Pluck by chance: Meet India’s new generation of foragers

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On September 25, 2025

Sometime along the last ten years, foraging has had a makeover. The term used to evoke a kind of desert-island wretchedness – the lone survivor looking for food in the forest (with maybe a ball named Wilson for company). Then chefs got in on the action. They’d send trained pigs to sniff out rare truffles, and create special, Michelin-starred meals around their hauls.

India’s new-age foragers are walkers, environmental activists, and agroecology experts. (DESIGNED BY LEELA USING CHATGPT AND FIREFLY)

Even that story is changing. On Reddit, forums about the activity have, well, mushroomed. There are discussions on how to get started, how to identify which fungi will kill you, elevate your pasta or give your evening a psychedelic filter. India, on the other hand, is saying, “hold my guchchi”.

Most of the country’s foragers are not high-profile chefs on an expensive grocery run. They’re forest lovers, walkers, environmental activist, farmers and people who were spotting jungle treasures long before they realised there was a word for it. They’re sharing their adventures on Insta, building online archives of traditional knowledge and creating zines for fellow foragers. Sure, it takes a keen eye to spot a chanterelle or wild herb under a rain-soaked tree. But, as newbies are learning, it takes a calm mind, a moral compass, and an understanding of complex forest ecosystems as well.

Malavika Bhatia says the not-plant-not-meat nature of fungi is a way to understand queer ecology.

Malavika Bhatia

31, Delhi

When Bhatia entered the world of foraging in 2012, spotting mushrooms felt intimidating. “I looked for them when I went hiking, but not when I was in my own neighbourhood,” they say. Then, the pandemic hit, and as Delhi’s parks grew wild, mushrooms were suddenly within reach. So, in 2021, after brushing up on mycology from the internet and local experts, Bhatia hosted their first walk. “My dad told me about people who went door-to-door selling foraged mushrooms in the 1970s-80s in Delhi. I met migrant communities from Jharkhand who pick mushrooms in Sanjay Van.”

Foraging is about more than finding food. For Bhatia, the not-plant-not-meat nature of fungi is a way to understand queer ecology. “We need to see nature as it is, and not project our ideas of gender onto it,” they say. “Fungi does not fit into any one definition. Each has its own preference for the wood it grows on. Some grow on insects, and even human tissue.” From July to September, mushrooms pop up across Delhi, ranging from termite and wood-ear varieties to amanita manicata and puffball-like geastrum.

Bhatia also uses fungi to create art. They inoculate fungus and allow it to grow on its own. And Bhatia has tried spore printing, a technique to determine mushroom’s spore colour to help cultivate new fungal colonies. Through it all, the aim is to understand how humans, fungi and the national world is connected. “Every act of consumption is an act of intimacy,” Bhatia says. “You need to recognise the being and build a level of safety and trust to engage with it.”

Sanjiv Valsan says the forest delivers hands-on lessons in sustainability.

Sanjiv Valsan

47, Mumbai

Foraging is possible even in concrete jungles. Just follow Valsan on a walk through the Aarey forest in the heart of Mumbai. The photographer has been involved in the citizen-led Aarey Forest Conservation Movement since 2017. He leads city folks through wooded groves, babbling brooks and tribal hamlets, identifying edible plants and herbs such as konsai (dioscorea alata), takla leaves (cassia tora) and shevli (dragon stalk yam) flowers. Most walks end with a meal with adivasi communities that still rely on the wild for food. On the plate: Stir fried greens such as nala bhaji (water spinach) and kurdu (cockscomb), local tubers and bamboo shoots, and chutneys made with dry fish, wild mulberry, or ambadi (roselle leaves). There’s dessert and beverages too, mahua kheer and palash flower tea.

“The forest teaches foragers what schools don’t – and delivers hands-on lessons in sustainability,” Valsan says. “The adivasis don’t cut down jungles to grow food. They plant tubers that are supported by trees.” It’s more than a food walk. “I want urban folks to understand that animism, ecological architecture, Warli art, spirit deities, folk dances and music are very much part of today’s Mumbai,” he says. “The government frequently calls tribal folks encroachers. But it’s we who have been encroaching. A foraging walk is a good way to try to rewrite that history without being confrontational.”

For Ladakh-based Stanzin Angchuk, foraging is a way of life.

Stanzin Angchuk

29, Ladakh

“Don’t smell it for too long, you’ll start feeling dizzy,” advises Angchuk, to anyone who wants to bury their face into a punch of bushy pink palu flowers. The bloom, when dried, serves as incense during morning prayers in Ladakhi homes. It is also central to the region’s foraging culture. Between July and August, locals scout mountainsides and highlands, bringing back more than 20 seasonal wild greens and herbs at a time. As anyone who’s observed a forest knows, nothing exists alone. Where palu thrives, there are also wild foods such as stinging nettle and shrolo rhodiola. Spotting the wildflower, then, means that a little bonanza is in store.

“Foraging is not separate from our daily life, it is survival for us,” says Angchuk, who grew up in Wari La and now works as a guest experience manager at the luxury Stone Hedge Hotel. One part of his job: Leading visitors though low- and high-altitude arid mountains, and showing them what their inexperienced eyes might have missed.He knows which hill to climb for which specific wild food. “The flora changes with the altitude, even within the Wari La region,” he says. On a good day, the baskets come back full – with stinging nettle, seabuckthorn, wild fennel, chives, palu and more.

Summer is short in Ladakh. “We only have a foraging window of 20-30 days, so we wait for the whole year to eat these items,” says Angchuk. His favourite, rhodiola, has yellow flowers, and tastes mildly bitter. But foraging trips might get shorter still. In nearby Leh, rampant construction means that the woods won’t be lovely, dark and deep for long. Ironically, foraging gives him hope. “When chefs from other cities show interest in our foods, it motivates people to go back to foraging practices and keep them alive.”

Shruti Tharayil documents wild foods and their culinary uses, and conducts foraging walks too.

Shruti Tharayil

37, Goa

Tharayil recently moved to Goa. But the herbalist actively pays attention to the gardens and pavements of whichever city she is in. In Delhi, during the winter, she leads people through Lodhi Garden, helping them identify edible greens. She plucks leaves from innocuous plants, the kind that some people might mistake for weeds, and urges people to chew them. Turns out wild sorrel, three leaf clover and cotton weed aren’t just within reach, they’re delicious.

Tharayil’s family is from Kerala. Her interest in uncultivated edible greens developed as she researched the adivasi, Dalit and pastoral communities for a non-profit in Telangana in 2011. “My grandfather was a folk herbalist and our community foraged for food,” she says. They moved away from it because of the shame associated with wild foods. She’s making things right with her Instagram page @ForgottenGreens, which documents wild foods and how they fit into modern kitchens. She also hosts foraging walks in Chennai, Coimbatore and Bengaluru.

“After a walk, people often go back and forage in their neighbourhood and cook meals with what they find,” says Tharayil. Her tips for first-time foragers: Do not trust the apps or Google lens. And consult an expert before consuming any wild plant or flower you’ve never tried before. Do not forage from heavily polluted areas. And take only what you need; leave enough for the birds and animals who depend on these foods.

From HT Brunch, September 27, 2025