from www.downtoearth.org.in, the online edition of Down To Earth magazine, a leading science & environment fortnightly published by Society for Environmental Communications (Centre for Science & Environment, CSE India)
The massacre of 76 policemen in Dantewada by naxalites is reprehensible. Yet we cannot brush aside the underlying poverty, deprivation and sheer lack of justice that are breeding tension and anger in vast areas of rural, tribal India. We cannot say that these developmental issues are long term—as the Congress spokesperson has reportedly said—while the immediate task is to annihilate the Naxalites. Because, unless we can fix what is broken here, let us be very clear, there is no real solution at hand.
I have written earlier about the devastating irony that vast parts of our country, that are the richest in terms of minerals, forests and water, are also where the poorest people live. Again I ask, again and again: what is wrong with our development model that the poorest people live in the richest lands of the country?
We know naxalites profit from the anger against the collective loot of the resources these lands possess. These are the lands we get minerals from; the electricity that lights our homes is enabled here. But the people who live there have no electricity. They should own the minerals, or forests; they should profit from development. But they get no benefit from the resources that are simply extracted. By policy and design, their lands are taken away, their forest cut, water polluted, their livelihoods destroyed. Development makes them poorer than they were.
But we want to hear none of this. A few years ago, in Raipur, Chhattisgarh, while releasing our detailed report on mining and environment, I saw how intolerant we have become. The state’s governor was to release the report. But even before we arrived, there was a media buzz our critique of mining policies and practices meant we were partners with naxalites. At the release function, the room was “filled” with mining-at-all-cost supporters. They shouted down any voice that spoke of the problems, and poverty, mining had caused in the region. The governor was visibly in a bind. He could not deny our data and analysis. But he was also desperate to brand us as insurgents who raise uncomfortable issues.
The next day, the machinery whirred into action. It openly challenged us. It presented no data on how it had shared revenues of mining with people. It did not explain how it had controlled the enormous and deadly pollution from the sponge iron factories that encircled the region. It did not also explain why it was allowing open manipulation and misuse of laws to dispossess people from their lands, against their will. It only incited violence against us, saying since we had questioned mining policies and were seeking new answers, we were against development. The next step: we were against the state, so we were with naxalites. With us or against us. This is a Bush slogan, but also a war syndrome, which cannot buy us peace at any cost.
We have to rethink the development India has practised so far. Let’s just think forests. These are the very lands where India’s tree wealth exists. Some 60 per cent of the country’s dense and most bio-diverse and economically rich forests are in these tribal districts. Think minerals now. The bulk of what we need for growth—iron ore for steel, bauxite for aluminium and coal for power stations—is located here. These are also the same districts—poor and backward—our beloved tigers roam in. Here’s where the country’s major watersheds are located.
How can we build a growth model which uses the wealth of the region for local development first? Such a development model would mean listening to people who live on these lands, about what they need and want for their growth. It means seceding to what people want: the right to decide if they want a mine in their backyard, or the forests cut. It means taking democracy very seriously.
If this is accepted, protests will have to be seen in a new light. There are no misguided people, or naxalites, holding up Vedanta in Orissa, or Tata in Chhattisgarh. These many, and there are many, mutinies will have to be carefully heard. This country cannot brush aside people’s concerns, in the name of a ‘considered’ decision taken, in Delhi or somewhere else. Government must stop believing it knows what is best.
Once we accept local veto over development decisions, the tough part begins. For, this means seriously engaging with people to find ways that benefit all. It means sharing revenue from minerals with villagers, not the poisoned peanuts they get now. It means changing priorities: valuing, for instance, a standing forest as protector of water, wildlife, even a low-carbon future. It means paying directly to local communities so that they decide to protect forests, because it benefits them.
Ultimately, listening to dissenters means reinventing development. Accept we cannot mine all the coal, bauxite, iron ore—whatever—that lies below forests people live in, and depend on. It will make us get careful about how to use less minerals for more growth? Can India do more with less? There’s a lesson India’s poor teach: walk lightly on the earth you have. Let us not riddle them with bullets.
—Sunita Narain
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Two-Foot Teenager
Jyoti, the world's smallest girl
Her tiny form is disarming. But Jyoti Amge's dreams are as big as those of her friends. At 15 she stands just 1ft 11½in tall and weighs less than a stone, giving her one very big claim to fame - as the smallest girl in the world. Doctors believe Jyoti is a pituitary dwarf but have never been able to pinpoint her condition. Such dwarfism is caused when the body fails to produce enough growth hormone.
Her little gray uniform is specially made for her. Specialists have told her she will remain the same size for the rest of her life. 'When I was three I realized that I was different to the rest of the kids,' she said. ''I thought that everyone was bigger and I should get bigger too.' Jyoti has her own mini gray uniform and school bag and even a tiny desk. But she looks like a doll next to her teenage classmates.
She said: 'I am proud of being the smallest girl. I love all the attention I get. I'm not scared of being small, and I don't regret being small.' She attends school with her classmates, who she says don't treat her any differently.
She works from her custom made chair and table but her pens and books are still rather too large for her. ''I am sure there are many people in this world who are dwarfs like me. I'm just the same as other people. I eat like you, dream like you. I don't feel any different.'
Weighing 12lb - only 9lb more than her weight at birth, Jyoti dreams of becoming an actress. Despite her size she insists on living as normal a life as possible in her home town of Nagpur in India - including going to the local school.
'When I first went to school everyone was so big I used to get scared but I'm okay now, I like it. I have a different desk and chair that were made for me. I'm a normal student. She is also like any other teenage girl. 'I have a huge collection of dresses. I like to shop for more. Everyone in my family gets things for me. I love make-up and like dressing up like beautiful models. I would like to be an actress when I grow up. My dream is to do films.'
Jyoti has already had a taste of fame in a pop video for Indian star Mika Singh.
'They asked her to appear in the video for a song on his album,' said her mother Ranjana Amge, 45. However, Jyoti's dreams of stardom could be ruined because of fractures to both her legs that have never healed because of problems with her size.
Jyoti is taken to school on brother Satish's motorbike, along with sister Archana. 'First I could walk, but I slipped on ice during a holiday and hurt my leg. I find it strange that my legs just don't heal. I don't like it, it causes me pain.'
Mrs Amge said: 'No-one knows why she is so small. Jyoti is small, yet cute, and we love her very much.' People in the region of India where the family live flock to see the teenager and some even treat her as a goddess. She receives a lot of support from her brother and two sisters. Oldest sister Archana, 25, said: 'I have been taking care of her since she was a small baby. She is so delicate and fragile.' During her first five years of life, brave Jyoti was in and out of hospital as she constantly fell sick, but eventually she grew stronger.
The teenager's father Kishan Amge, 52, a construction worker, said: 'She makes me proud. Lots of saints and spiritual gurus come to see and bless her. They pray for her happiness and long life.'
Sunday, April 04, 2010
"God Has Always Been Planning Things For Me" -- Naga Naresh Karutura
The Guy Who Got Into Google (by Shobha Warrier -- July 28, 2008)
Naga Naresh Karutura has just passed out of IIT Madras in Computer Science and has joined Google in Bangalore.
You may ask, what's so special about this 21-year-old when there are hundreds of students passing out from various IITs and joining big companies like Google?
Naresh is special. His parents are illiterate. He has no legs and moves around in his powered wheel chair. (In fact, when I could not locate his lab, he told me over the mobile phone, 'I will come and pick you up'. And in no time, he was there to guide me)
Ever smiling, optimistic and full of spirit; that is Naresh. He says, "God has always been planning things for me. That is why I feel I am lucky."
Read why Naresh feels he is lucky.
Childhood in a village
I spent the first seven years of my life in Teeparru, a small village in Andhra Pradesh, on the banks of the river Godavari. My father Prasad was a lorry driver and my mother Kumari, a house wife. Though they were illiterate, my parents instilled in me and my elder sister (Sirisha) the importance of studying.
Looking back, one thing that surprises me now is the way my father taught me when I was in the 1st and 2nd standards. My father would ask me questions from the text book, and I would answer them. At that time, I didn't know he could not read or write but to make me happy, he helped me in my studies!
Another memory that doesn't go away is the floods in the village and how I was carried on top of a buffalo by my uncle. I also remember plucking fruits from a tree that was full of thorns.
I used to be very naughty, running around and playing all the time with my friends.. I used to get a lot of scolding for disturbing the elders who slept in the afternoon. The moment they started scolding, I would run away to the fields!
I also remember finishing my school work fast in class and sleeping on the teacher's lap!
January 11, 1993, the fateful day
On the January 11, 1993 when we had the sankranti holidays, my mother took my sister and me to a nearby village for a family function. From there we were to go with our grandmother to our native place. But my grandmother did not come there. As there were no buses that day, my mother took a lift in my father's friend's lorry. As there were many people in the lorry, he made me sit next to him, close to the door.
It was my fault; I fiddled with the door latch and it opened wide throwing me out. As I fell, my legs got cut by the iron rods protruding from the lorry. Nothing happened to me except scratches on my legs.
The accident had happened just in front of a big private hospital but they refused to treat me saying it was an accident case. Then a police constable who was passing by took us to a government hospital.
First I underwent an operation as my small intestine got twisted. The doctors also bandaged my legs. I was there for a week. When the doctors found that gangrene had developed and it had reached up to my knees, they asked my father to take me to a district hospital. There, the doctors scolded my parents a lot for neglecting the wounds and allowing the gangrene to develop. But what could my ignorant parents do?
In no time, both my legs were amputated up to the hips.
I remember waking up and asking my mother, where are my legs? I also remember that my mother cried when I asked the question. I was in the hospital for three months.
Life without legs
I don't think my life changed dramatically after I lost both my legs. Because all at home were doting on me, I was enjoying all the attention rather than pitying myself. I was happy that I got a lot of fruits and biscuits.
'I never wallowed in self-pity'
The day I reached my village, my house was flooded with curious people; all of them wanted to know how a boy without legs looked. But I was not bothered; I was happy to see so many of them coming to see me, especially my friends!
All my friends saw to it that I was part of all the games they played; they carried me everywhere.
God's hand
I believe in God. I believe in destiny. I feel he plans everything for you. If not for the accident, we would not have moved from the village to Tanuku, a town. There I joined a missionary school, and my father built a house next to the school. Till the tenth standard, I studied in that school.
If I had continued in Teeparu, I may not have studied after the 10th. I may have started working as a farmer or someone like that after my studies. I am sure God had other plans for me.
My sister, my friend
When the school was about to reopen, my parents moved from Teeparu to Tanuku, a town, and admitted both of us in a Missionary school. They decided to put my sister also in the same class though she is two years older. They thought she could take care of me if both of us were in the same class. My sister never complained.
She would be there for everything. Many of my friends used to tell me, you are so lucky to have such a loving sister. There are many who do not care for their siblings.
She carried me in the school for a few years and after a while, my friends took over the task. When I got the tricycle, my sister used to push me around in the school.
My life, I would say, was normal, as everyone treated me like a normal kid. I never wallowed in self-pity. I was a happy boy and competed with others to be on top and the others also looked at me as a competitor.
Inspiration
I was inspired by two people when in school; my Maths teacher Pramod Lal who encouraged me to participate in various local talent tests, and a brilliant boy called Chowdhary, who was my senior.
When I came to know that he had joined Gowtham Junior College to prepare for IIT-JEE, it became my dream too. I was school first in 10th scoring 542/600.
Because I topped in the state exams, Gowtham Junior College waived the fee for me. Pramod Sir's recommendation also helped. The fee was around Rs 50,000 per year, which my parents could never afford.
Moving to a residential school
Living in a residential school was a big change for me because till then my life centred around home and school and I had my parents and sister to take care of all my needs. It was the first time that I was interacting with society. It took one year for me to adjust to the new life.
There, my inspiration was a boy called K K S Bhaskar who was in the top 10 in IIT-JEE exams. He used to come to our school to encourage us. Though my parents didn't know anything about Gowtham Junior School or IIT, they always saw to it that I was encouraged in whatever I wanted to do.. If the results were good, they would praise me to the skies and if bad, they would try to see something good in that. They did not want me to feel bad.
They are such wonderful supportive parents.
Life at IIT- Madras
Though my overall rank in the IIT-JEE was not that great (992), I was 4th in the physically handicapped category. So, I joined IIT, Madras to study Computer Science.
Here, my role model was Karthik who was also my senior in school. I looked up to him during my years at IIT- Madras.
He had asked for attached bathrooms for those with special needs before I came here itself. So, when I came here, the room had attached bath. He used to help me and guide me a lot when I was here.
I evolved as a person in these four years, both academically and personally. It has been a great experience studying here. The people I was interacting with were so brilliant that I felt privileged to sit along with them in the class. Just by speaking to my lab mates, I gained a lot..
'There are more good people in society than bad ones'
Words are inadequate to express my gratitude to Prof Pandurangan and all my lab mates; all were simply great. I was sent to Boston along with four others for our internship by Prof Pandurangan. It was a great experience.
Joining Google R&D
I did not want to pursue PhD as I wanted my parents to take rest now.
Morgan Stanley selected me first but I preferred Google because I wanted to work in pure computer science, algorithms and game theory.
I am lucky
Do you know why I say I am lucky?
I get help from total strangers without me asking for it. Once after my second year at IIT, I with some of my friends was travelling in a train for a conference. We met a kind gentleman called Sundar in the train, and he has been taking care of my hostel fees from then on.
I have to mention about Jaipur foot. I had Jaipur foot when I was in 3rd standard. After two years, I stopped using them. As I had almost no stems on my legs, it was very tough to tie them to the body. I found walking with Jaipur foot very, very slow. Sitting also was a problem. I found my tricycle faster because I am one guy who wants to do things faster.
One great thing about the hospital is, they don't think their role ends by just fixing the Jaipur foot; they arrange for livelihood for all. They asked me what help I needed from them. I told them at that time, if I got into an IIT, I needed financial help from them. So, from the day I joined IIT, Madras, my fees were taken care of by them. So, my education at the IIT was never a burden on my parents and they could take care of my sister's Nursing studies.
Surprise awaited me at IIT
After my first year, when I went home, two things happened here at the Institute without my knowledge.
I got a letter from my department that they had arranged a lift and ramps at the department for me. It also said that if I came a bit early and checked whether it met with my requirements, it would be good.
Second surprise was, the Dean, Prof Idichandy and the Students General Secretary, Prasad had located a place that sold powered wheel chairs. The cost was Rs 55,000. What they did was, they did not buy the wheel chair; they gave me the money so that the wheel chair belonged to me and not the institute.
My life changed after that. I felt free and independent.
That's why I say I am lucky. God has planned things for me and takes care of me at every step.
The world is full of good people
I also feel if you are motivated and show some initiative, people around you will always help you. I also feel there are more good people in society than bad ones. I want all those who read this to feel that if Naresh can achieve something in life, you can too.
Naga Naresh Karutura has just passed out of IIT Madras in Computer Science and has joined Google in Bangalore.
You may ask, what's so special about this 21-year-old when there are hundreds of students passing out from various IITs and joining big companies like Google?
Naresh is special. His parents are illiterate. He has no legs and moves around in his powered wheel chair. (In fact, when I could not locate his lab, he told me over the mobile phone, 'I will come and pick you up'. And in no time, he was there to guide me)
Ever smiling, optimistic and full of spirit; that is Naresh. He says, "God has always been planning things for me. That is why I feel I am lucky."
Read why Naresh feels he is lucky.
Childhood in a village
I spent the first seven years of my life in Teeparru, a small village in Andhra Pradesh, on the banks of the river Godavari. My father Prasad was a lorry driver and my mother Kumari, a house wife. Though they were illiterate, my parents instilled in me and my elder sister (Sirisha) the importance of studying.
Looking back, one thing that surprises me now is the way my father taught me when I was in the 1st and 2nd standards. My father would ask me questions from the text book, and I would answer them. At that time, I didn't know he could not read or write but to make me happy, he helped me in my studies!
Another memory that doesn't go away is the floods in the village and how I was carried on top of a buffalo by my uncle. I also remember plucking fruits from a tree that was full of thorns.
I used to be very naughty, running around and playing all the time with my friends.. I used to get a lot of scolding for disturbing the elders who slept in the afternoon. The moment they started scolding, I would run away to the fields!
I also remember finishing my school work fast in class and sleeping on the teacher's lap!
January 11, 1993, the fateful day
On the January 11, 1993 when we had the sankranti holidays, my mother took my sister and me to a nearby village for a family function. From there we were to go with our grandmother to our native place. But my grandmother did not come there. As there were no buses that day, my mother took a lift in my father's friend's lorry. As there were many people in the lorry, he made me sit next to him, close to the door.
It was my fault; I fiddled with the door latch and it opened wide throwing me out. As I fell, my legs got cut by the iron rods protruding from the lorry. Nothing happened to me except scratches on my legs.
The accident had happened just in front of a big private hospital but they refused to treat me saying it was an accident case. Then a police constable who was passing by took us to a government hospital.
First I underwent an operation as my small intestine got twisted. The doctors also bandaged my legs. I was there for a week. When the doctors found that gangrene had developed and it had reached up to my knees, they asked my father to take me to a district hospital. There, the doctors scolded my parents a lot for neglecting the wounds and allowing the gangrene to develop. But what could my ignorant parents do?
In no time, both my legs were amputated up to the hips.
I remember waking up and asking my mother, where are my legs? I also remember that my mother cried when I asked the question. I was in the hospital for three months.
Life without legs
I don't think my life changed dramatically after I lost both my legs. Because all at home were doting on me, I was enjoying all the attention rather than pitying myself. I was happy that I got a lot of fruits and biscuits.
