Our seed swaps take place on a Sunday morning in a public park, usually between eight and eleven, and they look far less organised than the phrase suggests. Two folding tables, a stack of newspaper envelopes, a marker pen, and about sixty people who have brought something.
The rule
Bring five seeds, or a cutting, or a sapling in a used yoghurt pot. Take away something you have never grown. That is the only rule, and nobody counts.
What turns up
Heirloom tomato from a grandmother in Aundh, papaya seedlings by the dozen in September, curry leaf suckers, a giloy cutting the length of your arm, ridge gourd seed saved for four generations, and marigold — always far too much marigold, which is how every new gardener leaves with something guaranteed to flower.
Why it works better than a shop
Seed that has grown in your city for a few generations is already suited to your heat, your monsoon and your water. It arrives with advice attached, from someone who grew it two kilometres away. And a plant given to you by a neighbour gets looked after — we have never found a better predictor of whether a garden survives its first summer.
Come to the next one
Dates are on the Community page. Bring a bag, bring a child, and bring the seed you have been meaning to sow for two years.