Who decides what you eat?
Is it you, standing in a supermarket or mandi aisle?
Is it the farmer sowing seeds and harvesting crops?
Or is it the corporation that designs the seed itself?
For decades now, hybrid seeds have become a central pillar of Indian agriculture. What began as a productivity tool has rapidly evolved into a system where control over seeds increasingly determines control over food. In 2025, India’s seed industry was valued at $3.82 billion, and it is projected to touch $5 billion by 2030. Yet, the legal frameworks governing this fast-changing sector are the Seeds Act of 1966 and the Seeds (Control) Order of 1983, laws written long before biotechnology, private dominance, and global seed trade reshaped farming. That, however, is the story so far.
The freshly crafted Seed Management Bill, 2025, is expected to be tabled during the 2026 Budget session and replace the current regulatory framework. Its implications are therefore far-reaching. It is not just another agricultural reform. It will shape who controls seeds, how farmers access them, and ultimately, who decides what ends up on our plates in the years to come.
The government has described the Bill as a long-overdue modernization exercise—one that promises better seed quality, curbs spurious products, and improves farmer outcomes. But does it truly fix the gaps of the past? Or does it quietly shift power away from farmers and states, towards central authorities and large corporations?
Why are farmer groups unsure of the Seed Bill’s intentions?
The Ministry of Agriculture and Farmers Welfare has framed the Bill as “farmer-centric.” On paper, the intent is to improve productivity, ensure traceability, and clean up a market plagued by fake and substandard seeds. Yet, farmer groups and agricultural experts are uneasy about it.
Their concern is not modernization itself, but the direction it takes. Many argue that the Bill prioritizes “ease of doing business” over agrarian sovereignty, centralizes authority at the cost of federal balance, and weakens safeguards that farmers currently rely on.
One of the first things the Bill does is define who a farmer is. It recognises individuals who cultivate land directly or under supervision, and affirms their right to grow, sow, re-sow, save, exchange, share, or sell farm-saved seeds of registered varieties—so long as they are not sold under a brand name.
At first glance, this appears progressive. But the omission is telling, for the Bill does not explicitly recognise collective institutions such as Farmer-Producer Organisations (FPOs), women-led seed collectives, or community seed banks. Critics argue that by sticking to a narrow, individual-centric definition, the Bill risks treating these community institutions as commercial entities, subjecting them to the same compliance burden as multinational seed companies.
Since community seed systems play a vital role in conserving indigenous varieties and supporting small farmers, excluding them from protection could weaken the very alternatives that prevent farmers from becoming fully dependent on corporate seed systems.
Why does the scope of Digital traceability in the Seed Bill feel incomplete?
One of the more globally aligned features of the Bill is its emphasis on digital traceability. Through the SATHI portal, every seed container must carry a QR code detailing certification, expected performance, and traceability data.
The intention is to improve accountability and consumer confidence. However, as with many digital reforms in India, implementation remains a concern. Small seed keepers, rural entrepreneurs, and community groups may lack the digital infrastructure or skills required to comply.
Without targeted support, in the form of training, connectivity, and resources, this system risks becoming yet another filter that favours large corporations while marginalising grassroots actors who are essential to preserving seed diversity.
Will Farmers benefit from the Seed Management Bill?
Another major gap lies between the Bill’s stated commitment to farmer protection and its actual provisions. Despite the steady growth of contract seed production, farmers continue to bear the risk of rejected produce and delayed payments. The Bill, however, does not mandate fair contract terms, floor prices, or timely payments, leaving farmers exposed to corporate bargaining power.
Even more concerning is the absence of a time-bound compensation mechanism for seed failure. While companies may face penalties for malpractice, these fines accrue to the government, not to affected farmers. Farmers must still approach consumer courts to seek compensation, which is an expensive, slow, and often inaccessible process for small and marginal cultivators.
Together, these gaps raise a fundamental question for policymakers. If the Seed Management Bill is meant to be farmer-centric, why does it offer so little protection when farmers bear the greatest risk of seed failure, rejected produce, and delayed payments?
The deeper structural concerns in the Bill, around centralisation, corporate power, and the future of indigenous seeds, only complicate this picture further. Those questions shape the second part of this series.
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