'I never wallowed in self-pity'
The day I reached my village, my house was flooded with curious people; all of them wanted to know how a boy without legs looked. But I was not bothered; I was happy to see so many of them coming to see me, especially my friends!
All my friends saw to it that I was part of all the games they played; they carried me everywhere.
God's hand
I believe in God. I believe in destiny. I feel he plans everything for you. If not for the accident, we would not have moved from the village to Tanuku, a town. There I joined a missionary school, and my father built a house next to the school. Till the tenth standard, I studied in that school.
If I had continued in Teeparu, I may not have studied after the 10th. I may have started working as a farmer or someone like that after my studies. I am sure God had other plans for me.
My sister, my friend
When the school was about to reopen, my parents moved from Teeparu to Tanuku, a town, and admitted both of us in a Missionary school. They decided to put my sister also in the same class though she is two years older. They thought she could take care of me if both of us were in the same class. My sister never complained.
She would be there for everything. Many of my friends used to tell me, you are so lucky to have such a loving sister. There are many who do not care for their siblings.
She carried me in the school for a few years and after a while, my friends took over the task. When I got the tricycle, my sister used to push me around in the school.
My life, I would say, was normal, as everyone treated me like a normal kid. I never wallowed in self-pity. I was a happy boy and competed with others to be on top and the others also looked at me as a competitor.
Inspiration
I was inspired by two people when in school; my Maths teacher Pramod Lal who encouraged me to participate in various local talent tests, and a brilliant boy called Chowdhary, who was my senior.
When I came to know that he had joined Gowtham Junior College to prepare for IIT-JEE, it became my dream too. I was school first in 10th scoring 542/600.
Because I topped in the state exams, Gowtham Junior College waived the fee for me. Pramod Sir's recommendation also helped. The fee was around Rs 50,000 per year, which my parents could never afford.
Moving to a residential school
Living in a residential school was a big change for me because till then my life centred around home and school and I had my parents and sister to take care of all my needs. It was the first time that I was interacting with society. It took one year for me to adjust to the new life.
There, my inspiration was a boy called K K S Bhaskar who was in the top 10 in IIT-JEE exams. He used to come to our school to encourage us. Though my parents didn't know anything about Gowtham Junior School or IIT, they always saw to it that I was encouraged in whatever I wanted to do.. If the results were good, they would praise me to the skies and if bad, they would try to see something good in that. They did not want me to feel bad.
They are such wonderful supportive parents.
Life at IIT- Madras
Though my overall rank in the IIT-JEE was not that great (992), I was 4th in the physically handicapped category. So, I joined IIT, Madras to study Computer Science.
Here, my role model was Karthik who was also my senior in school. I looked up to him during my years at IIT- Madras.
He had asked for attached bathrooms for those with special needs before I came here itself. So, when I came here, the room had attached bath. He used to help me and guide me a lot when I was here.
I evolved as a person in these four years, both academically and personally. It has been a great experience studying here. The people I was interacting with were so brilliant that I felt privileged to sit along with them in the class. Just by speaking to my lab mates, I gained a lot..
'There are more good people in society than bad ones'
Words are inadequate to express my gratitude to Prof Pandurangan and all my lab mates; all were simply great. I was sent to Boston along with four others for our internship by Prof Pandurangan. It was a great experience.
Joining Google R&D
I did not want to pursue PhD as I wanted my parents to take rest now.
Morgan Stanley selected me first but I preferred Google because I wanted to work in pure computer science, algorithms and game theory.
I am lucky
Do you know why I say I am lucky?
I get help from total strangers without me asking for it. Once after my second year at IIT, I with some of my friends was travelling in a train for a conference. We met a kind gentleman called Sundar in the train, and he has been taking care of my hostel fees from then on.
I have to mention about Jaipur foot. I had Jaipur foot when I was in 3rd standard. After two years, I stopped using them. As I had almost no stems on my legs, it was very tough to tie them to the body. I found walking with Jaipur foot very, very slow. Sitting also was a problem. I found my tricycle faster because I am one guy who wants to do things faster.
One great thing about the hospital is, they don't think their role ends by just fixing the Jaipur foot; they arrange for livelihood for all. They asked me what help I needed from them. I told them at that time, if I got into an IIT, I needed financial help from them. So, from the day I joined IIT, Madras, my fees were taken care of by them. So, my education at the IIT was never a burden on my parents and they could take care of my sister's Nursing studies.
Surprise awaited me at IIT
After my first year, when I went home, two things happened here at the Institute without my knowledge.
I got a letter from my department that they had arranged a lift and ramps at the department for me. It also said that if I came a bit early and checked whether it met with my requirements, it would be good.
