Desi Makka & The Lost Corn Traditions of India
A few months ago, we were in Udaipur for The Kindness Meal’s educational program, Food Culture Playdate, an initiative that sparks curiosity and pride in children about their own food heritage. During one of the sessions, a student shared how his mother often recalled making a sweet dish, Makke ke Rasgulle, with her grandmother. The recipe, passed down orally and never written, used a specific variety of heirloom corn native to the Mewar region of Rajasthan. She doesn’t remember what variety of corn it was, or if it is still available. It survives only as a fading fragment of memory. That story sparked a curiosity to trace the journey of this foreign grain that arrived in India, took root in our culture, became desi, and is now powering our economy as golden fuel, stripped of its flavour, culture, and roots.
Maize, corn, or makka as we call it in India, is the world’s second-largest crop, with over 1.3 billion tonnes produced annually, according to the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO). Alongside wheat and rice, it ranks among the top three cereals consumed globally.
But in India, the story unfolds differently. A crop so widely grown and globally consumed is slowly vanishing from our country’s food culture.
Maize is undeniably native to America, specifically, Mexico. It arrived in India through global maritime trade routes during the 15th and 16th centuries, as part of the Columbian Exchange. In India, it is considered a heirloom crop, not originally native to the land, but embraced over time and woven into our agricultural cycles.
Today, maize is extensively cultivated across the country, yet it rarely finds a place in our everyday meals, except in tribal regions, during seasonal harvests, or in the traditional diets of certain communities. The vast majority of it is diverted for non-food uses: as animal feed, industrial starch, alcohol, processed foods, and even bioplastics.
India is home to over 5,000 indigenous varieties of desi makka, not just yellow and white, but also shades of red, orange, cherry, purple, and even black. From Andhra’s red Rang Jonna, one of the earliest varieties offered to the Gods,to Karnataka’s multicoloured Malai Jola, maize in India has long been entwined with ritual, taste, and tradition.
Maize in Mewar
In the heart of Rajasthan’s Mewar region, spanning Udaipur, Chittorgarh, Rajsamand, Banswara, and Bhilwara, maize is a memory keeper, a source of sustenance, and a cultural thread woven into everyday life. Traditional varieties like Pili Godi, Gangdri, Malan, and Potha are cultivated for their different uses: Rotis made from coarse maize flour, Daliya and Papad from grits, Pakoras and traditional sweets like Jhajhariya.
These varieties thrive in dryland conditions and are often sown as mixed crops alongside black gram, pigeon pea, dryland paddy, groundnut, sesame, and seasonal vegetables.
Among Mewar’s tribal communities, maize is used in its entirety: Corn on the cob is roasted slowly over fire. Seeds are sun-dried, then coarsely ground. The resulting grit, called Paukia, is simmered into a hearty porridge. Even the corn silk is dried and steeped into a light herbal tea believed to help dissolve kidney stones.
Maize finds its way into many everyday as well as festive Rajasthani recipes:
Makke ki Raab: a nourishing winter drink, traditionally made with bajra or wheat, here uniquely prepared with maize flour
Ghugri: usually made with wheat and chickpeas in other parts of the state, it takes a maize-based form in Mewar
Jhajhariya: a seasonal dessert made with fresh Hara Chana, green gram, in other parts of the state, gets a local twist with heirloom corn and milk during monsoon and winter
Green Revolution 2.0 & The Slow Loss of Desi Maize
While the first Green Revolution in India focused on achieving food security through wheat and rice, a quieter, industrial shift has been unfolding in maize cultivation over the last two decades, what many are calling Green Revolution 2.0.
The introduction of a waxy maize hybrid, Pusa AQWH-4, developed by the Indian Agricultural Research Institute (IARI) has tripled the maize production from 11.5 million tonnes to 35+ million tonnes. The yield improved from 1.8 tonnes/hectare to 3.3 tonnes/hectare. But only 20% of maize is used for direct human consumption.
Over 80% of maize cultivation in India is now done with hybrid seeds developed by private companies and research institutions. These hybrids offer higher yields and better suitability for mechanised and industrial processes, but often require high chemical input, intensive irrigation, and the seeds cannot be reused by farmers due to their one-time productivity cycle.
Unlike traditional varieties prized for flavour and resilience, this new hybrid has been bred for its high amylopectin starch content, a soft starch ideal for ethanol production. The grains contain 93.9% amylopectin (compared to 70% in normal maize) and offer a higher starch recovery rate, making it highly efficient for ethanol distilleries. Its appeal lies not in taste or tradition, but in how many litres of ethanol it can produce per tonne of grain.
In the growing push toward profit-driven, non-food uses, India’s rich maize heritage is quietly fading. We are losing more than 5,000 traditional landraces — vibrant varieties in hues of yellow, red, orange, purple, and black, each rooted in specific soils, seasons, and cultural traditions. Ironically, while maize production is on the rise, concerns around food security are deepening. These high-yield hybrid varieties, after all, are industrial crops, rarely consumed as food. Even more worrying is the shrinking production of millets and other traditional staple crops that are increasingly displaced by subsidised maize. As industrial hybrids dominate the fields, flavour, nutrition, biodiversity, and cultural memory are being steadily pushed to the margins.
And yet, amidst this tide of change, there are stories that offer hope.
Rohit Jain of Banyan Roots, founder of Udaipur-based organic farming initiative, once shared a story that stayed with me: “In our village,” he said, “most farmers still grow maize for daily use. I once asked Manji Kaka, a tribal farmer, “Why do you grow local maize when hybrid corn seeds are distributed free of cost by the government?” He smiled and said, “The flavour of local maize is missing in this hybrid. Sure, it grows in bulk, but it needs more fertiliser and water and still lacks the natural sweetness. Our maize has firm kernels. It is easier to digest. It feels like food.”
What if, like Manji Kaka, we began to reflect on the quiet disappearance of heirloom and native foods from our lives, and started asking for them? From our sabjiwala, our kirana store, our local haats. If enough of us create that demand, the supply will follow. As consumers, we hold more power than we realise. But for that power to matter, we must choose to use it, mindfully, consistently, and with care.
