From Cyclones To Conservation: How Odisha’s Changing Coastline Is Redefining Tourism

Odisha’s 574-kilometre coastline is a paradox. It is at once a natural draw for travellers and a frontline of climate change. Along the eastern shore, the Bay of Bengal is in constant motion—swelling with storms, altering beaches, and pushing saltwater further inland. The India Meteorological Department notes that May and November bring the highest risk of devastating storms. Cyclones like Fani in 2019 and Yaas in 2021 carved deep scars across the state, leaving behind the topography where temples, farms, and fishing harbours all stand exposed to the sea’s advance.

When The Shoreline Disappears

“Each passing year, coastal communities are becoming increasingly vulnerable to climate crises,” Satyam Vyas, founder and CEO of Climate Asia, tells Outlook Traveller. “With more intense cyclones and accelerating sea-level rise, the impact is not just environmental—it is socio-economic. Almost half of Odisha’s coast has undergone erosion, and sea level along the state has risen by 9.5 centimetres. People’s lands, farms, and houses are being swallowed, and fishing infrastructure destroyed.”

The loss forces families into hard choices. Many migrate inland to villages where fishing is no longer possible, while younger generations head to cities in search of work. This is not unique to Odisha. As Vyas points out, “The same phenomenon is mirrored across India—West Bengal, Gujarat, Tamil Nadu—where coastal communities lose not only their physical assets but also cultural and social cohesion.”

“Over the past decade, the marine fishing communities along Odisha’s Ganjam coast have been hit hard by climate change,” says Bheema Rao, secretary of VIEWS, a grassroots organisation working in Odisha for the empowerment of marginalised communities. “Cyclones have become more frequent and destructive, leaving behind damaged boats, broken nets, destroyed homes, and shattered hopes. These disasters have severely disrupted the traditional fishing economy, affecting thousands who depend on the sea.”

The old system, where one fisherman owned boats and nets and provided work for a crew along with women handling drying and sales, once kept villages afloat. Now, repeated losses have turned many self-reliant fishers into wage labourers. With little support to rebuild, families migrate to distant cities, where men take up insecure work in fisheries, construction, or other informal jobs.

Asked what pushes families to migrate, Rao points to a mix of climate and neglect. “Frequent cyclones wipe out homes and boats, and fish availability has declined. Of 27 fishing villages in Ganjam, only three have functional landing centres. Without FRP boats, deep-sea nets, or cold storage, sustainable fishing isn’t possible. And with long bans for Olive Ridley turtle conservation, fishing activity is restricted to just a few months each year. With no alternatives and little state support, families are forced to leave.”

Migration often happens in groups. Entire villages board overcrowded “migrant trains” bound for cities. “For us, these trains are not journeys of opportunity but symbols of desperation,” Rao says. “They represent separation from our coastal identity, and the painful shift from being skilled fishers to unskilled labourers.”

Fishing remains the community’s lifeline, but small experiments in farming have begun. In villages like Axing and Dayanidhi Pentho, two or three families with tiny plots—just one or two acres—have turned to organic cultivation. Still, as Rao admits, “the vast majority of marine fishing families own no land. They depend entirely on the sea, with no fallback option when fishing is stopped by disasters or bans.”

Rao recalls the case of Krish Murthy from Venkatraipur. After losing his boat and nets in two back-to-back cyclones, he migrated to Kerala. Exhausted after long days at sea, he once fell asleep near a landing centre and drowned—a death that shook the village and revealed the hidden costs of forced migration. Another fisherman, G Gopal Rao, also left for Kerala, taking up net repair work. Though the dignity of being an employer was gone, he sent back enough money to rebuild part of his home, giving others in the village a small sense of hope.

While no official tally exists for families shifting to alternate livelihoods, studies by VIEWS offer sobering figures. “About 65 per cent of individuals between 15 and 55 from fishing families in Ganjam have migrated to other states,” Rao says. “Of these, 63 per cent continue in fishery-related jobs like processing or cold storage, while 37 per cent end up in construction or other informal labour.”

Attempts at farming remain modest. Families with land grow paddy and seasonal vegetables—brinjal, tomatoes, okra, leafy greens—entirely dependent on rainfall. “These are not saline-resistant,” Rao explains. “Saltwater intrusion from cyclones or tidal surges ruins the soil, leaving it unfit for crops.”