Second surprise was, the Dean, Prof Idichandy and the Students General Secretary, Prasad had located a place that sold powered wheel chairs. The cost was Rs 55,000. What they did was, they did not buy the wheel chair; they gave me the money so that the wheel chair belonged to me and not the institute.
My life changed after that. I felt free and independent.
That's why I say I am lucky. God has planned things for me and takes care of me at every step.
The world is full of good people
I also feel if you are motivated and show some initiative, people around you will always help you. I also feel there are more good people in society than bad ones. I want all those who read this to feel that if Naresh can achieve something in life, you can too.
Sahyadris Have Been Documenting The Changing Climate For 40 Years
from www.downtoearth.org.in, the online edition of Down To Earth magazine, a leading science & environment fortnightly published by Society for Environmental Communications (Centre for Science & Environment, CSE India)
The latest joke among the Mahadeo Koli tribals living in the Bhimashankar area of Maharashtra’s Pune district is: “Ovni zali ka? (Have you transplanted your paddy?)” In the rain drenched Sahyadri range, where the main food crop is paddy, the unseasonal rains brought on by cyclone Phyan in late November have caused the harvested crop of fragrant Raibhog paddy to sprout shoots. This has made crops in entire villages unfit as food or seed. With starvation and loss of seed stock staring in the face, people can do little but joke about the calamity.
As elsewhere, changing weather conditions wreaking havoc on farmers is nothing new. What is, is the fact that for the last 20-odd years, residents of some 10 villages of Kolis in the western hills of the Ambegaon tehsil have been documenting the changes in climatic conditions and their impact.With the help of the non-profit Shashwat, tribals of these villages have learnt to note their observations using terms like climate change; they say such terms are necessary to make sense of their predicament.
“Till about the 1970s, the rainfall pattern in the area could be predicted like clockwork,” said Dhondabai Asawle, the 80-plus matriarch, revered both for her deep knowledge of weather phenomena and her ability to articulate her observations in city language. “We planned our agricultural activities around the time-table of nakshatras (stars). And till I was in my 40s, I do not remember the timetable ever failing us.” The 27 nakshatras in Vedic astrometeorology indicate the overall weather pattern for the year.
Wind blows fierce on barren hills
According to Dhondabai, the rainfall pattern started changing, following massive tree-cutting on the hills by coal contractors in the early 1970s. “For almost a decade, these contractors would clear vast tracts of hillsides, and make coal from the wood in large furnaces,” she said. “There were fires burning day and night on the hillsides for several months every year.” The deforestation stopped when in the 1990s, 50 villages backed by Shashwat, waged a struggle to save their devrai s—sacred forests. Dhawdaji Gawari of village Pimpargani remembers two things happened immediately after the hills were denuded: “The temperatures went up and strong winds started blowing; both were bad for our crops.”
Shortly after that disturbances in the rainfall cycle began to be felt. The community has maintained detailed records of these. Dhondabai recalled, all through her childhood and youth, millets were sowed on Akshaya Tritiya. This auspicious day in the Vedic calendar falling in April-May came soon after light showers in the Kritika Nakshatra. “Light but regular rains starting with the Rohini Nakshatra followed soon after,” she added. “After the rains started, paddy seedlings were prepared, and transplanted at the onset of the Mruga Nakshatra when the rains intensified.”
It was as if the entire rainfall cycle was tailored to the needs of crops, say elders. The stars depicting early rainfall, said Zaoji Gawari, were characterized by light rain, just right for the young seedlings. Then come regular heavy rains needed for the rapid growth of the now strong seedlings, the later stars foretell sporadic rain beneficial to crops at the seed-formation stage. “By Diwali, when the crops were ready for harvest, the rains would disappear altogether, not to return till the next year,” he said.
After the deforestation, the pattern began to change, a little at a time. “Every year, the onset of rain was delayed by a day or two. By the second half of the 1980s, the Rohini rains had disappeared almost completely, and we took to sowing at the onset of Mruga,” said Dondabai.
The ground remains charred on the hills where coal was fired in the 1970s; (right) an exceptionally lucky farmer dries his rice yield when untimely rain ruined most of the harvest
Till almost the end of the 1990s, Mruga rains remained more or less stable; then they too began to waver.
In the last decade, says Dhondabai’s formally educated son Sanjay, the rains receded rapidly. “In the early part of the decade, the Mruga rains were hardly seen. This year’s phenomenal one month delay in sowing is, to us, nothing but the next stage in an ongoing process of 40 years.” For the last 4-5 years, Dhawdaji said, “the monsoon has been split into two. The rains disappear for weeks, sometimes a whole month, after the initial spell and return later, often continuing into harvest time.”
