Saturday 29 June 2013

On the Kedarnath floods


 My article in OutlookIndia, click here:
http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?286547

 For the original, here it is:

The smaller voices must be heard. Of the shepherd who looks worryingly at the snow peaks that seem to have an extra cloud cover than usual, of the water bearer who is apprehensive of the stream water being cooler than normal, of the woman carrying firewood and cattle feed home, wondering why the wood is mossy and not just damp like every year.

The Kedarnath tragedy has been explained away by geologists as flash floods, as an avalanche of slush and mud that came hurtling down the Kedarnath Dome. Logically, everybody is more focused on the rescue work, its feasibility and of course, its criticism pinpointed at the State and Central governments. 

Geographically, the mountains are still young and vertically rather than horizontally inclined. Hence, flash floods, cloud bursts during the monsoon are the norm here. The natives of the area are habituated to varying degrees of damage that the monsoon unleashes on them each year. Flash floods had destroyed 20 out of 2200 villages in Almora district in 2010. Should this, however, remain the normal pattern of life in the hills?

Nonchalantly describing life in the mountains for the locals and the army, an officer tells this writer that the monsoons are difficult times, perhaps harsher than the winter. Shepherds cannot take their cattle out to graze due to torrential rains, local viruses thrive and sicken the children, dry firewood and provisions become prized possessions. Winters can be handled with woolens and fires. He speaks of army casualty in 2011, due to a cloud burst, while attempting to summit the Bandarpoonchh peak in the lower Himalayas. He also speaks of the casualties suffered by the army while attempting to build bridges over swollen rivers and strong water currents.



The issue at hand must be how to avoid severe damage in such disasters, rather than focus on an effective cure after human life has been lost in alarming numbers. Climate change is a global phenomenon, but we hardly seems to care about it, beyond aping the West in gentrifying our ghettos, increasing the GDP and becoming increasingly consumerist.

Perhaps we have something to learn from the Inuit tribe of the Arctic region. The Inuit are a group of culturally similar indigenous people inhabiting the Arctic regions of Greenland, Canada, United States and Russia. Their trade, movement and hunting depend majorly on the amount of ice in the Arctic, and visible climate changes have affected their lifestyles in a massive way. The elder generations of the Inuit have been collecting data on climate change, in their own fashion, for centuries. Their knowledge is now incorporated into scientific studies of the region. Subhankar Banerjee attracts our attention to this phenomenon in his book, Arctic Voices: Resistance at the Tipping Point.

There are frequent indications of the weatherman’s limitations in this country. In January 2012, parts of Pathankot in Himachal Pradesh witnessed snowfall for the first time in recorded history. “The met officials,” the Indian Express reported, “could not elaborate the reasons behind the event.” In January last, villages like Kana and Jwalabanj in Almora district of Kumaon witnessed heavy snowfall after decades. And the same area reported intense heat and unheard of temperatures in March this year. 

It is interesting to note that the locals seem to sense climate change far better than people who study the phenomenon. In Kumaon region this year, locals were convinced that things were a little unusual. The signs of climate change here were subtle. Steering down a road at Bhawali in Nainital district, a local cab driver looks down at the Kosiriver and says, “the current is stronger than usual. I’m sure the rains will play havoc but the pilgrims will not stay away even if the roads vanish completely”. Similar stories were heard at Kapkot in Bageshwar district of Uttarakhand, where the Saryu runs its course.

This year the rhododendron flowers blossomed in the beginning of February instead of the usual end of March or early April. There was more snowfall than is normal in Leti area of Bageshwar district of Kumaon, going on till early March. This was followed by intense bouts of harsh sunlight and heat over the next few days. Clouds over the Panchachuli range would usually move in over the peaks around sunset, but this year it would happen close to mid-evening. Cloud inversions are common but not an everyday phenomenon, like they were this year.

It is the ordinary local people who always witness such changes in weather conditions, suffer the damage and set up their own meager rescue operations. Why do we ignore these voices? 



