On hobbled knee across the Nandakini

In the final episode of her Bedni Bugyal travelogue, Jennifer Nandi crosses a bridge and a river into another consciousness, one that holds the tranquility of the Himalaya and perturbation over its future in delicate balance

The snow-clad flanks of the hills reflected in Bedni Kund was a vision that sustained us on that trying and redeeming journey

The day breaks warm with birdsong. Always and every time, new and irresistible distractions wake us early. It is a good thing we are birders since the rooms are saturated with dust and stale odours. So, we escape the fusty accommodation to strain our ears at the muted lisps of birds fussing in the underbrush near the sun-baked mud hut of our host. With permission we approach, and watch her deft use of primitive tools to prepare our meal for the day.


The locals gather around and we learn their hazardous ways. They complain of diminishing reserves of fuel wood for cooking and heating homes, depleted soils, and overgrazed pastures. This surely suggests worsening conditions for life in the mountains. It brings notice to the linkage between alpine deforestation and lowland floods. The degraded forests hold less soil, catch less runoff and stabilize fewer slopes. Rapid weathering renders the soil fragile. Nature at odds with its environment can’t thrive; and when the depredation is ruthless, no seed can survive in such uncongenial ground.

Amid the balmy verdant forests are vast monocultures of blue pine

Water is a fragile commodity – the scarcity of drinking water in the villages is growing. In 2007 there was a high rate of run-off because of the variability of precipitation. The monsoon-like downpours we experienced in early May that year caused higher sediment loads in the rivers which must have surged in floods onto the Ganges plain – washing our future into the sea. The fragility of the biota is compounded by bedrock shifts. The Himalaya are dramatic testimony to the relentless power of drifting continents. In this context, is the Himalaya described as a high-energy environment. 


Yet, the basic life-support systems – soil, water, and biota, the limiting factors in the mountain ecosystems – have failed to restrict this village community of Kanol in their dreams. Half a dozen of its young men have joined the armed forces. However, scarcity and degradation forces them to live frugally. We wander out alongside the terraced hillsides. A little path leads toward the forest. Spring flowers that feed the spirit clutch at the hillsides – wild gerberas, forget-me-nots, geraniums, and daisies like the different colours of the sunlight. Nature surely blunts even the worst excesses of man. It seems our path is strewn with flowers. But our hearts are heavy with the burden of knowledge that we inevitably soil our most precious resource. These sanctuaries of forest and reason on which civilization depends are ultimately made inefficient through degradation.

Water, clear and clean, appears abundant in the Himalaya but we saw enough to learn that its future is uncertain

It is approaching late afternoon. Devidutt is nowhere to be seen. He has consumed a powerful soporific to keep him insensate for the next three hours. We eat without him. His casual camp procedures have overwhelmed us. We neither look in horror as he wipes the skillet with a dirty rag before cooking; nor at his complete disregard for clean plates and cutlery. 

Without our capricious guide Devidutt, seen here making tea in the hollow of an oak to keep the winds from snuffing the fire, our journey would have been wanting for character or anecdote

In failing light we gather for quiet reflection, meditation and thanksgiving. It is our last night together as a trekking team. We rejoiced in the simple thought that we'd had both a challenging and an enjoyable time. We were also safe.


The next day arrives too soon. There is much traffic on the way down. The history of human settlement in the Himalaya is marked by regular mobility for purposes of trade, resources, work, pilgrimage, or social exchanges. Travel has been an ongoing feature of these mountains. The intricate network of walking trails, resting places, and the cultural traditions of inn-keeping and porters, testify to that. 

Wild geraniums poke out of the understorey

Early in 1991 when I had climbed to Kuari Pass, the public bus dropped us by the roadside at Nandaprayag. We then walked to Ghat and upwards to Kuari. Now the newly built roads have opened what had been inaccessible terrain to vehicular traffic and to new economic markets all over the range. Such efforts both materially and symbolically convey to the remote villages the opportunities and risks of the wider world.


The stony, steep descent to the River Nandakini has all but crippled us. Sunita and I lag behind the men. At last, with the river in sight, I walk to sit on the bridge. Sunita finds her way closer to the river. Clearly, she is in no mood to talk. I give her space. 


