Prosperity and despair of Delhi-NCR farmers

In my village, Bijwasan in New Delhi, the fields were once rich with generations of stories woven into each harvest. My uncle, like so many other farmers, would rise before dawn, guiding his oxen through the soil as he ploughed the land, preparing it for the next cycle. The village community thrived together, sustained by the land. The fields were more than just a livelihood; they represented tradition, family ties and a legacy of resilience. Sons — or at least one son from each family — followed in their fathers’ footsteps, drawn to this way of life as part of an unbroken chain that guaranteed sustenance.

With each harvest came grains to feed the family, fodder for livestock, milk and ghee from cows and buffaloes that grazed nearby, and some produce to sell to cover other requirements. Life was tough yet fulfilling; there was little need for the outside world, and comfort lay in the familiarity of it all. Over the past few decades, rapid urbanisation and skyrocketing land prices in Delhi, Haryana and the surrounding National Capital Region (NCR) have enticed many farmers to sell their land for quick financial gains. Others lost their land through government acquisition for urbanisation, infrastructure and industrial purposes.

Over the past two decades, Delhi’s built-up area has expanded, reducing forest and agricultural land, especially in the southern and north-western regions. The Economic Survey of Delhi 2021-22 reveals a shift from rural to urban, with urban areas growing by 20.4 per cent between 2001 and 2011. This growth has led to a decline in the number of villages, from 300 in 1961 to 112 in 2011, while the census towns increased from three in 1971 to 29 in 1991.

What began as a seemingly lucrative opportunity has yielded mixed outcomes for farmers who traded heritage for wealth. While some gained new wealth, the deeper, often unspoken, cost is the loss of identity, tradition and the social fabric that once defined their lives.

For many farmers in Haryana and on the outskirts of Delhi, selling land to real estate developers or getting their land acquired by the government felt like a jackpot. As a resident of Jharsa village described, it was “like winning the lottery”. “One day, I was growing wheat, and the next day, I was offered enough money to buy a big house and a car.” This financial windfall allowed farmers to buy luxury items and city homes, boosting their social status. It also offered an escape from farming hardships and a taste of urban comforts they’d only glimpsed before.

  The initial thrill of selling land faded for many farmers, revealing serious consequences. A resident of Badshahpur village reflects, “With farming, you have something solid — land that gives back every season.” The land, once a symbol of stability, was now replaced by commercial developments or sprawling farmhouses, leaving families without the safety net that had sustained them. Hasty spending on luxury items and lavish weddings drained the wealth, leading some to take low-paying jobs like security guards. “I never thought I’d be guarding my own land, watching others live where we used to farm,” says Sohan Lal, a former (small) farmer from Bijwasan. “It feels like a painful twist of fate.” A villager from Wazirabad adds, “Jis mitti ne hamesha pet bhara tha, usi ko bech ke kab tak paison ka sahara chalega?” (The land that always fed us, how long can you rely on money alone once it’s sold?)

Social scientist Prem Chowdhry aptly observes, “A large area of Gurugram, for instance, is built upon property acquired from farmers. The money given to the owners was spent on ostentatious items like cars, rather than being utilised in any productive way. Once the money was exhausted, the owners were left in a pitiable situation. This is a hard, irrefutable truth.”

Beyond the financial challenges, the emotional impact of selling ancestral land has been profound. In many families, the land was more than an asset; it was a legacy, a part of their identity passed down through generations. “It’s not just land we lost,” says a farmer whose family sold their land in Dabri village near Delhi’s borders. “It’s who we were. Our land was our history, our connection to our ancestors, and it’s gone now.”

The sense of displacement runs deep. As the land changed hands and was transformed into high-rises and commercial spaces, these farmers lost the sense of community that village life offered. Children who grew up in cities no longer felt connected to their roots, and for many elderly farmers, this disconnection is a source of sadness and regret. “I sometimes wonder if my grandkids will ever know what it felt like to have land, to grow something with your hands,” muses an elderly farmer.

For some, however, selling land brought new opportunities. Younger generations in particular have embraced the change, using the money to pursue education, start businesses, buy more land elsewhere and explore career paths outside of agriculture. “Selling the land gave me the chance to buy and rent out commercial shops,” says Raju Verma, a farmer’s son now owning property in Gurugram. “It gave me a future beyond farming,” says another farmer’s son. He chose to retain a part of his land, converting it into a wedding venue for a steady income. These decisions marked a shift from traditional farming to urban ventures. Looking back, many farmers acknowledge that they didn’t fully understand the implications of selling their land. With hindsight, they say they would have managed their finances differently. “We should have thought long-term,” admits Sohan Lal, who has exhausted most of his earnings. “A little planning would have helped. Maybe we could’ve kept some land or invested in a way that brought us steady income.” In some cases, entire villages have learned from the experiences of others. Farmers have started to seek financial counselling and investment advice. “We saw our neighbours lose everything after the money ran out,” says Meera Devi, from Kirari village, who decided to keep a portion of the family’s land after seeing the pitfalls others faced. “Now, people are more cautious. They’re trying to find a balance.”

For the younger generation, the experiences of their elders have sparked reflection and conversation. “Selling land is a choice, not just an end,” says Balram, a college student from a farming family in Jharsa village, Haryana. “The problem is that people didn’t know what to do with their wealth. If you have a plan, maybe it’s not a bad decision.”

Balram’s view reflects what Prof Ramesh Chand from NITI Aayog says, “The future of farmers who sell or have their land acquired depends largely on two factors: how wisely they invest the proceeds and the government’s land acquisition policies. For instance, Haryana’s policy is reportedly favourable, offering both lumpsum payments and ongoing instalments for 33 years. Some farmers reinvest by purchasing agricultural land elsewhere, often gaining more acres but at the cost of uprooting from their communities. Others earn rental income or pursue new trades, while some spend on luxuries, leading to financial ruin. Although economic outcomes vary, the social impacts — loss of community, disconnection from kinship, and lifestyle changes by moving from living in an open area and farmhouses and enjoying in farm fields to totally different life — are often deeply disruptive and painful.”

 The shift of farmers in Delhi and Haryana from landowners to urban residents is a complex tale of both gains and losses. For many, selling land offered luxury, improved social status and brought new opportunities that farming couldn’t provide. However, others faced financial instability, loss of cultural identity, and regret. This experience highlights the importance of financial education, careful planning and thoughtful decisions. As Sohan Lal shares, “I’d save some land, invest wisely, and think about the future. But all we can do now is learn and make sure our children don’t make the same mistakes.”

The journey teaches that true prosperity requires more than wealth — it requires wisdom, foresight and a respect for the legacy of the land.