Efforts so far remain scattered. Rao believes broader access to saline-tolerant varieties, as well as kitchen gardens, could ease food insecurity during fishing bans and disaster recovery. But until then, the sea continues to dictate the fate of Ganjam’s fishing communities—whether they stay, leave, or struggle in between.

Farming, Fishing, And Tourism Intertwined

With close to half of Odisha’s shoreline lost to erosion and sea levels steadily climbing, for the people who live here, these shifts are not statistics but daily realities. Farmers watch their fields turn brackish, fishers rebuild boats lost to storms, and families migrate when homes are swallowed by the tide. Yet, many are choosing to stay and adapt—turning farms into living classrooms, aquaculture ponds into visitor experiences, and even turtle-nesting beaches into opportunities for conservation tourism. Their stories reveal how survival is being remodeled into something travellers can now witness, share, and support.

Satyam Vyas reflected, “For coastal towns, the question has become one of survival: how can people make a living in a place that is at risk from climate change? Community-led farming and aquaculture mixed with tourism experiences is one possible answer.” These programmes are no longer just ways for people to make money; they are also becoming cultural experiences for travellers who want to learn about survival.

Odisha’s brackish-water shrimp farming footprint now covers more than 15,000 hectares, informs Vyas. “Community groups are beginning to pair farm visits with mangrove restoration walks, offering travellers an honest view of both the gains and ecological trade-offs firsthand, often rounded off with seafood tastings and local storytelling. Visitors increasingly join ‘catch-and-cook’ sessions to learn how traditional preservation methods help families recover quickly after storms,” he notes. 

On land, farming innovations are taking centre stage. Scientists at the ICAR–National Rice Research Institute in Cuttack have developed salt- and flood-tolerant rice varieties such as Luna Suvarna and CR Dhan 215. Farmers safeguarding these seeds in community seed banks now open their doors to travellers, who witness the planting and harvesting of climate-smart crops and join festivals that celebrate their yield.

The idea is not untested. At Mangalajodi on Chilika Lake, former bird poachers have reinvented themselves as eco-guides. “Over 400 boats now operate bird-watching and dolphin tours run entirely by local cooperatives,” says Vyas. Here, money earned through tourism stays in the village and is linked directly to sustainable farming and fishing. Odisha’s Community-Managed Nature Tourism (CMNT) system, which directs 80 per cent of revenue to households, stands out as a fair and replicable model.

Careful planning ensures that visitors contribute positively rather than disrupt fragile ecosystems. The safest tourism season runs from January to March, when the risk of cyclones is lowest. Homestays built to withstand storms, farm tours, and cooking classes all channel traveller interest into preparedness efforts.

“Ganjam district, often called Odisha’s ‘rice bowl’, is on the front lines of climate change,” says Satyam Vyas. “Changing monsoons, rising seas, and shifting shorelines are altering both crops and fishing grounds. The National Centre for Coastal Research has found that more than 25 per cent of Odisha’s coastline eroded between 1990 and 2018, and Ganjam was among the most vulnerable areas.”

These pressures have forced local communities to rethink how they earn a living, turning challenges into new opportunities for agritourism and eco-tourism. One of the most striking examples can be seen at the Rushikulya river mouth, one of the world’s three major nesting grounds for Olive Ridley turtles. Every winter, thousands of turtles gather to lay their eggs, and today more than 300 villagers are employed as beach patrollers, eco-guides, and homestay hosts—roles supported by the Rushikulya Sea Turtle Protection Committee and Operation Olivia by the Coast Guard. Fishing may have once been the only livelihood, but conservation tourism now brings income directly to households.

“Farmers here are responding to climate pressures by adopting climate-smart rice,” Vyas explains. “Techniques like the System of Rice Intensification (SRI) and cultivars such as Luna Suvarna and CR Dhan 215 give higher yields even when fields are exposed to saltwater or flooding. In 2025, OUAT and the World Food Programme launched a pilot in 29 Ganjam communities, installing self-contained weather stations and robust seed systems. These fields have become ‘living classrooms’ where visitors can learn about adaptive farming and even take part in harvest festivals.”

Handicrafts and food traditions further enrich the visitor experience. Palm leaf carving, appliqué work, and rice-based sweets like pitha are promoted as seasonal activities, providing supplementary income for farming families during lean months.