Soon, we are joined by three German trekkers with their guide. The guide comes up to importune me with questions. After I had explained that we were birders, he asks what ‘equipment’ would one need to engage in bird-watching. 


“Just your eyes,” I say lightly. 
“No, no, one must have binoculars too.” 
“Ok,” I say, “And a field guide.” 
“What else,” he asks. 
“A basic creative principle,” I say facetiously. 
“Where can I buy that?” 
Such simple-mindedness. 
“One has to learn to observe – that’s the key. Birders must notice everything in its full, detailed richness.” 
“Where can I find such people?” he asks. 
“On a hillside, just watching,” I reply. 


He dismisses me with a disbelieving look on his face. What a fortunate breed we are with an endless succession of surprises in life, by just engaging in the challenge of identifying.
It is now my turn to probe with questions. I walk up to this alpine leprechaun to ask why his legs were green. In the torrential rain of yesterday, the colour of his pants ran! 


I turn toward Sunita to share the joke. She has finished smoking and is now inspecting her nails. She needs more time. The joke will have to wait. Now I wait for some signal of her readiness. She upturns her water bottle to her parched lips. That’s my cue, some physical sign of preparedness.

The Nandakini, one of the Ganga's little-known tributaries, is one of the most beautiful of Himalayan rivers though our passage across it, over a quivery single-log bridge, was fraught with apprehension

Devidutt has been haranguing me to hurry up. He beams when we follow him. He is very encouraging. Our trek is nearly at its end. Sitel is in sight. Though it has begun to rain once more, we shelter in a shed while the men negotiate for a taxi. The women pile in with the driver and a couple of his friends. We have no clue what’s going on in the back. Fifteen men with all our luggage and theirs, sacks of village wealth, all pack into the back of the ‘tempo’. We didn’t hear a word of complaint from our fellow-trekkers, not even from the eternal comedian, Bijoy. We shall all miss this superb mimic. And I will always remember Sahastra, whose appreciation of visual delights was not just an indulgence, but rather an ennobling of ordinary need.

Leaving the Himalaya brings on the pangs. What traveler can forget the dark, silent shape of a Plumbeous Water Redstart as it flirts its fiery tail against the stone-grey foam of a rushing river?

While we wait to board the train at Hardwar, pilgrims laden with Ganga-jal jostle for a place to sit. I recollect reading somewhere that we must be “steady in what we do, not blown like feathers at the wind’s discretion, nor think that every water cleanses you.” I shall remember opening my pores to bathe in Nature. I shall remember the flirting tail of a Plumbeous Water Redstart, the Ultramarine Flycatchers confabulating on the quantity of gossamer needed for the nest, the shrill green of the parakeets – their colour as loud as their calls. Design in nature is a concatenation of accidents – chance genetic changes but so culled by natural selection that the result is not just effective but beautiful as well as to seem a miracle of purpose. 


Thoreau once wrote, “In wildness is the preservation of the world.” A century later, Wendell Berry proposed this necessary corollary: “In human culture is the preservation of wildness.”

By Jennifer Nandi


Photographs: Sahastrarashmi and Bijoy


Odyssey to Bedni Bugyal, a travelogue in ten parts, is now concluded. Follow these links to read previous episodes:
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Wordless Wednesday - Sitting Duck

Photograph: Sandeep Somasekharan
All rights reserved
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On World Environment Day, out with Eucalyptus

A new directive of the Karnataka forest department boosts our hopes to end the scourge of eucalyptus monoculture. Will it also address our water crisis?

An informative signpost in Dandeli speaks fondly of the virtues of the aggressively introduced eucalyptus

As with Indian cities coping with the many-tentacled monster of unplanned urbanisation, Bangalore faces a humongous water crisis. While that is no closely guarded state secret, it is a dismaying paradox for a city that was once abundant with standing freshwater reserves despite not being close to a river. With myopic and foolhardy urbanisation, we have squandered our gifts. 

In 1960, Bangalore had 280 lakes; today there are 17. Of these, most are contaminated by untreated sewage and are unfit for use as sources of potable water. Over time, Bangaloreans have encroached upon the city's lakes to reclaim land for construction. Some of the city's major residential areas, stadia and transport terminuses stand on reclaimed wetlands. During a malarial outbreak a few decades ago, authorities blamed these marshy tracts for supporting breeding grounds of mosquitoes. Soaking up the stagnant water, the authorities decreed, would address the problem. 

