In the heart of India’s cotton belts, there is a catastrophe that rarely gets the front page. It doesn’t make itself known through catastrophic storms or failing crops. It creeps in slowly, starting with impaired vision, then burning eyes, and finally a cloud that refuses to lift. Fields eventually fade out of sight, and a livelihood fades gently into darkness. An increasing number of farmers are losing their eyesight in Maharashtra’s Yavatmal, Telangana’s Warangal, portions of Vidarbha, Gujarat, and Punjab—not because of a lack of seeds or monsoon rain, but because they live and work in areas where chemicals permeate the air like invisible poison.
India is one of the world’s largest consumers of chemical pesticides, with cotton fields at the epicentre of this reliance. While the public is regularly discussing farm debt, suicides, falling minimum support prices, and the economics of Bt cotton, an important public health disaster is taking place in the backdrop. Doctors in rural hospitals describe a continuous increase in farmers presenting with corneal injury, chronic burning sensations, premature cataract formation, and, in some cases, irreparable optic nerve degradation. Their testimonies point to a frightening link: persistent pesticide exposure is gradually robbing them of their sight.
A 50-year-old cotton farmer in Yavatmal is discovered in the fields at daybreak, spraying rows of cotton with the only protection he has: a tiny towel tied around his lips. Masks are rarely available in village shops, and when they are, they are prohibitively expensive. As the spraying continues, the wind carries a drift of pesticide back, depositing the tiny mist on his eyelashes like invisible dew. A slow burn is felt, but the work is performed, and the day continues as usual. This anecdote is repeated hundreds of times in cotton-growing communities.
Organophosphates, neonicotinoids, and synthetic pyrethroids—chemicals used to kill insects—are entering the eyes, lungs, and bloodstream of the people who grow India’s cotton economy. According to many medical journals, these poisons can inflame the optic nerve, erode the corneal layer, and hasten cataract formation. However, PPE kits are still missing, and government recommendations are rarely shared outside of agricultural WhatsApp groups.
Cotton is infamously pest prone. Each infestation—bollworm, mealybug, whitefly—pushes farmers to spray again. During peak season, sprayers may administer pesticides 20 to 30 times over a few months, if not more. The more bugs develop resistance, the higher the amount and frequency of pesticide application. A vicious cycle develops; pests evolve, pesticides become more potent, exposure increases, and health deteriorates.
Ophthalmology clinics in Punjab’s Bathinda area report seeing cataracts in men as young as 35 years old, a previously uncommon age. According to Telangana doctors, farmers frequently arrive too late for treatment because gradual visual loss is accepted as part of the aging process. The issue is that blindness in this area is not natural, but rather occupational.
Pesticide spraying should be done while wearing masks, gloves, goggles, and full-body protection and keeping a safe distance from inhaling zones. Farmers actually use a towel, or gamcha. The expense of protective gear frequently exceeds the daily profits. Many people assume they are strong enough to tolerate chemicals. Others believe that blindness is a result of fate rather than exposure.
A visually impaired farmer is unable to spray, plough, or oversee pest activity. He relies on family members for fundamental chores, diminishing household revenue and amplifying reliance. In numerous pesticide-intensive regions, visual impairment correlates with indebtedness and agricultural decline, exacerbating despondency. Certain families liquidate land to finance medical treatment. Some remove youngsters from educational institutions to engage in agricultural labour. Some cases descend into depression, and in the most severe instances, into suicide.
Cotton belts currently exhibit some of India’s most significant distress indicators. Incorporating blindness into that equation reveals not merely a medical concern but a gradual socio-economic disintegration.
There is no national registry for pesticide-related blindness. Hospital data rarely classifies eye disease by occupational etiology. When a cotton farmer develops a cataract, it is documented as a medical problem, not as a result of chemical exposure. This invisibility protects no one. It just exacerbates neglect.
Unlike snakebite deaths or pesticide poisoning deaths, eyesight impairment should not cause concern. It develops quietly. A man gradually losing sight cannot generate headline urgency. Blindness does not transfer to television screens. It resides in communities, not newsrooms.
This lack of data is more than just a void; it is an institutional blind spot.
The route ahead is both brutally obvious and dangerously disregarded. Preventing blindness in India’s cotton belts does not require miracles; rather, it requires acknowledgment. A country must accept that the white gold that propels its textile sector exacts a hidden, permanent cost from those who cultivate it. Agriculture should not have a negative impact on vision. Farmers are entitled to more than just subsidies and procurement promises; they also have the fundamental right to work without losing sight.
Recognition is the first step toward progress. A comprehensive registry for pesticide-related eye disease is not a luxury; it is the foundation of responsibility. Without facts, blindness is invisible. It allows for the identification of patterns, the mapping of hotspots, the development of compensation plans, and the enforcement of regulations. Primary health care and local hospitals must be educated to record exposure histories rather than just symptoms. Screening camps for early cataract diagnosis can be held seasonally in high-pesticide areas, particularly during peak spraying months when the risk increases.
At the same time, agriculture must be reimagined. Integrated Pest Management, bio-pesticides, pheromone traps, pest-resistant seed varieties, and climate-smart farming systems are no longer just idealistic options; they are public-health interventions. Goggles and masks should be subsidised in the same way that fertiliser is, and Krishi Vigyan Kendras should be empowered to instruct farmers in safe spraying methods. Cotton sprayers must be treated as industrial workers, with access to safety equipment and occupational health protection, rather than as expendable labour.
The cotton business relies heavily on sight—the capacity to recognise pests, estimate maturity, negotiate prices, and steer a plough through soil. When eyes fail, agriculture collapses before harvests do. The hidden epidemic creeping across India’s pesticide-heavy belts serves as a warning: we cannot achieve agricultural prosperity by darkening the lives of those who feed it.
If the country chooses not to see this now, an entire generation of farmers may one day open their eyes and find nothing to see.
Anusreeta Dutta is a columnist and climate researcher with prior experience as a political researcher and ESG analyst
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth