Which Way Does the Next Generation Walk?

Changing aspirations of rural youth and our relationship with nature in Assam

Bhrigu Kumar Kalita

The Road That Leads Away

Our childhood in the countryside usually starts near the natural environment. It was in the fields that children used to play, in the ponds that the summer afternoons seemed to vanish, and the trees became quiet friends. The birds’ calls, the noise of the cattle coming back in the evening, and the smell of the soil after it had rained-these were not merely elements of the village scenery; they became memories that were incorporated into the process of growing up.

For a great many children, the village is not something they actively consider as an environment; it is just home. Next comes school. Through education, a child gradually gains access to a broader world outside the village. A child who had previously spent time in the fields and ponds starts to picture a different kind of future: maybe a job in the government, a career in the private sector, a profession in a town or a city, or a life lived some distance from home. Our dreams thus grow larger than the limits of the village.

Which Way Does the Next Generation Walk?

To many families in rural areas, education is regarded as a means of achieving a more secure and respected future. As young people like us go on to higher education, take part in competitive exams and seek employment, moving to towns and cities can become part of our journey. The village which has previously been at the heart of our daily lives may then become a place that we only return to on holidays or at family events, rather than the focus of our working lives.

However, there is another change which is not so obvious. When a young person like us leaves the fields, the ponds and the rural landscape behind, does our relationship with nature also change? Do we retain the knowledge of trees, the seasons, farming, animals and the local landscapes? Do we still feel a connection to the land on which our family relies? Or does the combination of distance, education, life in the city, and a new job gradually lead to a different relationship with nature?

Maybe the issue isn’t whether rural young people are moving away from nature, but rather how our relationship with nature is evolving as their conception of the future changes.

A Different Dream

For many years, a young person in a rural household has usually inherited not only a family occupation but also a way of life-this involving work on the land, looking after animals, fishing in the nearby waters, weaving, making products from bamboo, or using the knowledge handed down in the family. However, the aspirations of the coming generation or our generation are now more and more influenced by education, by changing economic opportunities and by the broader world outside the village. Such a change is occurring mainly in rural Assam.

The Directorate of Economics and Statistics states that Assam had 26.81 million people living in rural areas, which is about 86% of the state’s total population, as shown by the 2011 Census. There were already differences between rural and urban educational conditions: rural literacy was 69.34%, as against 88.47% in urban areas.

Education has thus become more than just a method of acquiring knowledge; for a great many rural families it can signify a route to opportunities that go beyond traditional forms of livelihood. This does not mean that rural youth simply dislike agriculture or traditional jobs.

The reasons are usually much more complex. In my previous field study of 63 households in Sarabari Gaon Panchayat, Darrang, agriculture and folk occupations were main features of the older generation, while the younger generation displayed a clear tendency to move into government service, private employment, and business.

In the third generation, 31.42% were in government employment, 15.70% in private employment, and 18.57% in business. The study also revealed that education had become an important factor in this shift in occupation. But what is the reason for this change?

For many young people, traditional jobs might not offer a sufficient or stable income. In that same study, those who had completely changed their occupations listed insufficient livelihood, low returns in relation to the cost and effort involved, a lack of skills, a shortage of helpers, and limited markets as the main reasons. Some young people may be drawn to the security and social mobility that come with being employed on a salary.

The study also identifies education, technological change, market integration, and changing livelihood aspirations as key factors leading to a change of occupation. Therefore, the decision between working in a field and working in an office is seldom a simple one between nature and modernity; it could be a choice between an uncertain income and job security, between physical labour and a different type of work, and between an inherited occupation and personal aspirations.

The real question then is not ‘Why don’t young people want to be in agriculture?’ but ‘What kind of future do we want, and what is it about that future which makes it more attractive to us?’ Before a young person decides to leave the field, we first imagine an alternative path.

What We Inherit Without Realising

Even before environmental science was introduced as a subject in schools and universities, rural communities had their own methods of understanding the natural world. A great deal of this knowledge was not recorded in books; instead, it was acquired through watching, listening, working, and living alongside nature. A farmer was able to predict the weather by observing the sky and the wind.

