FARMING WAS A HUGE MISTAKE
- Madhukar Dama
- 21 hours ago
- 11 min read
HOW FARMING CREATED TREMENDOUS MISERY FOR MANKIND
---
1. BEFORE FARMING — HUMANS WERE FREE
Before agriculture, humans were hunter-gatherers:
They moved with the seasons.
Ate over 300 species of plants and animals.
Worked only 3–4 hours a day.
Had no permanent property, no social classes.
They were lean, healthy, mentally alert, and spiritually alive.
There was no ‘future’, only now. No storage, no greed.
---
2. THE LIE OF PROGRESS: WHEN WE STARTED PLANTING
Around 10,000 years ago, humans began farming wheat, barley, millet, and rice.
At first, it seemed like a breakthrough — more food = more security.
But the cost?
Catastrophic.
Here’s how farming quietly became the foundation of suffering.
---
3. MISERY #1: DISEASE
Farming meant:
Settled life
Dense villages
Animal domestication
Stored grains
These led to:
Rats, lice, and filth
Shared water sources
Constant contact with animal waste
Outcome: Epidemics. Zoonotic diseases. Parasites. Inflammation. Tooth decay.
Farming humans were sicker than hunter-gatherers. Their skeletons shrank. Their bones weakened.
---
4. MISERY #2: SOCIAL INEQUALITY
Before farming — no property, no kings.
With farming came:
Land ownership
Stored grain = hoarding
Caste, patriarchy, priesthood, taxation
Farming birthed kings and slaves. Landlords and labourers. Brahmins and untouchables.
Now one man could dominate thousands — not with weapons, but with ownership of grain.
---
5. MISERY #3: WOMEN’S OPPRESSION
In foraging societies, women were equal.
They gathered majority of the food.
Decision-making was shared.
Farming tied women to:
Childbirth (due to population boom)
Cooking grains
Working fields
Serving husbands
Female body became a tool. Men became owners. Dowry, purdah, silencing — all came with fields.
---
6. MISERY #4: LOSS OF FOOD DIVERSITY
Hunter-gatherers ate 300+ wild foods.
Farmers eat 3: wheat, rice, maize.
Monoculture wiped out nutrition.
Now the world is fat but malnourished.
---
7. MISERY #5: OBSESSION WITH PROPERTY
A forager didn’t own the forest.
But a farmer builds fences, writes deeds, fights wars over soil.
Property created:
Inheritance
Jealousy
Boundary conflicts
Greed
Banks
Legal systems
Every drop of blood spilt over land began with the farmer.
---
8. MISERY #6: SLAVERY AND SURPLUS
Grains could be stored.
Stored grains meant surplus.
Surplus meant someone had to protect it.
Hence came:
Armies
Scribes
Laws
Guards
Slaves
You needed more humans to grow and protect food — so humans became tools.
---
9. MISERY #7: TIME AND ROUTINE
A forager followed the sun, hunger, and seasons.
A farmer? Clocked in.
Wake up. Plough. Plant. Weed. Water. Harvest. Repeat.
No more wild. No more freedom. Life became a routine of survival.
And that same routine continues into modern jobs — only now we grow money instead of grain.
---
10. MISERY #8: ECOLOGICAL DESTRUCTION
To grow crops, forests were burned.
Soil was exhausted.
Rivers were dammed.
Animals were domesticated, tortured.
Farming killed:
Soil microbes
Pollinators
Indigenous plants
Self-regulating ecosystems
We fed ourselves by starving the earth.
---
11. MISERY #9: OVERPOPULATION
Foragers kept population low — natural cycles, low fertility.
Farming led to:
Food surplus
Settled life
More babies
Inability to move or control population
Now we’re 8 billion — most sick, dependent, and trapped.
---
12. MISERY #10: THE DEATH OF SPIRITUAL LIFE
When food was free, time was plenty.
Humans sang, danced, listened to nature, bonded in small tribes.
Farming turned us into:
Worriers
Hoarders
Tax payers
Record keepers
Career chasers
We traded soul for stomach. Spirit for schedule. Wonder for wheat.
---
THE GREAT IRONY: FARMING DIDN’T MAKE LIFE BETTER.
It only made it longer, harder, busier, and sadder.
---
THEN WHAT NOW?
We can’t undo 10,000 years. But we can:
Grow without greed
Eat diverse local foods
Revive wildness
Question property and patriarchy
Decenter profit
Rewild our homes
Relearn simplicity
---
FINAL LINE:
Farming didn’t give us peace. It only gave us work.