The changing rainfall pattern means the area gets less rain each year. Records of the meteorology department’s Bhimashankar and Dimbhe observatories reinforce what the villagers have noted over the decades. Rainfall has declined by 2,000 mm annually, dropping from 7,000 and 2,500 mm respectively in the early 1990s to 5,000 and 1,500 mm at present. This has led to other changes. “Till about 40 years back, summers were pleasantly warm and winters were very cold. Now we have uncomfortably hot summers and winter comes as late as November-end,” said Goin Pardhi of village Dimbhe.
Earlier, winter set in close on the heels of the receding monsoon, but now it gets warm again between monsoon and November, Pardhi added. This second summer is playing havoc with people’s health, giving rise to infectious diseases never seen in the area earlier—especially viral and gastric infections. “Winter has lost its bite as both fog and dew have decreased progressively,” Dondabai said.
Less dew means less food
The change in the rainfall pattern and the disappearance of dew, which kept the soil moist in winter, has depleted food sources. Agricultural produce has fallen to half and repeated crop failures have shaken the fragile economy. Mahadeo Kolis have traditionally depended on a variety of uncultivated vegetables, fruits, crabs, fish and large amounts of milk from their cattle. All these have now practically gone.
“Several varieties of vegetables like Chava and Bhokri have disappeared from the forests,” says Dhondabai, “We used to gather ample amounts of summer fruits like mango, jamun and toran (karonde, carissa carandus), which we ate and sold, but we find less and less each year. This year, we had no fruits and no hirda either.” The medicinal herb hirda (haritaki, chebulic myroblan), is their most important source of cash.
When the rains failed three years ago, large amounts of grass in the forests disappeared, said Dhondabai. “In its place a tough, spiky variety now grows that our cattle can’t feed on.” The fodder crisis has been building up for years, causing a steady stream of cattle deaths. “Families that owned 50 to 100 cattle 30 years ago now have between 1 and 5 animals,” she said.
Water has been another casualty. The numberless perennial streams, which were replenished by dew post-monsoon have been drying up fast as dew fails the forests. Tribal elders say they are left feeling defeated by all these changes. “Nothing ever turns out right,” said Dondabai. Earlier, we would have called it the wrath of the gods.
“It is not as if the people have not done their bit,” said Kusum Karnik, forest rights activist who heads Shashwat. “They have fought to protect their sacred groves and surrounding forests, they have done watershed work to conserve water, they have rejected hybrid seeds. The only thing left, I suppose, is that they be heard in larger fora, and their insights be taken seriously.”
The latest joke among the Mahadeo Koli tribals living in the Bhimashankar area of Maharashtra’s Pune district is: “Ovni zali ka? (Have you transplanted your paddy?)” In the rain drenched Sahyadri range, where the main food crop is paddy, the unseasonal rains brought on by cyclone Phyan in late November have caused the harvested crop of fragrant Raibhog paddy to sprout shoots. This has made crops in entire villages unfit as food or seed. With starvation and loss of seed stock staring in the face, people can do little but joke about the calamity.
As elsewhere, changing weather conditions wreaking havoc on farmers is nothing new. What is, is the fact that for the last 20-odd years, residents of some 10 villages of Kolis in the western hills of the Ambegaon tehsil have been documenting the changes in climatic conditions and their impact.With the help of the non-profit Shashwat, tribals of these villages have learnt to note their observations using terms like climate change; they say such terms are necessary to make sense of their predicament.
“Till about the 1970s, the rainfall pattern in the area could be predicted like clockwork,” said Dhondabai Asawle, the 80-plus matriarch, revered both for her deep knowledge of weather phenomena and her ability to articulate her observations in city language. “We planned our agricultural activities around the time-table of nakshatras (stars). And till I was in my 40s, I do not remember the timetable ever failing us.” The 27 nakshatras in Vedic astrometeorology indicate the overall weather pattern for the year.
Wind blows fierce on barren hills
According to Dhondabai, the rainfall pattern started changing, following massive tree-cutting on the hills by coal contractors in the early 1970s. “For almost a decade, these contractors would clear vast tracts of hillsides, and make coal from the wood in large furnaces,” she said. “There were fires burning day and night on the hillsides for several months every year.” The deforestation stopped when in the 1990s, 50 villages backed by Shashwat, waged a struggle to save their devrai s—sacred forests. Dhawdaji Gawari of village Pimpargani remembers two things happened immediately after the hills were denuded: “The temperatures went up and strong winds started blowing; both were bad for our crops.”
