October 15, 2025

I still remember walking past the tall areca palms near my grandfather’s plantation in Belthangady. The nuts hung in dense clusters, waiting to be harvested. People always said, “This is good money.” For generations across Dakshina Kannada and Udupi — from Puttur to Bantwal, from Dharmasthala to Karkala — arecanut has been more than just a crop. It has been a lifeline, a cultural symbol, and the backbone of countless families. But today, those same palms have become a source of worry. Farmers are fighting shrinking profits, rising costs, and rotting harvests, with almost no support.

One of the biggest nightmares is disease. Fruit rot disease, locally called Kole Roga, has hit plantations hard. Farmers in Puttur and Bantwal have seen nearly half their yield destroyed, as bunches blacken and fall off before harvest. Late rains followed by sudden downpours create perfect conditions for the disease to spread. Some plantations report losses of up to 60 percent. Fungicides help, but the disease spreads faster than they can spray. Changing weather patterns only make things worse. Areca palms are sensitive, and the brutal cycle of droughts followed by heavy rains leaves farmers struggling to keep their trees alive.

Even when they save some crop, selling it is another battle. Arecanut prices swing wildly. One year, rates are decent; the next, farmers barely cover costs. Traders exploit this uncertainty. Many mix good quality nuts with inferior ones, hiding the poor stock and paying farmers far less than the true value of their harvest. Some traders refuse to buy entire lots if they fail arbitrary grading rules. Farmers are often left with no choice but to sell at a loss, trapped in a system rigged against them. After spending heavily on fertilizers, pesticides, and labor, many farmers end the season with almost no profit.

The cost of farming keeps rising. Pesticides and fertilizers are expensive. Even basic materials like sand for irrigation work have skyrocketed — in Mangalore, sand jumped from ?1,800 to ?4,600 per load in months. Labor costs are climbing as young people leave for cities. Older farmers are forced to pay more for outside help in harvesting, spraying, and transporting crops. All this eats into already thin profits.

I remember my grandfather vividly. Last year, his harvest was good, and he earned a fair profit. This year, fruit rot destroyed nearly 40 percent of his nuts. He spent double on fungicides and hired extra labor to harvest before the rains. When he sold his crop, traders rejected most of it for low quality and offered rock-bottom prices. After adding up all his costs, he realized the season had brought him almost nothing. With a heavy heart, he said he might reduce the number of palms he plants next year. For a man whose family has grown arecanut for decades, that’s a devastating decision.

What frustrates farmers most is being ignored. While governments celebrate exports and development, the reality on the ground is invisible. Arecanut is not just another crop; it is central to the lives of thousands of families. If farming becomes impossible, the social and economic backbone of Dakshina Kannada and Udupi will crack.

Farmers are not asking for charity, only fairness. They need preventive measures against disease, quick access to fungicides, and disease-resistant seedlings before problems spread. They want better irrigation for both droughts and heavy rains. They hope for minimum price guarantees and fair market rates, so middlemen cannot exploit them. Most importantly, they want their children to see farming as a future worth pursuing, not a trap of endless losses. These are simple, achievable steps that could protect an entire generation.

Arecanut has long been called the “golden nut.” In the twin districts, it has paid for schools, weddings, and houses. It has kept markets alive and held families together. But if disease, rising costs, and exploitation continue, that golden nut may soon feel like a burden too heavy to carry. Growing up around these palms, I believe our community cannot afford to lose them. The problems are serious, but not impossible. The real question is whether those in power will act in time — or wait until the palms stand abandoned, and the farmers who cared for them are forced to walk away.