On World Environment Day (June 5), as policymakers, citizens, and students revisit the pledges of sustainability, a persistent and disconcerting question looms large: Can sustainable living be truly inclusive in a country like India, where affordability is often a luxury? The textbook definition of sustainability as meeting the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet theirs rings hollow when examined through the lens of economic disparity. In India, where more than 800 million people depend on food subsidies and the informal sector forms the backbone of employment, sustainable choices often come at a premium. Organic groceries, electric vehicles, solar panels, and green homes remain aspirational for many, and accessible to only a few. 

Yet in the face of mounting climate disasters, degrading air and water quality, and disappearing biodiversity, from Delhi’s smog to Assam’s annual floods, the question is not whether we can afford to be sustainable, but whether we can afford not to be. 

The Affordability Paradox 

A walk through any upscale supermarket in Delhi or Bengaluru offers a glimpse of this paradox: one litre of organic cow milk priced at ₹120, bamboo toothbrushes labelled at ₹80 each, and cotton tote bags costing thrice the price of plastic counterparts. These are not merely products; they are symbols of a lifestyle inaccessible to most, including many in the Northeast. 

In Assam, which is home to some of India’s most ecologically conscious communities and farming practices, organic tea growers in Dibrugarh or eco-weavers in Sualkuchi often receive 

little recognition or remuneration for their sustainable efforts. The irony? Their goods are sold at premium prices in urban boutiques under “green” labels, far removed from the very communities that made them. 

To a young tea plantation worker in Golaghat or a tribal farmer in Karbi Anglong, bamboo straws or solar panels are luxuries, despite their daily lives being inherently frugal and low-carbon.  Sustainable living here is not a choice; it is survival. Yet, it lacks both policy support and public visibility. 

Hidden Sustainability: The Poor as Unrecognised Environmentalists 

Ironically, some of the most sustainable practices are already embedded in India’s rural and low-income urban communities as not out of ideology, but out of necessity. The ragpicker who salvages and recycles plastic waste, the homemaker who reuses glass jars, the farmer who composts kitchen waste, or the village that still drinks from a shared well, these are unsung champions of ecological frugality. 

In Majuli, the world’s largest river island, flood-resilient stilt houses (chang ghars) made of bamboo are the norm. In rural Assam, elders still store grains in traditional bamboo silos and drink water from community wells. The Mishing community practices kitchen gardening and handloom weaving using natural dyes, without carbon footprints or glossy campaigns. 

Yet, because their sustainability is born out of heritage and compulsion rather than corporate innovation, it is rarely acknowledged in national environmental discourse. Instead, state and central policies often favour tech-heavy, urban-centric startups over these vernacular models of resilience.

Bridging the Sustainability Divide 

If sustainable living is to become a people’s movement rather than a market trend, India must reimagine its policy and economic frameworks to include the margins, and the Northeast must be central to this transformation. 

Firstly, the matter of subsidising the Sustainable. Just as India subsidises LPG and food grains, it must extend fiscal support to eco-friendly alternatives. In Assam, this could mean lowering GST on Assam’s native Muga and Eri silk, funding rural solar cooperatives in Barak Valley, and supporting Tezpur’s biodegradable packaging units using invasive water hyacinth from local wetlands. Second, Decentralising the Green Economy. Top-down climate policy must make way for grassroots solutions. Assam’s many self-help groups and tribal cooperatives already practice organic farming, community forestry, and indigenous water management. These must be formally recognised, funded, and scaled. The wetland conservation of Deepor Beel, for instance, can be strengthened by empowering surrounding communities with eco-tourism livelihoods rather than displacing them in the name of conservation. 

Third, Recast Sustainability as Aspirational and Indian. However, the aesthetics of sustainability must reflect India’s cultural mosaic. In Assam, sustainability wears a gamosa, not imported linen. It cooks on earthen stoves, drinks from a koloh (metal pot), and thrives in community living. India must amplify these vernacular practices as part of its national climate story. 

To hope for change is not to deny the challenge, but to confront it with intent and ingenuity.  Assam and the Northeast are already planting seeds. For instance, in Guwahati, eco-entrepreneurs make biodegradable plates from areca leaves and water hyacinth, while students in Diphu, Kokrajhar, and Majuli promote plastic-free living, composting, and traditional sustainable practices. 

A Green Future, Not a Gated One 

Sustainability must not remain a gated community idea dreamt up in urban seminars. It must be a common village, where Assam’s handloom weavers, Delhi’s college students, and Nagaland’s organic farmers all have a stake. This movement cannot be powered by guilt or token gestures. It must be grounded in dignity, sufficiency, and shared responsibility. The road to sustainability in India will not be paved in air-conditioned labs—it will be built in the rice fields of Dhemaji, the handloom sheds of Sualkuchi, the bamboo groves of Bongaigaon, and the sacred forests of Meghalaya. 

Conclusion: Rethinking the Question 

So, when sustainable living is hardly affordable, how can we hope for change? By reframing the question itself: Can we afford not to change, when regions like Assam are already paying the price with floods, erosion, displacement, and biodiversity loss? The affordability argument must be turned on its head. Because green products are costly, inaction costs more as already burdening the poor in Assam, Bihar, and India’s climate-vulnerable regions. 

To bridge this gap, India must make sustainability not just affordable, but familiar. Not just aspirational, but ancestral. And in doing so, we may discover that the greenest solutions lie not ahead of us, but behind, in the lived wisdom of communities like those in Assam, quietly holding the answers all along.

***

Jeherul Bhuyan is an undergraduate student at Swahid Sowarani College, Bamunbori, Gauhati University, Assam. He is currently researching resistance literature and identity assertion movements.