Journalist and conservationist Swati Thiyagarajan talks to Vivek Gopal about her new book Born Wild, her long running NDTV show, and the need for urban planning to take nature into account in cityscapes. The two also discuss what it means to commune with nature, reworking the narrative in journalism and a new measure for economic success.
Thiyagarajan points to the recent floods in Mumbai and Chennai to explain just how crucial urban planning is in conserving a regions water table and preventing flooding.
The following in an excerpt from her book Born Wild published by Bloomsbury.
When someone says it cuts like a knife, I am sure they are referring to the wind that howls down the Changtang plateau. Both desolate and stunning, this expanse of cold desert in Ladakh is one of my favourite places on earth. It is a unique ecosystem because while it is a cold desert, this area contains high altitude wetlands. While the land around is flat, the towering peaks around me are anything but. Ice covers the upper reaches, lichen and small green plants burst out in clumps, and the Tso Kar lake reflects back the empty infinite sky in a bright turquoise. I feel like the last human on the planet, waiting for the land to just rear up and swallow me.
When I was fifteen years old, I ventured into the Himalayas for the first time. I had on previous occasions visited hill stations in the summer on holiday, but this was the first time that I was going on a Himalayan trek and would be in the heart of the mountains that were the backdrop to all my various holiday destinations. I had two reasons for going on this trip. One was that my school, Rishi Valley, had organised it and I knew that it would be a great opportunity for me to see and experience the mountains in a way I never had before. The other reason was very personal. A few years before my Himalayan trek, uncle Siddharth had been diagnosed with cancer. I watched him fight it with the same indomitable will and wild spirit he showed when chasing his favourite birds, the brahmini and pariah kites. It looked for the longest time like he had it beat and we hoped that he had entered remission, but then it came back.
That summer, just before the start of my ten-day trek, things had been really bad and he was mostly in hospital and, this time, it looked like he had no fight left in him. For me, it was the most horrible summer of my life. There were no more walks, no more recording of frog sounds in the rain, no more stories of animals and the wild, but large empty silences, a void that nothing could fill. On one of his more energetic and lucid days, he asked me if I had a plan for my holiday. I said I was thinking about going on the Himalayan trek organised by school. For the first time in a long time, he perked up and said, ‘Swati, the Himalayas are special, maybe it’s because they are very young as mountains go, that they have an energy and a quality that you will find on no other mountain. Get me a walking stick and a Kulu cap and some apple jam.’
A few days later, when I went to see him again, just a day before he would go back to the hospital, and two days before my trek, and he said to me, ‘Respect the mountain, it is in human nature to feel like one has achieved something or conquered the mountain by climbing it, but just remember, if you reach the top and complete your trek well, it is because the mountain has allowed you to do so. Don’t just walk, young lady,’ he said, ‘absorb, enjoy, and know that these mountains as young as they are have stood for millions of years and will continue to do so when you and I are dust in the wind.’ As I was leaving, he said, ‘You do know that they are still growing right? Just like you.’ My last memory of him was from the hospital bed, whispering ‘…trekking means walking, so use your feet’ and then he held up his thumb, I knew what he meant, walking and not hitching… and I laughed. I did not know that that would be the last time I would ever see him. The entire trek he was with me and even now when I am in the mountains, he is with me.
Standing on the edge of the Changtang plateau on the banks of Tso Kar lake with brahmini ducks, a pair of black-necked cranes, I could feel him in that wind. Nature is not for the faint of heart, it is for those who want their heart filled, shaken and changed, he was saying. This cold desert landscape is by far the most stunning landscape I have ever been in. Although I was already at an altitude of about 16,000 feet, while standing on the shores of this lake, mountains that rose easily another 2 to 3 thousand feet towered over me. The mountains were so tall that I could barely make out their tops, wreathed as they were in clouds, and with the shifting clouds and sun, they changed colours like chameleons, from green to red to blue in a magical display.
Lake Tso Kar is one of three lakes in this region. The other two being Lake Tsomorir and Pangong. The bulk of the Changtang plateau extends into Tibet and only a part of it lies in India.
The lakes in Ladakh are the highest salt water lakes in the world. The salt comes from the chemicals found naturally in the soil and the rocks. The fact that the lake exists essentially in a cold high altitude desert system means the lake experiences high levels of evaporation, making the salt content more potent. It is only in the short summer months that the glacial melt adds fresh water to the lake and rain water streams exist for an even shorter period. No fish species have been detected in the lake as the extreme fluctuations of temperature and evaporation changing salt content make it mostly inhospitable. There is, however, much phytoplankton and zoo plankton in the water, making it a feeding ground for various migratory birds and the breeding ground for the black-necked cranes that are only found in India and Tibet. Some 225 species of birds are found in Ladakh, many of them venturing into the high altitude wetlands. High in the sky, lammergeiers and golden eagles circle looking for food. Golden marmots and many other small voles and mice hide in deep burrows in the ground.
The marshes and the pasture land that open up during the summer months attract the Kyang or the Tibetan wild ass to the shores of the lake. We were very lucky to witness a herd of asses come down towards the lake to graze. These wild asses look very similar to the wild asses I have seen in the little Rann of Kutch. While the land and mountains look bare and can be brutal in the winter months, they are still home to some of the most spectacular wildlife in the world. The mountain slopes are home to the snow leopard, the Tibetan wolf, the Eurasian lynx and brown bear. All of them endangered. The slopes with their sparse vegetation are also home to the baral, the blue sheep, which are most commonly seen, the urial, a rare goat found in the lower elevation and so easier prey for hunters and also seen as compensation for the domestic livestock. The ibex, found in the higher craggier mountains, the Tibetan argali sheep and the chiru, the Tibetan antelope, also critically endangered as it is slaughtered for its fine wool that is used to make the shatoosh shawls that are highly prized in north India.
Dr George Shaller, wildlife expert extraordinare, was the first person to make the link between the chiru and the shatoosh trade and today, it is illegal to hunt the chiru for its hair. Extensive media campaigns have also tried to bring home the message to the consumer that shatoosh is illegal and has tried to make the consumer understand the true price paid for the shawl. Shawls that have been in the family over generations prior to the new law were allowed to be declared to the government and stamped as old before the establishment of the law. This has helped reduce the slaughter of the chiru, but they are still critically endangered and poaching is of big concern. The rest of the ungulates in the mountains are still hunted and the advent of roads and highways to some of the more inaccessible parts of the mountains has made it easier for illegal hunting parties to get to these animals. While the population numbers in India are still under protection and there is some control, the larger populations spread across Pakistan and Afghanistan are in great danger.
The increase of human activity in the mountains is also threatening the fragile ecosystem. Earlier, it used to be impossible for people to get to most of these areas. Now tourists are everywhere. There are hardly any checks in place and the mounting garbage generated by tourists is a huge problem. Jeeps are also driven all over the plateau destroying small nests, marmot burrows and young budding flora as most people have no idea of what they are doing. The roads and highways were initially built out of necessity as the area is of great strategic importance – it borders with China and the army needed to have a base there. Not meant for large numbers of people, this region is now buckling under pressure.
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