ushering in a new, genetically modified spring this year.