In came Eucalyptus, a tree native to Australia that has been traditionally used to drain swamps, most notably by Jewish settlers in Israel in the previous century. First introduced in India in the 1790s by Tipu Sultan in Nandi Hills near Bangalore, Eucalyptus globulus was subsequently planted on a vast commercial scale in the Nilgiris in 1843 to meet demand for firewood and pulpwood. In fact, eucalyptus has been in the Nilgiris for so long that some people argue that the hills are so named for the bluish hue imparted to them by stands of Blue Gum viewed through the mist. In truth, the hills take their name from the indigenous Kurinji, which carpets the meadows of the sholas when it blooms every twelve years.

Hybrid varieties of exotic eucalyptus have been reared in nurseries and planted across the country, where these fast-growing trees have gradually replacing native mixed indigenous forest. The drive gathered steam in the early 1980s with administrations advocating “social forestry” to generate a replenishable supply of fuel and timber for rural communities. 

Eucalyptus has a lot going for it as a commercial plantation tree. It grows quickly, producing more wood every year than many native species for a comparable volume of water intake. Eucalyptus cultivation offers livelihood opportunities for planters, who sell the wood harvested to brick-making kilns, where it is used as firewood. Eucalyptus oil is also used in aromatherapy and medicine. 

Though studies attempting to prove the role of eucalyptus in lowering the water table have yielded mixed and often conflicting results, opinions stand enthusiastically divided on the role that the tree plays in depleting the table as test results show wide local variation. In April, however, Karnataka's water minister blamed eucalyptus plantations for depleting groundwater levels in the basins of the Arkavathi and Kumudvathi rivers, which originate in Nandi Hills. That was sort of like pointing the finger at Tipu Sultan, while it is the forest department's unmitigated enthusiasm for social forestry that really calls for containment. 

Under the aegis of social forestry, standing tracts of natural indigenous forest have often been replaced with commercial eucalyptus monocultures (as also varieties of introduced Australian acacia and casuarina). A paper authored by a conservator of forests in 1996 defending the forest department's stand on promoting eucalyptus extols the tree's many virtues including “drought resistance, fast growth and fire hardiness” among others. 

The chief bone of contention for environmentalists, apart from the tree's many debated negative properties, is its virulent exoticity. Over this issue, environmentalists and planters have clashed frequently. Apart from flower nectar, the tree offers nothing to animals or birds. However, planting has continued unmitigated. It is possible to observe, deep inside wildlife sanctuaries in Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, luxurious stands of eucalyptus flourishing in the native forest. 

In March, C H Vijayashankar, Minister for Forests in the Karnataka cabinet, announced that eucalyptus monocultures on forest land would be stopped. The ministry, he said, recognized that eucalyptus has contributed to serious environmental degradation, especially of arable soil, and depletion of the water table. 

Only time will tell if the move will address, at least in part, some of Bangalore's water woes. Meanwhile, nature enthusiasts will unanimously give eucalyptus the finger.

A farewell salute?

Tree or no tree, who gives a fig?

A fig tree in fruit is a forest in itself: every creature in the vicinity is attracted to the sprawling canopy to eat the ripe red fruits, or the fruit-eaters. Sadly, these lovely fig trees are disappearing with our appetite for wider roads

Ripening fruit on a fig tree

Fig trees (Ficus sp) are valuable sources of food for many birds and animals. In an age when fruit trees have turned into cash crops restricted to orchards, with guards stationed to keep birds away, these trees, which provide tiny fruits that ripen to a rich red and house thousands of tiny seeds, become life-givers for birds and mammals. When they are not fruiting, the trees' thick canopies provide safe haven for several species. When the fruits ripen you can hear the clamour of a hundred birds feasting from a long way off.


I have seen a number of fig trees in and around Mysore, but the one that most inhabits my memory is the huge tree near my village in Karukutty, Ernakulam district, Kerala. That tree is believed to be 500 years old and hosts a sarppakkavu -- a shrine dedicated to serpent spirits. My grandfather told me that it was an atthi-maram -- Malayalam for fig tree, though I never saw it in fruit in the days I spent with my grandparents. 