And in chasing food, we forgot how to live.
---
---
THE FARMER WHO CHAINED THE EARTH
once upon a time
we walked
we picked
we ran
we ate when we were hungry
we slept when the stars blinked.
we loved under the trees
and we shat behind them.
we knew no walls
no clocks
no bosses.
we were wild
and unashamed.
---
then one bastard
stabbed the earth
with a stick
and called it progress.
---
he said:
let’s grow grain.
let’s stay in one place.
let’s own land.
and that
was the beginning
of the end.
---
because grain
needs fences.
fences need guards.
guards need kings.
kings need taxes.
taxes need slaves.
and slaves
don’t sing.
---
suddenly,
women were wombs.
children were mouths.
soil was property.
and time was debt.
---
we worked ourselves
into bone.
ploughed until our spines broke.
ate the same fucking grain
until our guts grew fungal.
we domesticated cows —
but became cattle ourselves.
---
we stored.
we hoarded.
we fought over borders.
we married for land.
we killed for crops.
and called it “civilization.”
---
tooth decay.
epidemics.
religion.
caste.
kingdoms.
warfare.
every nightmare you’ve ever known
came from the seed of wheat.
---
no one danced anymore.
no one listened to the river.
they listened
to orders.
---
we forgot berries.
we forgot play.
we forgot the difference
between work and life.
because now they were the same damn thing.
---
then came
the priest,
the banker,
the teacher,
the soldier —
all born
to guard the fields.
---
and man,
he grew tall cities
on broken backs.
he called himself superior
because he could store grain
and sit on his ass
while others bled in the sun.
---
now we have
heart attacks,
midlife crises,
therapists,
pills,
insurance,
and suicide notes
all growing
out of that first field.
---
this is what we did:
we traded the forest
for a fence.
the river
for a tap.
our tribe
for a job.
and our breath
for bills.
---
they called it progress.
but all I see
is a species
that farmed itself
into a cage.
---
and the stick
we stabbed into the earth?
it became the shovel
we used
to bury ourselves.
---
---
HEALING DIALOGUE
Title: “We Gave Our Lives to Farming… Why Do We Still Feel Empty?”
Setting: A misty hillside in Coorg, Karnataka. A well-constructed mud farmhouse surrounded by rows of fruit trees, permaculture beds, cowsheds, and compost pits. The wealthy Nayak family—once urban elites—left the city 15 years ago for natural farming. They've done everything “right,” yet a subtle sorrow lingers. Today, they sit in quiet frustration with Madhukar, a barefoot healer.
---
Characters:
Madhukar – Healer, barefoot, seated under an ancient jackfruit tree
Dinesh Nayak (52) – Former corporate CEO, proud of his “return to soil”
Meghana Nayak (47) – Former interior designer, now runs farmstay
Ira Nayak (22) – Daughter, raised on the farm, confused and restless
Ammachi (75) – Dinesh’s mother, never approved of “playing farmer”
---
[Scene opens as the family sits silently. The cows moo in the distance. A bird chirps. But the mood is heavy.]
---
Dinesh (breaking the silence):
Fifteen years. We gave everything.
No chemicals. No machines. No shortcuts.
And yet, I still feel... hollow. Like I’m just role-playing a farmer.
Meghana:
We eat clean. We host workshops.
But there’s a dryness in the soul that no mulch seems to fix.
Ira (coldly):
You left the city. But brought your control here.
Even the forest can’t breathe with your calendars.
---
Madhukar:
Tell me... when was the last time you touched the soil without planning something?
Dinesh (defensive):
We do it daily. We check the moisture, observe the fungal growth...
Madhukar (gently):
That’s observation. Not surrender.
Have you ever let the land lead, not your training?
---
Meghana (quietly):
We wanted to heal the earth. But we became managers again.
We control the cows’ feeding times.
We calculate the compost ratios.
We don’t live with nature…
We just replaced the boardroom with a bamboo office.
---
Ira:
And I’m expected to carry this lifestyle forward.
But I never chose it.
It was forced — like a cleaner version of the same ambition you tried to escape.
---
Madhukar:
Farming is not food production.
It is a return to humility.
You didn’t choose farming. You chose performance in a field.
You replaced synthetic fertilizers with organic ego.
---
Ammachi (snapping):
I said from the beginning! This is a city man’s game.
A real farmer doesn’t name his mango trees after philosophers.
He prays with his hands, not with seminars.
---
Dinesh (angrily):
I wanted meaning! I wanted to give back!
Madhukar:
And you tried to buy it.
You purchased acres.
You built cottages.
You read Fukuoka.
But you never learned to bow.
---
Meghana:
So what now? Should we give it all up?
Madhukar:
No.
But let it give you up.
Stop planting your ambition in the soil.
Stop expecting the cow to give you identity.
Stop turning farming into yet another achievement.
---
Ira (softly):
I just want to sit with the land.
No market. No teaching. No “model farm.”
Just... listen.
Madhukar:
Then you are the first real farmer in the family.
---
MADHUKAR’S GUIDANCE FOR THE FAMILY:
1. Stop monetizing everything.
Let one zone of your farm produce nothing but silence.
2. Return to unplanned days.
Wake with the sun. Not a to-do list.
3. Let children choose their path.
You left the city for freedom. Don’t recreate a rural prison.
4. Don’t save the earth. Let the earth save you.
You are not the hero. The land is.
5. Let decay teach you.
Compost is not waste. It is surrender.
6. Forget labels — natural, organic, regenerative.
Those are fences.
Nature needs wildness, not words.
7. Give your cows names only if you cry when they die.
If not, treat them like teachers, not pets.
8. Stop recording everything.
Not every butterfly needs a post. Some things are sacred because they vanish.
9. Sit under a tree. Not to write. Not to teach. Just to sit.
That is farming too.
10. Let your land change you. Not just your diet — your mind, your rhythm, your need to be special.
---
Dinesh (eyes glistening):
Maybe we weren’t wrong to farm.
We were just too scared to let go.
Meghana:
I want to stop making it a business.
Just… live.
Ira:
And maybe walk into the forest and not return for a while.
---
Madhukar (smiling):
Only when you stop farming identity
will the farm become a womb.
Not a resume.
---
[Final Scene]
The family disperses. For the first time, Dinesh walks barefoot into the field without a notebook. Meghana closes the workshop calendar. Ira lies under the jackfruit tree, eyes closed. Ammachi finally smiles — not because they became farmers, but because they finally became quiet.
---
FOLLOW-UP SCENE: ONE YEAR LATER
Title: “When the Land Finally Spoke”
Setting: The Nayak family farm, transformed. The fences have softened. Wild creepers are welcome. The workshops have stopped. The land no longer feels curated. It's alive. Madhukar returns for a quiet visit, and the family gathers again—this time, slower, barefoot, and without agenda.
---
Madhukar (smiling as he steps in):
I see your orchard has grown… not in size, but in silence.
Dinesh (peaceful):
We stopped expanding. We started observing.
We let weeds grow. We let trees fruit without pressure.
I no longer introduce myself as a “natural farmer.”
I just live here.
---
Meghana:
The farm was never broken.
We were.
We tried to save the soil, but we were really begging for ourselves to feel alive.
Ira:
Now, I go into the forest alone.
Sometimes I eat wild tubers. Sometimes I come back hungry.
But I feel full either way.
---
Madhukar:
And your social media?
Dinesh (laughing):
I deleted it. No more farm posts.
Turns out, the land doesn’t care for followers.
---
Meghana:
We removed the signage from our gate.
People still come. But we no longer teach.
We just invite them to be.
---
Ammachi:
These two finally learned what my father knew:
You don’t grow food.
You just stop disturbing it.
---
CHANGES AFTER ONE YEAR
No more workshops, no courses, no monetization.
They live. They share food when people visit. That’s it.
Half the land is now wild.
Letting birds, ants, frogs, and fungi have their say.
Children are free.
Ira doesn't till anymore unless she feels called. No pressure to continue a “legacy.”
Cows wander.
They no longer treat them like milk machines. Just companions.
Silence is welcome.
No lectures, no explanations. Only invitation.
No more identity-building.
Farming is not who they are. It’s where they listen.
---
Madhukar (seated under a banyan tree):
So, what did you truly learn from fifteen years of farming?
---
Dinesh (quietly):
That the earth didn’t need saving.
I did.
That food was always abundant.
It was meaning that was scarce.
---
Meghana:
That healing doesn’t come from doing something different.
It comes from being someone different.
---
Ira:
That the forest doesn’t care if I’m useful.
Only that I’m present.
---
Madhukar:
Then you have finally begun farming.
Not plants.
