Nature, not sterility, is our real shield!

Raju Korti
From what I gather, there’s something oddly reassuring about the fact that nearly 800 million viruses land on every square meter of this planet’s atmosphere every single day -- and yet, here we are. Breathing, living, thriving. It is not bravado but biology. Our bodies have, over millennia, evolved into magnificent fortresses, constantly engaged in microscopic battles, parrying invisible blows, dodging pathogens, and updating immune intelligence like a well-oiled operating system.

But lately, I find myself asking: are we dumbing down this natural brilliance with our obsession for cleanliness?

(Pic representational)

Think about it. We now flinch at the idea of drinking water that isn’t RO-purified within an inch of its life. Our fruits are scrubbed raw under treated water, our homes sprayed relentlessly with antibacterial mists, and our hands reek of sanitiser even when all we have touched is a doorknob. Our immune systems, once sharp with the regular exercise of exposure to nature -- to mud, rivers, dust-laden winds -- are being coddled into complacency.

One microbiologist once told me that the immune system works like a smartphone -- it needs regular updates. The older ways of life -- walking barefoot on soil, bathing in rivers, or inhaling unsanitised air -- were, in effect, data transfers. The microbes from the earth and water served as teachers, trainers, and sometimes even sparring partners for our bodies.

Today’s ultra-sterile living standards are akin to switching off mobile data. The updates stop. The immune system grows lazy. It forgets how to fight, and worse, it forgets what it is fighting.

This isn’t just romanticising the past. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Europe and the United States bore disproportionate brunt. One striking reason: microbial amnesia. Populations living in pristine, sanitised environments had immune systems that hadn’t been “trained” in years. So, when a new virus arrived, their defences scrambled to even recognise it.

Compare that to rural India, where daily interactions with natural ecosystems continue. A remarkable insight from research into the Ganga river suggests it functions like a living microbial network. When humans bathe in it, they unknowingly upload and download microbial information. In return, the river, with its intelligent bacteriophages, selectively destroys harmful microbes and educates the human immune system. Imagine a spiritual ritual doubling up as immunological training.

It might sound counterintuitive in an age where cleanliness is equated with health. But perhaps we have taken it too far. Not all dirt is danger. Not all microbes are villains. In our race to isolate ourselves from nature under the guise of protection, we have forgotten that resilience isn’t built in laboratories alone.

The real path forward is not to wrap ourselves in sterilised bubbles. It’s to reconnect -- with soil, with rivers, with microbes. With that which once made us strong. Let’s not outsource all immunity to vaccines and chemical sanitisers. The real antidote to future pandemics might just lie beneath our feet, in our rivers, and in the air we have grown afraid to breathe.