It was nevertheless an amazing tree. Its branches and roots were barely distinguishable from each other. Long strands hung down from the boughs, slowly growing towards the ground. On touching the ground they turned into pillar-like struts supporting the superstructure of the tree. And in this way the tree would branch out and occupy a fair acreage of land.

The Ficus tree at Karukutty

Though I have never seen the fruits of the tree at Karukutty, the ones in Mysore have more than compensated for my loss. There is a huge tree near the smoking zone at Infosys and there are other trees I have seen at my regular birding haunts. I have seen them spread new leaves, sprout tiny ripe fruits, and some others meet their ends - either through natural causes, or at the hands of humans.

A Chestnut-tailed Starling eyes its next morsel

The first casualty I can remember is one near Mysore's Outer Ring Road. This tree had a deep hollow that was home to a Spotted Owlet. The canopy played host to Chestnut-tailed Starlings, Common Mynas, Rose-ringed Parakeets, Brahminy Kites and, at times, a pair of Oriental Honey Buzzards. 


One morning when we arrived, it simply wasn't there -- all that remained was a stump. For no reason that was apparent, the tree had been cut down and the plot where it stood remains empty even today. I have seen shoots emerge from the still-standing trunk but it will take years for it to regain its past glory -- perhaps more than my lifetime, and that is if it is allowed to stand for that long. 


Some trees, like the one on the shore of Lingambudhi Lake, has been spared the axe since it stands in the compound of a temple.

A Coppersmith Barbet attempts the seemingly impossible

Another one that I shall remember was a fig tree that used to stand near Hebbal Lake in Mysore. It was a majestic tree and bore smaller fruits than that of the Banyan (Ficus bengalensis) but, unfortunately, I never got round to identifying it. It was the roost of purple herons and I have even spotted a Booted Eagle hiding in the thick branches. Last June we found the tree fallen, its trunk brutally snapped by heavy winds that mark the advent of the monsoon.

A contented Golden Oriole in a fig tree laden with fruit

With the widening of the Ring Road in Mysore two fig trees beside the road have been felled. As the city grows, many more are likely to fall prey to development. And the birds that depend on these trees for food will be driven further and further away. And then, sadly, we shall refer to them all in past tense.


Text and photos by Sandeep Somasekharan

Le Question: What happened to the Sidewinder?

The Sidewinder is a rattlesnake that has adapted to life in the desert with unique sinusoidal-diagonal locomotion that enables it to negotiate smooth sand dunes with ease

This post concerns a certain question asked after a storytelling session at my son’s school, though this could be any child’s question to his or her teacher. 

The story concerned God and his miracles (which, incidentally, are almost always performed for the benefit of Homo sapiens). Here goes: A group of people who lived in a desert were starved of water (for obvious reasons). So they prayed to the rain god and encouraged piety and truthful living among their kin (I am not sure of the details: My son can be notoriously sketchy on the details but jumps onto the core of the matter like a pouncing tomcat). Anyway, the rain god smiled. There were copious rains for many years and eventually the desert was transformed into a lush tropical forest teeming with life. Rivers began to flow again and there were huge harvests. The tribe lived happily ever after. The story would have ended there except for one small question from the back of the class.

"Qu'est-il arrivé à la SideWinder?" (What happened to the Sidewinder?)

Shashwat was not just trying to show off his newfound knowledge of the desert and its denizens (picked up courtesy Sir David Attenborough’s BBC documentary series Planet Earth), the sidewinder being one of the most striking. Its sinusoidal-diagonal traverses across the dunes must have been etched in my son’s memory. But he had a genuine concern: What happens when one species benefits due to an unplanned intervention and others lose out. Or rather, why should this happen at all?

The question was not answered, but therein hangs an ethical dilemma with the anthropomorphic god and biased ethical systems. While we may confuse deserts with desertification, a child’s mind, yet to be clogged with concepts and cares, is perceptive enough to instinctively separate the two. Deserts are ecosystems that have evolved over millennia and their conversion to fertile farmland is akin to chopping down rainforests. It’s our instinctive (or indoctrinated?) association of environment with “green” that tips the odds against the protection of desert eco-systems. Desertification is the result of unsustainable living and often leads to loss of tree cover and arable land.

