Mouths open to consume life, tearing grass from the ground and flesh from the body.

The plants alchemise the sunlight, air, and water into nutrition. Red and blue light waves, made green with chlorophyll. The grey flamingo turns pink—a transmutation of chemicals in his diet. The parrots eat clay; the brown-muddy earth sits in their belly. Away from the rules of capitalism, the natural world feeds and binds one creature to another, physically and spiritually.

A growling stomach will make us go distances, whether it’s from bed to the kitchen or to the aisle of the supermarket on a rainy day. We are still driven by our animal instincts.

As I enter the supermarket and close my umbrella, I see the ‘commodities,’ priced and organised on clean shelves. I didn’t come here driven by my connection to the Earth but rather by a primal need—of the body. A body shaped by the ancient connection to the land, now tamed by modern desires. Living far from the ruthless games of the wild—and yet, taking part in games that are far more lethal.

With money in our pockets and under the possession of addictive desires, we are trained to be more dangerous than the wildest of beasts.

The crops, veggies, and fruits yielded with pesticides also make their way into the bloodstream of animals. Livestock—life reduced to stock—and dignity were stolen. Now, the flesh is contaminated. What we offer to the Earth always returns to us. Even if tamed, the body is still part of the Earth.

As the residues of pesticides and plastic enter the river of life—from ocean to blood—all is being poisoned. The more I delve into the reality of the climate crisis, the more I begin to question the nature of Nature and human nature within it.

My parents were stunned by the ideas of veganism, even though their shift to vegetarianism happened in a blink. In front of my father, the butcher began slitting the body of a chicken. He was devastated. A vegetarian from that evening, my mother followed him.

He always says mango is the king of fruits. And in his stories, Ram—the Hindu god—was born after a fire ceremony, from a mango. I’m not sure where these assumptions come from, and the narrative of mythology may not be accurate, but as I visit my grandmother’s village, I begin to wonder if the mangoes are the ones telling these stories.

Here, the wild mango trees reach the sky. And when orchards are in full season, if you find a mango, it’s yours. Kids run in heavy, pouring rain, collecting the gifts given to them by the showering tree. In such moments, abundance manifests. Even if there are those who own the land, the mangoes are for everyone.

Last summer, when a buffalo gave birth to a female calf, my uncle was elated. It bothered me, but I kept my ideologies of ecofeminism and speciesism to myself. I did make a comment—saying people here are not happy when a girl is born, yet they celebrate the female calf as Laxmi, the goddess of prosperity. No one paid attention. Sad—but also relieved—I was not there to challenge their worldviews, but to be a part of the land and community, where the mango and milk-sharing spirit was in season.

People, like landscapes, also have their limitations. We can open new worlds for each other, but it’s a slow process. It takes time. We have to be gentle.

In the well-arranged aisle of the supermarket, the flesh of the chicken is not being slit open in front of the consumer. If it were, I wonder how many would still go ahead with their purchase.

There are more than 700 million people who go to bed hungry, while one-third of the world’s grain is produced to feed animals raised to slaughter. If there are humans being deprived, it’s not because we have a food shortage but because our purchasing power is regulating the market, tilting the balance, and subsidising staple diets.

I firmly believe in the power of money. It’s not to be taken lightly. We must not forget that money is not the source of evil—it could also be the source of good if we choose it to be. What our money does is solely our responsibility.

We must question: What is feeding our desire? Are these desires our own, or borrowed from a deteriorating culture that romanticises thrills, quick fixes, and instant gratification?

Ultra-processed food is changing our bones. Our jaws are smaller than our ancestors’, and cavities are only found in modern humans. Our breathing patterns are significantly impacted by these changes. Are we evolving or devolving? 

Our body is shaping itself, one meal at a time. The Earth is also shifting with these meals. The answer to both is one: taking back our agency is also taking it back for the Earth.

There is extreme hunger and poverty, and these inequalities are only increasing with the changing climate. We can’t be passive towards our own desires—our heart needs to be where the mouth is. As in the words of Mary Oliver, “in art as in spiritual life, there is no neutral place.”

There is no us against them. It’s all of us—it’s humankind. We have to stand with the Earth.

Survival is a spiritual emergency, and the spirit is being starved.

Feed yourself, and feed the Earth. We can do both at once.

Feed, nourish, and prosper.

Words by Priyanka Singh Parihar,

Founder and Editor-in-Chief