Hope For The Future

“There has been a noticeable shift in how young people from coastal fishing communities in Ganjam engage with traditional livelihoods,” says Bheema Rao. “Most educated youth, particularly those who have studied up to the 10th standard or beyond, show little interest in continuing in the fishing sector. They see it as physically demanding, economically unstable, and highly vulnerable to climate risks.”

The change is also reinforced at home. Many parents, weary from years of rebuilding after cyclones and facing constant financial strain, now discourage their children from taking up fishing. Once regarded as a proud family profession, the trade is increasingly seen as a last resort.

When asked about his long-term hopes, Rao is clear. “We want Ganjam’s fisherfolk to live with dignity, security, and stability, supported by robust systems that value their traditional knowledge and contributions. Climate-resilient communities need modern infrastructure—landing centres, FRP boats, cold storage, early warning systems—and strong linkages to health, education, and livelihoods.”

Yet, reality tells a different story. “Fishing communities here remain largely neglected by government programmes,” he explains. “Under schemes like Rashtriya Krishi Vikas Yojana (RKVY), corruption has been a major issue. Loans and subsidies meant for fisherfolk have often been misused by fishery officers, vendors, and bank officials. This has eroded trust and made access to support harder for genuine beneficiaries.”

The lack of political weight deepens the problem. Fisherfolk are dispersed across many villages and panchayats, rarely forming a consolidated voting bloc. As Rao puts it, “Their collective voice remains weak, even though they play such a significant role in the coastal economy and food systems.”

For Satyam Vyas, Ganjam is a preview of what lies ahead. “Ganjam exemplifies what the coastal hubs across South Asia might witness if we don’t address this crisis collectively and holistically. In fact, it is already happening. Families losing assets to cyclones, port development, and distress migration are patterns seen in many coastal belts.”

Natural farming, too, has become a pillar of adaptation. As Vyas explains, “It works in regions prone to climate change because it is in sync with nature. With no fertilisers or pesticides, costs are lower and debts reduced. The soil remains healthier and can withstand heatwaves and erratic rainfall. And since it depends on seed banks, cooperatives, and local food networks, it strengthens the very ecosystems that sustain communities during floods and droughts.”

The missing link, Vyas says, is policy support. “Governments must tackle the systemic bias against grassroots organisations. Traditional knowledge and lived experience are dismissed as non-technical, when they are rooted in practice. We need to redefine expertise, fund organisations not just projects, bring grassroots leaders into design, and earmark at least 30–40 per cent of climate funds for community-led action. Climate finance becomes truly catalytic only when it flows through the hands of those it aims to protect—empowering frontline communities to be not just beneficiaries, but bold architects of their future.”

There are lessons beyond Odisha too. “In Jharkhand, the Badlao Foundation is building a climate-resilient ecosystem where farmers adopt adaptive practices, youth engage in environmental dialogues, and women lead on resource management,” Vyas shares. “We’ve seen a shift—people now openly discuss erratic rainfall, soil degradation, and rising temperatures at community forums, not just within farming families.”

This ripple effect extends further. Organisations visit these villages to learn, peer exchanges spread good practices, and partner groups like SAMVAD have mobilised youth task forces in 400 villages to prevent deforestation. The result, Vyas says, is visible impact across 750 villages—evidence that when communities own the process, adaptation becomes not a burden but a shared movement.

FAQs

1. What are the best months to visit Odisha’s coastline for tourism?
   The safest season to explore Odisha’s coast is from January to March, when the risk of cyclones is lowest and tourism activities like farm visits and turtle watching are ideal.

2. How are Ganjam fishing communities adapting to climate change?
   Fisherfolk in Ganjam are diversifying into eco-tourism, aquaculture, and climate-smart farming to sustain livelihoods amid rising sea levels and frequent cyclones.

3. Can tourists participate in conservation activities in Odisha?
   Yes, visitors can join olive ridley turtle beach patrols, mangrove restoration walks, and community-led aquaculture programs, directly supporting local livelihoods and conservation.

4. What sustainable tourism experiences are available in Odisha’s coastal villages?
   Tourists can experience homestays, farm tours, catch-and-cook sessions, local handicraft workshops, and guided eco-tours that showcase traditional fishing and farming practices.

5. How is climate change impacting traditional fishing in Odisha?
   Rising seas, saltwater intrusion, and cyclones have destroyed boats, nets, and landing centers, forcing many fishing families to migrate or adapt through alternative livelihoods and tourism initiatives.