But presence.
---
[Final Scene]
The family eats under the open sky — ragi rotti, boiled sweet potatoes, raw mango chutney. A frog hops past unnoticed. A bird lands on Meghana’s shoulder and flies off. No one claps. No one records.
Just life — unwitnessed, unbranded, and finally… enough.
---
HEALING DIALOGUE
Title: “We Left the Forest and Poisoned the Field”
Setting: A small, worn-out village on the Deccan plateau. The Ramappa family has been farming for generations. A few decades ago, they switched to chemical farming under pressure from government schemes, banks, and dealers. For a while, they saw money. Now, they see only debts, sickness, infertile soil, and confusion. They’ve called Madhukar, the barefoot healer, to visit their crumbling tiled home beside a parched borewell.
---
Characters:
Ramaiah Ramappa (60) – Father, exhausted, bent back, pesticide exposure
Lakshmi Ramappa (54) – Wife, chronic cough, worn hands, worried eyes
Bhaskar (27) – Son, burdened by EMIs, frustrated, angry
Jyoti (25) – Bhaskar’s wife, educated, observing in silence
Appi (80) – Ramaiah’s mother, remembers life before fertilizers
---
[Scene opens under a neem tree. Everyone sits on a woven charpai. A dry wind passes. A single rooster pecks dry earth. Madhukar slowly breaks a piece of jaggery and shares it.]
---
Madhukar:
So tell me… how is your soil?
Ramaiah (coughs):
Dead. Nothing grows without urea. Even weeds need spraying now.
Bhaskar:
Three borewells failed. Fourth one barely gives anything.
We earn, we spend, we collapse. No rest. No pride.
---
Lakshmi:
And our food… it’s not food anymore.
We grow chili, cotton, maize… but buy rice and dal from town.
What kind of farmer is that?
Appi (quietly):
When I was a girl, we plucked drumstick leaves and ate them with ragi.
Now even drumsticks are sprayed to look green.
---
Jyoti:
Everyone told us: chemical means fast yield. Hybrid means more profit.
But no one told us we would be hungry even after a good harvest.
---
Madhukar:
You were sold poison in the name of progress.
Now tell me — do your children play in the field?
Bhaskar (angrily):
How can they? It stinks of chemicals. Their skin burns.
Appi:
Fields were once our temple. Now they feel like graveyards.
---
Madhukar:
What if I told you farming wasn’t meant for markets, but for mouths?
Ramaiah:
Then we’ve betrayed the land.
We stopped eating what we grow.
We started worshipping what we sell.
---
Lakshmi:
We once lived with goats, hens, and mango trees.
Now we live with bags of DAP and poison drums.
---
Madhukar:
Would you return to wild food? To uncultivated greens, native seeds, animals, and slow work?
Bhaskar (after a pause):
It won’t be easy.
We owe the bank.
We don’t have buffaloes or desi seeds anymore.
---
Madhukar:
Then begin with what you do have:
MADHUKAR’S GUIDANCE FOR RETURNING TO EARTH
1. Stop buying vegetables.
Start a wild patch with saag, drumstick, okra, ridge gourd.
2. Let animals return.
A hen, a goat, a bullock. Their presence restores soil and soul.
3. Find forgotten seeds.
Ask the oldest people in your taluk — they are the real seed banks.
4. Unlearn yield. Relearn joy.
If your plate is full, the market doesn’t matter.
5. Clean water is sacred.
No spray, no chemical. Every drop should return with thanks.
6. Stop watching others.
Everyone is sick and in debt. Don’t copy their fall.
7. Let your field grow weeds for one year.
Watch what returns. That’s your true crop.
8. No more hired spraying.
If you won’t touch the chemical with bare hands, don’t let it touch your land.
9. Teach children bird calls, not balance sheets.
A child who knows how to walk barefoot will never be lost.
10. Say sorry to the soil. And start again.
This time, with listening. Not ambition.
---
Bhaskar (softly):
If we grow what we eat… and eat what we grow…
we won’t be rich.
But maybe… we’ll be alive.
Appi (tearing up):
Alive is better than rich.
Jyoti:
And honest food is better than poisoned pride.
---
[Final Scene]
The next morning, the family removes the plastic tarp from one acre. They sow native ragi and plant banana suckers. Bhaskar prepares cow dung slurry. Appi sprinkles water and says a silent prayer. No government, no dealer, no agritech app is involved.
Only hands. And hope.
---
