The first time I saw photos of Bangladesh’s floating gardens, they looked almost magical—vegetable beds drifting on water, anchored with ropes, green against the flood. In South Korea, I read about Ansan’s Reed Marsh Park, where once-degraded land was turned into a thriving wetland visited by birds and children alike.
At first these felt like distant stories. But the more I worked on Delhi’s wetland maps, the more I realized: these are not far-fetched. They’re blueprints waiting to be adapted.
Floating Gardens: Food in Floods
In flood-prone parts of Bangladesh, farmers weave water hyacinth and straw into rafts, layer them with compost, and plant vegetables on top. When the rivers rise, their gardens rise with them. What looks like improvisation is actually a centuries-old climate adaptation, recognized globally as an ingenious form of resilience.
Now picture Delhi. Each monsoon, Yamuna floodplains submerge—fields, huts, and roads under water. What if, instead of devastation, these floods carried floating gardens? Rafts growing spinach, gourds, or coriander, tended by families displaced each season.
NGOs working along the Yamuna could pilot these with local communities. The raw material—water hyacinth—is already invasive here. Converting it into rafts would not only produce food but also help manage an ecological nuisance. Delhi’s floating gardens wouldn’t be romantic gestures; they’d be survival tools.
Community Wetland Parks: Commons Restored
Half a continent away, South Korea’s Ansan Reed Marsh Park shows another model. Once farmland, now a restored wetland, it treats wastewater, hosts migratory birds, and welcomes thousands of citizens each year. It works because it isn’t fenced off as a conservation zone—it is lived in, visited, and cared for by the community.
Delhi’s wetlands, in contrast, are often invisible or inaccessible. Bhalswa is hidden behind a landfill, Sanjay Lake fenced with ticket counters, smaller ponds neglected entirely.
But what if Delhi turned its neglected ponds into community wetlands? Spaces where reed beds clean wastewater, while walking paths, bird hides, and open classrooms bring people closer to water. Imagine Najafgarh not as a drain, but as a marshland park with both ecological and public value.
Schools could adopt sections of wetlands as outdoor classrooms. RWAs could partner with the Wetland Authority to manage neighborhood ponds. By giving people a stake, wetlands would stop being “no man’s land” and become collective commons again.
Integrating These Ideas for Delhi
Floating gardens and marsh parks may sound like opposites—one is farming on water, the other is conservation in the city. But both share a principle: wetlands work best when they serve people and nature together.
For Delhi, the path could be:
Pilot floating gardens along Yamuna floodplains with migrant or farming families, supported by skill-development grants.
Design community wetland parks in peri-urban edges like Najafgarh or Bhalswa, where ecological restoration and public access can coexist.
Blend culture with ecology—Delhi has traditions of kitchen gardens and religious ponds. Reviving them with new forms could root innovation in familiarity.
A City That Remembers Water
When I look at Delhi’s GIS maps from 2000 to 2024, the disappearing blues often feel like a story of loss. But perhaps the story isn’t over. Perhaps, with floating gardens and living parks, we can add new colors—greens that rise with floods, reeds that filter wastewater, wetlands that children grow up inside, not outside of.
Delhi doesn’t just need to restore wetlands. It needs to remember them—by using them, living with them, and reimagining them for today’s crises.
And maybe, in a few years, when monsoon floods return, they will carry not just water and debris, but rafts of vegetables and laughter from a city that finally chose to adapt.
— Sneha 🌱