Foraging in the Himalayas

On walks through the hills in the Himalayas, Shriya Malhotra finds an assortment of berries, plants, and evidence of ancient symbiotic relationships that have existed between people and the land they live on. She notes traditional preservation methods, the shift from barter to monetary economies, and the enduring connection between people, land, and local ecosystems. What insights into sustainable living can we gather from the deep wisdom of indigenous knowledge systems?

During a recent trek, my friend Jamila remarked that what is often dismissed as "alternative medicine" in one context is, in fact, the foundational medical system of another. Her insight prompted a deeper interrogation of how we construct and value knowledge.

The effects of climate change are manifesting with alarming intensity, directly impacting both human health and the fragile ecosystems of mountain regions. The once-pristine, snow-white vistas of the ice-capped Himalayas now appear a tarnished gray—a visual testament to melting glaciers, which exacerbate food scarcity and destabilize well-being. Local apricots, or khumaani, are vanishing due to escalating temperatures and dehydration brought on by the greenhouse effect and unchecked urbanization.

These hills preserve ancient methods of conservation and stewardship, embodying a way of life rooted in the ethics of gifting, barter, and borrowing rather than capitalist exploitation. For the people here, mountain living has always been a distinct mode of existence, intricately tied to the land’s rhythms and resources.

Similar practices can be observed in mountain communities across the world—from the Himalayas to the Andes, the Alps, and the Caucasus. These regions showcase enduring symbiotic relationships, where the land sustains its people, and in return, the people nurture the land. These reciprocal interactions underpin belief systems and traditional knowledge, particularly in the realm of plant-based remedies—a resource of critical relevance in the face of climate change.

The Endangered Wonder of Wild Fruits

High-altitude ecosystems, given their remoteness, are reservoirs of unique knowledge systems. The isolation of these regions has helped preserve traditional practices around sustenance and well-being, which often stand in contrast to the self-destructive leanings of modernity. These indigenous tradition, rooted in co-existence with the larger ecosystem, can offer an antidote to the ills of industrialized societies.

Remote places at specific altitudes comprise ecosystems, which are bound by unique forms of knowledge and cultural norms. Their similar forms of knowledge and wisdom have partially been preserved in their isolation: reflected in techniques and processes of preservation. These altitude-related ways of understanding nourishment and well-being connect human health directly to the balance of the ecosystem.

Indigenous diets emphasize native, wild, and whole foods as local, context-specific local and folk remedies. They reflect an understanding of the interconnectedness of the land, animals, and plants, with an ethos of minimal waste. However, unchecked tourism has introduced unprecedented levels of litter, desecrating these otherwise pristine landscapes.

In India, indigeneity manifests through the layered traditions of diverse rural and tribal cultures. Long before contemporary economic systems took hold, these communities subsisted on sustainable practices like hunting and gathering. They understood intuitively that local, seasonal foods—fruits, vegetables, grains—not only promote health and immunity but also sustain ecosystems. For them, food consumption was not commodified; it was an act of care for oneself, one’s family, and the broader community.

In European economies, this is echoed by the slow food movement, spearheaded by Carlo Petrini, who champions access to clean air and food and the importance of savouring both their preparation and consumption. Similarly, in North America, Robin Wall Kimmerer advocates for indigenous knowledge as a viable alternative to capitalist economies. Her work highlights how traditional wisdom extends beyond food systems, encompassing health, craftsmanship, and cultural practices.

Walking as a Research and Archiving Method

In Uttarakhand, foraging remains both a survival strategy and a repository of living knowledge. The foothills, with their complex and untamable ecosystems, challenge the ideas of standardization. Foraging through these hills—gathering berries, leaves, and other resources—is an everyday practice deeply embedded in the rhythm of life here. Yet, alongside these natural treasures, one now finds plastic waste and discarded wrappers.

Wild fruits, however, remain the perfect antidote to these ubiquitous packaged snacks that flood the market. On my walks, I pay close attention to the natural world around me as I move through it: spotting bursts of brightly coloured berries, turning flowers into earrings, or collecting stones with intricate patterns to gift my parents. Walking amidst towering, carbon-sequestering trees and discovering old wells and shrines feels like a form of healing, reconnecting me with the land.

The people of this region navigate their terrain with ingenuity, scaling walls and ducking under barbed wire to access resources. They climb trees for fruit, traverse hillsides laden with firewood and grass; practices that serve as a reminder of the resilience and adaptability of traditional ways of life.

A branch of Himalayan bayberry or kaphal found on a walk in Kaphali village, Uttarakhand (which is seemingly named after the berry’s colloquial Kumaoni name).

Traditionally, during busy days of foraging for livestock feed or household needs, people would snack on wild berries and fruits as a quick source of sugar and hydration. These fruits, rich in fibre and heart-healthy nutrients, are a stark contrast to the nutrition available from mass-produced, processed foods available today. They contain essential nutrient combinations, are free from chemical coatings and genetic modifications, and even the trace dirt on their surface can provide a small boost to gut health, enhancing immunity. Beyond sustenance, foraged fruits form part of a unique system of folk medicine.

In the hills, foraging is not just for personal sustenance but also supports livestock, including cows, goats, and sheep. The collected weeds and grasses feed the animals, and in return, their owners share resources like milk or clarified butter (ghee), sustaining a traditional system of reciprocity. However, this barter-based economy, which valued relationships over monetary transactions, is increasingly being replaced by modern transactional systems. The value of deeper, non-monetary exchange is disappearing.

Foraged berries region are not only medicinal but also serve as convenient, free snacks for everyone. They can be plucked from wild shrubs, purchased from local general stores, or carried as on-the-go treats. Children grab them on their way home from school, villagers keep them handy, and migrant laborers walking to construction sites in the foothills enjoy them on the go.

Foraging in the region is primarily driven by the need to provide feed and fodder for animals. In addition, people grow, dry, and mill their own wheat into flour, preserve fruits in chutneys, jams, and compotes, and trade any surplus with neighbours. This creates a rich network of exchange, where fruits connect communities in a land where they are abundant. Sometimes, their bounty is so plentiful that children can be seen playing cricket with plums!

A branch of ripening Kilmora berries found in the village of Chhattola, Uttarakhand.

In Kumaon, fruits are enjoyed fresh or preserved by dehydration, or processed into jams and chutneys. These methods of preservation are part of larger tradition of a slower, more deliberate food culture. A simple walk through the villages reveals fascinating insights into these practices,

Among the wild berries of the foothills, my personal favorite is hishalu (Rubus ellipticus), often called the golden raspberry of the Himalayas. These berries grow on shrubs easily recognized by their sharply serrated, fan-shaped leaves. Small, round, and sweet with occasional tartness, they lack pits or stones and have a vivid orange hue that stands out against their thorny bark and protective leaves. Rich in natural sugars, fiber, and antioxidants, hishalu berries provide a quick energy boost to those who gather them, making them a prized find in the hills.

Collected hisalu berries from a quick walk.

Notes as plants and fruit from my walks around the villages of Seetla, Kaaphali and Chhattola.

A less favoured, but commonly found berry in the region is kaphal (Myrica esculenta), also known as the Himalayan Bayberry, the state fruit of Uttarakhand. These berries grow on tall trees and resemble small, shriveled red raspberries, with a higher ratio of pit to pulp and less juiciness.

While nothing beats the experience of eating these berries or other fruits raw, one of my favourite recipes—passed down from my mum—is a delicious way to enjoy them

RECIPE FOR IRA MALHOTRA’S FRUIT GALETTE