Kedarnath witnesses a footfall of thousands of pilgrims each year. This season and next year too, will presumably witness similar numbers. Some might be mourners seeking blessings for those who lost their lives in this tragedy, while others will challenge themselves to face the harsh conditions of this terrain, in lieu of ‘God’s’ blessings.

Devotees of Lord Shiva have put up pictures on the internet, proudly stating how despite the damage, the Kedarnath temple stands proud. Pictures of Shiva’s statue too, show a smiling god, head held proudly above the slush and its debilitating current. What people fail to realize is that religious fervor alone cannot stand strong against the important messages that nature is sending our way, on an alarmingly regular notice. Isn’t human life far more precious than the stone model of a temple?

It is indeed, pitiful, that Garhwal or Kenderkhand (meaning: of forts) could not fortify itself against the wrath of nature that seems to connote more than we are willing to understand. We can only hope that the voices of the marginalized masses will be given more importance than their categorization into evening market square gossip; and effective measures will be taken to minimize damages from such calamities.

Friday 14 June 2013

The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

Without lending it a plethora of idealist thought or fanciful moralizing, here’s a true story for those who believe in what switchfoot so beautifully presented in the song: “The Shadow Proves The Sunshine”.
Early on in December, several years ago, I boarded a public tempo to make it to school in time. School buses have their history of negligence and errata, and mine too failed to arrive at all. No one being home, I had to fend for myself. Bunking was out of question, exams being on their way.
As I sat impatient, waiting for the tempo to fill up (a hazy hope considering it was early morning and winter had set in with its infamous bone-chilling winds), I looked out of the window and saw many cars whiz by; those richer, luckier, without-a-worry-in-the-world schoolkids being escorted by parents or chauffeurs. Needless to add, I felt very lonely and uncared for. While these students made it on time thanks to doting parents, my father always expected independence from me. Something I learnt a lot from, but at that point of time in a particular situation it just hurt and made me hate him.
So I waited, knowing that once I reach, I would be chided for indiscipline and laziness while those enjoying all the luxuries their parents shower on them would be upheld as wonderful “responsible” kids.
It was then that I noticed a little boy of twelve sitting next to me, trying very hard to peep into my satchel and also gazing at my uniform as if it was a rare treat for the eyes.
As against my neatly polished shoes and trim clothes, this boy was dressed in filthy rags and had no shoes on. I could also notice sharp little cuts on his feet which showed signs of continuous bleeding. A wave of sympathy and utter helplessness hit me. I tried initiating a conversation with him. I asked him what he was carrying in that bigger-than-himself sack. He looked at it, chuckled and told me that he worked in a liquor shop which paid him Rs.30 a month and also allowed him to carry home the empty bottles which he then sold for a rupee each. On further prodding, he said that he lived with his mother and whatever he earned, he handed over to her.
On this particular day, he was traveling on a vehicle because the previous night some drunkard had manhandled him and in the resulting commotion, he had lost his pair of slippers. He rued over the “immense” loss of money it would be to him, in making this trip since he was unable to walk home bare-footed.
I offered him a sandwich which he devoured and looked up at me, smiling a smile that shone to his eyes, a dazzle of happiness on his face and yellowing teeth bursting forth from a grin. As our destinations came closer, all I could do for him then was to pay his fare but, he refused and quite vehemently so, to take any more money from me which I had offered so that he could buy himself shoes.
As I began walking up the school driveway, noticing other schoolgirls chatting, fidgeting, walking around…those smiling faces, it struck me that I had learnt a very important lesson from that boy.
There I was, cribbing about the lack of a car to take me to school, considering the tempo a huge nuisance; and here was someone much younger than me, with the responsibilities of a family, for whom the very idea of using a vehicle was a prized issue.
There I was, bitterly fighting back tears at my parents’ “uncaring attitude”; and here was someone who selflessly earned to provide for a widowed mother.
There I was, wondering what light existed in my life with these shadows all around; and here was someone, who taught me that, the shadow proves the sunshine...