[100 Emerging Women Leaders] How Bhavna Choudhury is weaving together nature, indigenous knowledge, and resilience

Bhavna Choudhury spent the first years of her life in Nagarbera, a small village in Assam, where she grew up immersed in the rhythms of the land, its traditions and people.

Her upbringing was a delicate blend of her mother’s indigenous roots and her father’s Hindu background. As a woman from the Tai Ahom community - an ethnic group native to Assam and Arunachal Pradesh - her mother introduced her to indigenous values that revolved around ancestral worship, nature reverence, and oral histories. 

“We celebrate a tradition called Me-Dam-Me-Phi, where our community members come together to honour our ancestors. It’s not ritualistic; it’s a deep acknowledgement of where we come from and the wisdom we have inherited,” Choudhury tells HerStory.

Her childhood was rich with memories of fireflies illuminating dusky evenings, dragonflies flitting across agricultural fields, and migratory birds from Siberia flocking into Assam’s winters. She recalls encountering a wild boar digging up taro in their yard, a sight that puzzled her two-year-old self, but would later symbolise her land’s deep interdependence on its  biodiversity. 

These early interactions with nature planted the seeds for her lifelong commitment to environmental justice through indigenous knowledge systems.

Despite attending an English-medium school and later pursuing engineering, she retained the connection to her roots. Her mother’s role as a school principal and her efforts to compile Northeast Indian histories underscored the importance of preserving stories often omitted from the mainstream discourse. “I speak French better than Assamese, but the values—growing food, weaving, and preserving what we have—are deeply ingrained in me and will stay with me for life.

Preserving indigenous culture

Choudhury left Assam for higher education, earning her undergraduate degree in engineering from Georgia Tech and later pursuing her master’s in France. Her professional journey led her to the United Nations, where she worked as a consultant, focusing on technology policy for the Asia-Pacific region. 

While her work brought her into global conversations on climate change, Choudhury couldn’t help but notice the sidelining of indigenous voices. “Indigenous peoples are a major group at the UN, but they’re often tokenised. Women’s and indigenous issues are reserved for the last day—when most decision-makers have already left,” she explains.

In 2021, driven by the need to preserve indigenous knowledge and challenge systemic erasure, Bhavna founded The Indegenous, a research-driven organisation operating like a think tank. 

“We started because our stories and traditions weren’t even on the internet. This generation is losing its connection to our roots,” she explains. 

What began as a small initiative by Choudhury and her mother has now grown into a network of 59 contributors covering 158 tribes across Northeast India. The organisation focuses on land rights, food systems, and language preservation—three interconnected pillars vital to indigenous identity.

Choudhury describes The Indegenous as a bridge between traditional knowledge and modern technology. The team leverages big data, drones, and satellite imagery to map forest cover, biodiversity loss, and other environmental changes. 

“We operate with facts. When I speak at global forums, I don’t just tell stories—I present data. It’s the language that institutions understand,” she says. This pragmatic approach allows The Indegenous to advocate effectively while amplifying indigenous perspectives in global climate conversations.

Despite its successes, the organisation faces significant challenges. Choudhury candidly shares that The Indegenous has not yet raised formal funding. The work continues through contributions from passionate individuals who believe in its vision. "People relate to what we’re doing and offer their time and skills. We’ve achieved so much without money, but we’re at a point where we need sustainable funding to grow.”

Beyond research, The Indegenous fosters deep relationships with communities, often connecting through eco-tourism. Choudhury collaborates with initiatives like ChaloHoppo, which curates immersive experiences in Northeast India. These interactions not only enable data collection but also celebrate indigenous lifestyles, creating opportunities for dialogue and mutual learning.

Linkages of land and culture

For Choudhury, land is at the heart of indigenous struggles. She emphasises that policy decisions affecting land rights are often made without understanding local realities. “The more you connect to the global market economy, the more you lose community. Forests and food systems are not just about survival; they are about identity, resilience, and belonging,” she adds.

Choudhury openly critiques the Assam government for weak environmental planning and reclassification of land to fuel infrastructure growth. 

Her frustrations extend to India’s climate policies. For instance, the Indian government’s Green Credit programme is fragile, she says. “It offers carbon credits for reforesting land, but many indigenous lands are already forested. At the local level, indigenous communities naturally live in harmony with their environment and don’t need external policies. This is why movements like the farmers’ protests happen—it’s part of our culture, not a separate agenda,” she says.

Choudhury also critiques how forests are being leased, mountains are destroyed for roads, and traditional food systems are disappearing. 

At the state and national level, policies must address sustainability while balancing growth, she says, and adds that India’s infrastructure boom shouldn’t come at the cost of destroying food systems that are already sustainable. 

As a woman in the climate space, Choudhury acknowledges the pivotal role women play in supporting one another. “Every opportunity I’ve received was because of another woman—whether a peer or an experienced leader,” she says.

The mainstream narrative of climate change—with Western ideas of ‘climate activism’ or ‘organic food’—often doesn't resonate with ground realities in India, says Choudhury.

She points out that even devastating floods, like Assam’s in 2022, were met with resilience that is deeply ingrained in the community. She shares how, amidst massive flooding, people came together, fishing in submerged areas and turning survival into a celebration. 

“Floods are a part of life here, and people stand in solidarity and union even in disaster,” says Choudhury. “Resilience isn’t a buzzword but a reality for us.”