Demoiselle Cranes in the desert at Kichan, Rajasthan

The sidewinder in question would have endured a slow and agonizing death, its wonderful winding glides across the scorching sands slowly turning into painfully awkward slides on wet sands. A twisted and macabre version of Woman in Dunes played out in water.

Text by Sahastrarashmi

Photo of Sidewinder courtesy DK Clipart

Photo of Demoiselle Cranes at Kichan, Rajasthan by Sahastrarashmi

Sen. John Kerry does an Al Gore

Stepping into the shoes that we think Al Gore has now vacated since accepting the Nobel Prize, Sen. John Kerry takes over as the Next Big American Voice Against Global Warming. But despite the big press, the noises he is making are no different. And particularly, coming from another Presidential also-ran, they seem too much like - excuse the loaded ecological simile - a carbon copy. But, of course, this being G8 (as opposed to F1) season, the air is thicker with allegations than vehicular exhaust. And it's not surprising for America to flex its sanctions muscle in order to thwart third-world stances on the issue. Writing in The Daily Beast, the senator warns:

Atmospheric carbon-dioxide levels have risen 38% in the industrial era, from 280 to 385 parts per million (ppm). Scientists have warned that anything above 450 ppm—a warming of 2 degrees Celsius—will result in an unacceptable risk of catastrophic climate change.

And the characteristic refrain, painted over with stars and stripes, goes:

The bottom line is that failure to tackle climate change risks much more than a ravaged environment: It risks a much more dangerous world, and a gravely threatened America.

Echoes of An Inconvenient Truth? Why aren't we surprised? Perhaps the good senator, who hails from the cornfields of Iowa, should have read The Stern Review instead.

Environmental criminals

Via The Guardian, I chanced upon this interesting list of the ten men most wanted by the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). Their crimes range from illegally importing polluting vehicles into the US to dumping contaminated grain into the ocean, in addition to releasing harmful effluents. Most of these men are on the run, and living outside the US. If we in India were to arrest our environmental criminals, we'd have no place in our jails to accommodate them. But then again, how about the average US citizen who eats more than his share, wastes more than he is allowed, drives more than she needs to, or uses more paper and plastic and water and electricity than her counterpart in any third-world country can afford? Look at it just in terms of food consumption. A TIME magazine feature based on the book Hungry Planet - What the World Eats by photographer Peter Menzel and writer Faith D'Aluisio illustrates just how much food is consumed by the average first world family. In the US, especially, this consists of so much packaged and shrink-wrapped foodstuff compared with other regions where food is locally grown and harvested. Are those people criminals, or just consumers? Can the world cope with this immense waste? More so, can it come to terms with the bad eating habits that the US is forking out to the world through its chains of Pizza Huts, McDonalds, its cartons of Gatorade and Lays crisps, and its cultural exports? So, is the EPA even concerned about the global corporations headquartered in the US and listed in the US stock markets that are openly allowed to do business around the world, profiteering from encouraging lifestyles that are, if anything, wholesomely unsustainable? Are they criminals or just business concerns? Either way, what's the frikking difference?

Seven Eco-Friendly Products, via SciAm

A hybrid bike, a new brand of toilet paper, reusable tote bags and a water-powered clock are among seven eco-friendly products listed by Scientific American.

The bike, manufactured by a Taiwanese company, is pegged at $2000. Who's buying? The water-powered clock sounds cool - all you need to do is fill the reservoir with water, add a pinch of salt and the chemical reaction that takes place powers your watch. If only this technology could run buses and aircraft! It costs only $16. But then, time is money. Of all these products, my heart went to the 'disposable cutlery'. What's new, you may ask. Imagine cutlery made out out of 'vegware' - 80% potato starch and 20% soy oil! What sounds truly amazing is that these products reportedly handle heat and washing very well. And they're priced right - $6 for 50. Hmmm... And just a few days ago, I mused about making plastics edible. Image - from sciam.com Technorati Tags: eco-friendly, biodegradable, scientific american

What shall we tell the President?