For instance, if the ants were carrying their eggs, this meant that a flood was going to occur; the croaking of the frogs showed that rain was possible; and spiders spinning shorter and making thicker webs meant that bad weather was approaching. Knowledge of the soil, the crops and the seasons helped to decide when to sow, transplant or harvest. A household would know which trees gave fruit, provided shade, yielded timber or had medicinal properties, while the elders were able to recognise plants that the younger people like us nowadays rarely notice.

For example, the Dheki, a traditional tool used for pounding or crushing, is mainly made from certain specific types of trees like jackfruit or xilikha (Terminalia chebula). Similarly, they use trees like saal that are not eaten by insects to make poles. Ponds and wetlands were not merely water bodies; they were linked to fishing, to the needs of livestock, to domestic requirements and to seasonal activities.

This applied equally to animals and birds. Knowledge of how to manage livestock, local fish, birds and other species was frequently an integral part of everyday life in rural areas. Conventional fishing methods, including the use of hand-made nets or bamboo traps, are generally non-destructive and permit small-scale harvesting without harming aquatic environments.

Bamboo and cane had a place within this body of knowledge since they were used as materials for building houses, making fences, producing baskets, creating tools, and meeting other household requirements. They used handmade colorful and floral-designed cloth bags. Such materials are biodegradable and renewable, ensuring environmental sustainability. These practices were not always referred to as “environmental conservation“; they were merely aspects of knowing how to live in a given landscape. Yet how much of this knowledge is still being passed on?

We can know the names of common trees without knowing the traditional ways in which they were used. It is possible for us to understand that agriculture is dependent on the seasons without being able to recognise the seasonal signs that their grandparents used to watch.

Some people may still carry on with the traditional practices, while others may have slowly lost them as a result of changes in education, occupations, technology and lifestyle. It doesn’t follow that young people have become detached from nature; they might just be acquiring a different type of environmental knowledge-through classrooms, smartphones, scientific information or new professions rather than by spending time in fields and forests.

The question is therefore not merely concerned with knowledge which is disappearing but also with knowledge which is being transformed. The way that today’s young people in rural areas relate to the environment is different from the way it was among those who inherited the knowledge from their grandparents, and this change may give us important insights into the future of rural Assam. It is quite natural to think that once we have left the area we will become cut off from nature, but this connection might not vanish; it could merely take on a different form.

Leaving the Land Doesn’t Mean Leaving Nature

A young person who doesn’t go into farming can instead become a forest officer, a geographer, a GIS specialist, a wildlife researcher, an environmental scientist, a climate specialist, or a worker with an NGO. There are also other ways of getting involved with nature, such as through photography, environmental communication, ecotourism or outdoor recreation. In such cases, nature is no longer necessarily the source of a living-it can instead become the focus of a profession, research, conservation or public engagement. In Assam, there are already established channels through which such relationships can take place.

For instance, the Assam State Biodiversity Board offers biodiversity internships and research-associate programmes with the aim of encouraging young people like us to engage in biodiversity conservation. These internships have been open to graduates and postgraduates from a variety of disciplines, which shows that work in the environmental field is not limited to the traditional biological sciences.

The Assam Forest Department too has professional roles that go beyond ordinary field-based forestry; among its official duties are the recruitment of Forest Rangers and Assistant Conservators of Forests, and the department has also put out advertisements for positions such as GIS Expert, demonstrating that geographical and technological skills can now be incorporated into environmental work. The NGO sector provides yet another option.

For example, Aaranyak carries out work in Assam and in Northeast India in the areas of wildlife research, habitat conservation, environmental education, community livelihoods, water and climate issues, and geospatial technology. WWF-India also has offices and conservation programmes in Assam, carrying out work relating to wildlife, communities, and landscapes.

Several NGOs across India, especially in the North East, run environment and climate-focused projects along with structured internships and training for students and young professionals. The table below summarises key NGOs, their typical environment and climate work, and the internship and training opportunities they offer.

This indicates a different way of considering rural youth. The key question might not be whether we stay farmers, but whether our connection with the environment is kept, changed, or diminished. The earlier relationship could then be put like this:

Nature → livelihood

For us, it may increasingly become:

Nature → profession / research / conservation / education / recreation

Hence, leaving the land does not always mean leaving nature. In some cases, the path that takes one away from the field may result in a completely different way of understanding, studying, and protecting the same landscape.

What Might Be Lost on the Way?