Shortly after that disturbances in the rainfall cycle began to be felt. The community has maintained detailed records of these. Dhondabai recalled, all through her childhood and youth, millets were sowed on Akshaya Tritiya. This auspicious day in the Vedic calendar falling in April-May came soon after light showers in the Kritika Nakshatra. “Light but regular rains starting with the Rohini Nakshatra followed soon after,” she added. “After the rains started, paddy seedlings were prepared, and transplanted at the onset of the Mruga Nakshatra when the rains intensified.”
It was as if the entire rainfall cycle was tailored to the needs of crops, say elders. The stars depicting early rainfall, said Zaoji Gawari, were characterized by light rain, just right for the young seedlings. Then come regular heavy rains needed for the rapid growth of the now strong seedlings, the later stars foretell sporadic rain beneficial to crops at the seed-formation stage. “By Diwali, when the crops were ready for harvest, the rains would disappear altogether, not to return till the next year,” he said.
After the deforestation, the pattern began to change, a little at a time. “Every year, the onset of rain was delayed by a day or two. By the second half of the 1980s, the Rohini rains had disappeared almost completely, and we took to sowing at the onset of Mruga,” said Dondabai.
The ground remains charred on the hills where coal was fired in the 1970s; (right) an exceptionally lucky farmer dries his rice yield when untimely rain ruined most of the harvest
Till almost the end of the 1990s, Mruga rains remained more or less stable; then they too began to waver.
In the last decade, says Dhondabai’s formally educated son Sanjay, the rains receded rapidly. “In the early part of the decade, the Mruga rains were hardly seen. This year’s phenomenal one month delay in sowing is, to us, nothing but the next stage in an ongoing process of 40 years.” For the last 4-5 years, Dhawdaji said, “the monsoon has been split into two. The rains disappear for weeks, sometimes a whole month, after the initial spell and return later, often continuing into harvest time.”
The changing rainfall pattern means the area gets less rain each year. Records of the meteorology department’s Bhimashankar and Dimbhe observatories reinforce what the villagers have noted over the decades. Rainfall has declined by 2,000 mm annually, dropping from 7,000 and 2,500 mm respectively in the early 1990s to 5,000 and 1,500 mm at present. This has led to other changes. “Till about 40 years back, summers were pleasantly warm and winters were very cold. Now we have uncomfortably hot summers and winter comes as late as November-end,” said Goin Pardhi of village Dimbhe.
Earlier, winter set in close on the heels of the receding monsoon, but now it gets warm again between monsoon and November, Pardhi added. This second summer is playing havoc with people’s health, giving rise to infectious diseases never seen in the area earlier—especially viral and gastric infections. “Winter has lost its bite as both fog and dew have decreased progressively,” Dondabai said.
Less dew means less food
The change in the rainfall pattern and the disappearance of dew, which kept the soil moist in winter, has depleted food sources. Agricultural produce has fallen to half and repeated crop failures have shaken the fragile economy. Mahadeo Kolis have traditionally depended on a variety of uncultivated vegetables, fruits, crabs, fish and large amounts of milk from their cattle. All these have now practically gone.
“Several varieties of vegetables like Chava and Bhokri have disappeared from the forests,” says Dhondabai, “We used to gather ample amounts of summer fruits like mango, jamun and toran (karonde, carissa carandus), which we ate and sold, but we find less and less each year. This year, we had no fruits and no hirda either.” The medicinal herb hirda (haritaki, chebulic myroblan), is their most important source of cash.
When the rains failed three years ago, large amounts of grass in the forests disappeared, said Dhondabai. “In its place a tough, spiky variety now grows that our cattle can’t feed on.” The fodder crisis has been building up for years, causing a steady stream of cattle deaths. “Families that owned 50 to 100 cattle 30 years ago now have between 1 and 5 animals,” she said.
Water has been another casualty. The numberless perennial streams, which were replenished by dew post-monsoon have been drying up fast as dew fails the forests. Tribal elders say they are left feeling defeated by all these changes. “Nothing ever turns out right,” said Dondabai. Earlier, we would have called it the wrath of the gods.
“It is not as if the people have not done their bit,” said Kusum Karnik, forest rights activist who heads Shashwat. “They have fought to protect their sacred groves and surrounding forests, they have done watershed work to conserve water, they have rejected hybrid seeds. The only thing left, I suppose, is that they be heard in larger fora, and their insights be taken seriously.”
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