I was born in 1967, into a generation that witnessed Indian horticulture transform from an inherited tradition into an applied science. When I chose to pursue a PhD in Horticulture, it was not because fruits looked colourful on market stalls, but because orchards revealed themselves to me as living systems—trees, soils, microbes, insects, water, labour, climate, and rural families bound together in a single ecological and economic web. During my years as a Principal Scientist at ICAR, I came to understand a hard truth that no spreadsheet can capture: a fruit crop is never just a crop. It is a long-term covenant between biology and livelihood. When a farmer plants an apple orchard, he is not investing in this year’s harvest; he is committing the next twenty or thirty years of his family’s future.

That is why I grow uneasy when I see the present rush toward exotic, fashionable fruits—persimmons, blueberries, avocados—promoted as if agriculture were a shopping mall where yesterday’s stock must be replaced by today’s novelty. I have seen too many farmers ruined by crops that look dazzling in PowerPoint presentations but collapse when real-world markets, transport systems, or climate variability intervene. Apples, by contrast, taught us discipline. We carefully chose rootstocks, as one chooses the foundation of a house. We trained trees so that light, airflow, and longevity were balanced. We built cold stores not merely as private assets but as community infrastructure. Above all, apples gave us something priceless: time. With a shelf life of up to 120 days under controlled-atmosphere storage, apples allow farmers to wait until the market is ready. That single trait has saved more livelihoods than any subsidy ever could.

The science behind this is remarkable. Apples have a naturally low respiration rate, thick epidermal skin, and a high pectin content that stabilises cell walls. Their internal balance of sugars and organic acids—especially malic acid—slows microbial growth and tissue breakdown. When stored in atmospheres with reduced oxygen and increased carbon dioxide, apple metabolism slows almost to a biological pause. The fruit does not “die”; it rests. This is why apples harvested in September in Kashmir or Himachal can still be crisp in January or February in Chennai or Dubai. No other widely grown fruit matches this combination of durability and eating quality.

Persimmons, though beautiful and sweet, are biologically very different. They are climacteric fruits, meaning their respiration and ethylene production spike dramatically as they ripen. Once maturity is reached, their tissues soften rapidly, cell walls weaken, and sugars flood the flesh. Many cultivars exceed 18–20 per cent sugar, which gives them their honeyed flavour but also makes them fragile. Without immediate, sophisticated cold-chain handling, persimmons can become unmarketable within days. A delayed truck, a power cut at a cold store, or a sudden market glut can turn an entire harvest into waste. In countries like Japan and Korea, persimmons succeed because they are grown alongside advanced post-harvest infrastructure and targeted niche markets. In India’s hill regions, where farmers may be hours away from refrigerated transport, this is not innovation—it is exposure to risk.

There is also a nutritional dimension that deserves attention. Apples release sugars slowly because their fibre and organic acids moderate digestion and absorption. This makes them suitable for daily consumption across age groups, including people with metabolic disorders. Persimmons, by contrast, behave more like a dessert fruit. Their high simple-sugar load creates rapid glucose spikes, limiting their suitability as a staple food in a country already facing a diabetes epidemic. This is one reason persimmons, despite their attractiveness, remain largely confined to urban, boutique markets in India. Apples, with their sugar–acid harmony, have become the most democratic of fruits, eaten by schoolchildren, farmers, patients, and athletes alike.

Now, as Director of NAARM, I try to instil this systems-level understanding in the young officers and scientists we train. We speak of Green Leadership, not as a slogan but as a way of seeing agriculture as a bundle of livelihoods and environmental stewardship. A truly sustainable crop must feed people, employ families, protect soil and water, store carbon in wood and roots, support pollinators, and withstand climate stress. Apples, despite the pressures they face today, still meet this test better than most fashionable alternatives. Their trees anchor fragile hill slopes, their blossoms sustain bees, and their long marketing season keeps rural economies alive for months rather than days.

Climate change has undoubtedly made apple cultivation more difficult. Chill hours are declining, pest and disease pressures are rising, and many of our old rootstocks are failing under new temperature and moisture regimes. But these challenges are not a verdict against apples; they are a call for more science. Europe and China are already breeding low-chill varieties, developing climate-resilient rootstocks, and redesigning orchard architectures for warmer, more variable climates. India must do the same. We need systematic rootstock improvement, modern high-density planting systems, improved canopy management, biological pest control, and renewed investment in cold storage and packhouse infrastructure. To abandon apples because they need repair would be like abandoning a house because the roof leaks.

Persimmons, in this context, have a role—but a limited one. They can diversify orchards, add income streams, and cater to niche markets. What they cannot do is replace the foundational role apples play in India’s mountain economies. A crop with a two- or three-day marketing window cannot support millions of small farmers who need stability, not speculation.

From where I stand today, having walked through orchards, laboratories, and classrooms for decades, I remain convinced that the future of Indian horticulture will not be decided by what is new, but by what is wise. Agriculture does not reward novelty; it rewards biological fit, logistical realism, and social alignment. Apples may look ordinary, but they have quietly carried generations of rural families through uncertainty. That endurance—rooted in science, infrastructure, and ecological balance—is the truest form of innovation we possess. In a world chasing novelty, it is the apple—quietly enduring, scientifically sound, and farmer-faithful—that still holds the future of Indian horticulture.

- Dr Gopal Lal, Prof Arun Tiwari