The disappearance of a village occupation does not always result in an obvious loss. The field could still be there, the pond might still have water in it, and the bamboo grove could still be behind the house; but the knowledge connected with these places can grow quieter as each generation passes.

It is unknown which of the plants growing near the house was previously used as medicine; nobody remembers the signs in the sky that the elders observed when deciding upon the time to plant; it is not known which trees were retained since they supplied food, shade, timber or other household advantages; and no one recalls how a certain pond was used, what fish appeared in which season, or which agricultural method proved most suitable under the local conditions.

That is when a change of occupation becomes more than a change of job. If there are fewer young people engaged in farming, fishing, weaving, looking after livestock or working with bamboo and other local materials, then we will have fewer opportunities to acquire the knowledge associated with these activities. While some of this knowledge can be passed on within families, other knowledge relies on actual practice. A skill that is no longer being practised becomes difficult to pass on.

The example of this shift can be seen in my previous study carried out in Sarabari Gaon Panchayat, Darrang. The three-generation survey revealed a clear movement away from agriculture and traditional occupations towards formal employment, private-sector work, and business.

In Generation 1, agriculture remained the dominant occupation, involving 45.71% of the people, while 28.57% were engaged in folk occupations. Government employment accounted for only 10%. By Generation 2, the share of farmers had fallen to 24.29%, while government service had risen to 28.57% and business to 12.85%.

The shift was even more visible in Generation 3: only 2.86% remained in farming and 8.58% in folk occupations, whereas 31.42% were in government service, 18.57% in business and 15.70% in private employment. The people interviewed associated this transformation with inadequate livelihood opportunities, low returns from traditional occupations, limited skills and markets, and wider economic pressures.

The study also indicated that as occupations change across generations, communities may gradually lose not only traditional livelihoods but also the indigenous knowledge, traditional medicine, crafts, and sustainable agricultural practices associated with them.

However, there is a different aspect to this story. A young person who no longer acquires an understanding of the landscape by means of farming might do so through the use of GIS and remote sensing. Another individual might focus on climate change.

Someone could go into wildlife research, environmental education, or conservation. A student could learn something about biodiversity at university rather than from a grandparent. A photographer might start to document landscapes that previous generations had simply lived within.

A worker with an NGO might combine local knowledge with scientific conservation methods. Maybe instead we should not refer to this merely as “traditional knowledge disappearing.” It would perhaps be more accurate to regard it as a change in the way environmental knowledge is acquired, studied and passed on. The old knowledge was often intimate and local. The new knowledge may be scientific, technological and global. The danger is not necessarily that one must replace the other.

The greater possibility lies in bringing them together. A farmer may know the landscape. A scientist may measure it. A GIS professional may map it. A young researcher may connect the two. And perhaps that is the question rural Assam now faces:

Are we losing environmental knowledge—or are we changing the way we know nature?

A New Relationship With Nature

The future of rural youth does not have to be a choice between the village and the city, or between traditional knowledge and modern aspirations. A young person may leave farming without leaving behind everything that the village taught us.

The knowledge of a landscape can travel with us into a classroom, a research project, a GIS map, a conservation programme, a government office, an NGO, or even a camera. What changes is the way that knowledge is used. This makes education particularly important. Education can open pathways to modern employment while also creating an opportunity to understand the environmental changes taking place around rural communities.

Technology can add another layer: satellite imagery can show changes in land use, GIS can map environmental resources, and digital platforms can document local knowledge that might otherwise remain only within a few generations.

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At the same time, traditional knowledge should not be treated simply as something belonging to the past. Knowledge of local crops, plants, water bodies, seasons, animals and landscapes represents a form of experience developed through long interaction with a particular environment. Modern scientific knowledge and this local knowledge do not necessarily have to compete. They can sometimes complement one another.

The question, therefore, is not whether we should return to the occupations of our grandparents. Our aspirations will continue to change, and rural development should leave space for our aspirations. The more important question is whether modern opportunity can grow without completely severing the connection between people and the landscapes that shaped our communities. Perhaps the future relationship can be expressed simply:

Village knowledge + modern education + technology + meaningful employment + environmental awareness.

The village may change. Young people may move. Occupations may transform. But the relationship with nature does not have to end. Perhaps the future is not Village or City. Perhaps it is Village Knowledge and Modern Opportunity.

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