With environment finally figuring in the US Presidential Election debates, Scientific American has a nice summary of how Obama and McCain, and Biden and Palin stack up in terms of their approach to environmental issues. Listen and read

Paper and plastic - kicking the habit

Over at Life Less Plastic, Jeanne Haegele writes: And I still buy milk (in a glass container) and meat (wrapped in paper at the deli), and use my own cloth produce and grocery bags. In my three-decade-plus lifetime I have seen my parents do the same. Why, only about 15 years ago I have bought milk in a steel container. And I have shopped veggies in a little cloth bag emblazoned with a kitschy reproduction of a Mughal painting. As for meat and chicken and fish, we got them wrapped in sheets of newspaper - it was morbidly comic to see the 'killed' and 'dead' so ubiquitous in our headlines clinging to the gills of mackerel or slapped to mutton ribs. Somewhere along the way, plastic took over. First, as a fad. Then, as an excuse for convenience. Now, it has become a scourge. Haegele's article in the Dallas Morning Post was honest in that it dissected the quandary that some of our more discerning shoppers face every day - to plastic or not to plastic. Offered no choice by retailers, most go with the first option (no choice = no option, innit?). Ergo, along with the veggies and cartons and the ephemeral guilt come strips of shrink and bubble wrap, and plastic bags of varying micron thickness. Since we don't eat them, where do they go? Into the trash can. And then? Does anyone care? It's not about plastic alone. At Infosys, where I worked until August, green consciousness is afoot among the employees. How deep this runs is debatable but even a move from ecological nihilism to environmental lip-service is undoubtedly a start and deserves a round of applause, however feeble. At Infosys, plastic bags are being phased out - the bookshop and supermarket at the Bangalore campus have been wrapping their ware in brown paper bags for more than a year. Noble. But what of paper itself? An interesting opinion piece by Stanley Fish ran counter to Haegele's. Of course, the Fish eye-view comes across as anti-environmentalist posturing of shaky credibility - he takes on the greens but it's clear soon enough that he is a renegade green himself. What stayed with me was the reference to toilet paper and that oh-so-familiar name among all ye who paper thy behinds. Kimberley-Clark. If you live in a Turd World Country (like moi) and have trouble placing that name, allow me to help. Think of the last time you used a public loo at a hip software company or at any of our new temples of modern India - the newfangled international airports, eco-sensitive hotels, liver-protecting pubs, etc. The brand name that you smeared your poo with was Kimberley-Clark. Toilet paper, or just paper in the form of napkins and face tissue, has become an addiction with us children of the night-soil. And it is the sole reason why I choose to patronise the pain-in-the-butt salesman touting cloth handkerchiefs at Shivaji Nagar bus stand over the waif at traffic signals selling boxes of paper napkins for your car. But what's galling is the sight of people using whole wads of paper to wipe their faces - it leads me to ponder the unsanitary question: How many reams of Kimberley-Clark does it takes to finish up after they take a dump? Do they know that they are wiping their arses with strips of hoary boreal forest? And just one generation ago, these very people barely had water to use after a trip to the john (which was more likely than not of the clean and hygienic Indian-style sit-down-and-go variety). You didn't know?! There's evidence here and here and here. Back to plastic. The only option we are left with, if not for Alka Zadgaonkar's ingenious idea, is to make it edible. As for paper, why wipe when you can wash? It's time the rest of the world tore a leaf out of the toilet roll of the Turd World.

In Denmark, an island turns to wind

Just when the worst was being said about biofuels, here's a form of energy that will turn heads. And maybe more. Consider this excerpt from The New Yorker story: For the past decade or so, Samsø has been the site of an unlikely social movement. When it began, in the late nineteen-nineties, the island’s forty-three hundred inhabitants had what might be described as a conventional attitude toward energy: as long as it continued to arrive, they weren’t much interested in it. Most Samsingers heated their houses with oil, which was brought in on tankers. They used electricity imported from the mainland via cable, much of which was generated by burning coal. As a result, each Samsinger put into the atmosphere, on average, nearly eleven tons of carbon dioxide annually. Then, quite deliberately, the residents of the island set about changing this. They formed energy coöperatives and organized seminars on wind power. They removed their furnaces and replaced them with heat pumps. By 2001, fossil-fuel use on Samsø had been cut in half. By 2003, instead of importing electricity, the island was exporting it, and by 2005 it was producing from renewable sources more energy than it was using. More here