midlifeblues

India needs green muscle at Rio+20

2012-02-10T18:23:00.002+05:30

Rio de Janeiro in Brazil will have a different kind of carnival this year ... MORE ...

Nigeria Rumblings - Equity crucial for fuel subsidy

2012-02-03T21:29:00.002+05:30

My op-ed on Nigeria's fuel subsidy appeared in the Hindu Business Line. More ...

Divide and sell

2012-01-19T10:39:00.002+05:30

One Wednesday afternoon the fixed line telephone in my Chennai home died. Suddenly. The broadband internet connected through the same cable was working.

I called the customer relations number. "This is Madhav, how can I help you sir?" asked the voice on the other end politely. The human voice came after 5 minutes of computer-talk that took me through the significance of numbers 1, 2, 3, 4. I explained the problem. I heard him typing into his computer. He gave me a request number and assured that the engineer will come on Thursday morning.

"We are collecting feedback from our customers, sir," said Madhav. "Can I take a minute?" I assured him that I will give feedback as soon as my phone is repaired.

Thursday afternoon I called again. It was Sheela at the call center. "What's the problem, sir?" I repeated the problem, I gave her my service request number. She assured somebody will come next morning. "We are collecting feedback ..." My response was the same.

Friday afternoon and Saturday morning we spoke with Raghav and Kumar. "Server linkage problem", "outage", were among the many reasons that they gave us. The problem, I felt, was affecting more than our line and the engineers at some end, somewhere, were working overtime to sort out this major issue. I felt bad for being impatient while the company's engineers were finding the solution to a larger telecom problem affecting thousands of customers.

On Saturday evening my wife Raji and I went to the relationship center. At 7.30 in the evening Lakshmi was visibly harassed. She must have been answering many like me. She took down my complaint again. I said that our complaint has been recorded innumerable times before; our phone is still dead. She said, "now that you have come to us we will send an engineer tomorrow." To pacify us she asked us to use the house phone and call somebody, somewhere. Raji went to the phone booth and I could hear her having a not-so-pleasant conversation with somebody at the other end.

Flash back to 1986. The television boom after the 1982 Asian Games had reached Thrissur in Kerala and my father, after much market research, bought a television from Mr Thomas's shop. To catch the airwaves it was necessary to hoist the ladder-like antenna from a 40-foot iron pipe harnessed to the wooden rafters of our house with tiled roof. Though secured with stay wires to all the coconut palms in the vicinity, the slightest breeze would shift the antenna's alignment and the spots that appeared on our TV screen would grow to become ever-bouncing tennis balls and obscure Neethi Ravindran's face and voice.

This was not all. Unlike the robust units of today, the television sets of the mid-1980s were temperamental and had frequent breakdowns. Suffice to say, my father made innumerable phone calls and Thomas made as many visits to our house on his Vijay Super scooter to repair the delicate contraption.

Though the transaction ended when my father carried out the television from Thomas's shop the relationship had only begun. And in the then small town of Thrissur, Thomas did not want to annoy an existing customer and put off future customers (asking the opinion of friends and neighbors was part of the pre-purchase ritual those days). The transaction had a name, face and person associated with it.

I don't remember to whom I spoke when I ordered my fixed line and broadband connection in my Chennai home 30 months ago. Neither do I remember who came to install the connection. My link with them was severed as soon as the transaction was completed.

Perhaps the two of them representing the same brand may not know each other and may be working for two companies that have contracted from the main company - one company marketing the product and the other installing and servicing it.

The call center which took my complaint calls (located in Bengaluru to service the requests from all over the country) would possibly be owned by an entirely different contractor company, with no power over the doings or undoings of the sales or servicing companies.

Poor Madhav, Sheela, Raghav and Kumar at the call center or Lakshmi at the relationship center, who are at the receiving end of the customers' ire may have no way of coaxing, cajoling or threatening the engineers employed by the servicing contractor company to visit my apartment to rectify my problem. Their domain is as large as the computer screen in front of them - typing messages such as "customer called again, wants the fault to be repaired by this evening." This is as unfair to them as it is to me, the customer.

Epilogue: On Sunday forenoon the engineer came to our house, checked the telephone, went down to the main junction box for our apartments, fixed the line that had jumped off the point and presto our phone was working. His investment: 10 minutes of his time. Our cost: 100 hours of down time, more than a dozen phone calls navigating through a maze of recorded instructions, a trip to the relationship center costing three hours and fuel, and increased adrenalin flow.

Colonial cousins

2012-01-01T11:39:00.001+05:30

In August 1999, I attended a workshop for environmental journalists at FOJO,the journalism school of Kalmar University in Sweden. There were 20 of us,mid-career practicing environmental journalists from developing countriesacross the world. We talked much about how it is to be an environmentaljournalist in our countries.

What struck us more than environmental discussions was the fact that allof our countries had gone through a colonial past. It showed me, graphically,how a handful of West European countries had controlled the lives and destiniesof almost the entire world.

“Colonialism” is a ratheracademic word for Indians of our generation. Maybe for our parents it would havebeen a palpable, tangible concept. But for us it was in textbooks. I rememberit being repeated in the rallies of the Students' Federation of India at mycollege in Thrissur. You would know how "seriously" colonialism was referred toif I told you that we even had a strike, then, in Sree Kerala Varma College,Thrissur, to demand that the South African Government release Nelson Mandelafrom prison.

I felt colonialism in my bones when I lived in West Africa. Like how “Gulf”money hangs in Kerala, colonialism hangs over the air of many of thesecountries.

West Africa is predominantly Francophone – Benin, Togo, Côte d’Ivoire,Guinea, Burkina Faso, Niger, Mali, Senegal, Chad and Senegal. The Anglophonecountries (those that were former British colonies) are like islands in a seaof French-speaking world – Nigeria, Ghana, Liberia, Sierra Leone and thetongue-shaped The Gambia. The two former Portuguese enclaves are Guinea Bissauand Cape Verde.

A lazy afternoon at a roadside eatery in Kpalime, Togo.

Almost all the countries in the region got their independence between1955 and 1960. Ghana was among the earliest – in 1957. Benin, Nigeria and manyother countries celebrated their 50^th anniversary in 2010.

Half a century is a long time for any nation-state to take charge of itsown destiny. Driving through Ghana, and through the streets of Accra, one cansee a country that has taken stock of its own needs. Ghana is far moreself-reliant in agricultural and industrial production than its neighbors. Themarkets sell domestically-produced products at competitive rates. Arterialroads are world-class. As the national football team climbed through the ranksin the 2010 World Cup matches, proud Ghanaians drove their cars with flags fluttering.When Asamoah Gyan stood to take the penalty against Uruguay, an emergent nationcheered and prayed silently.

When I landed at the Abidjan airport in Ghana’s western neighbor Côted’Ivoire in early 2010, I saw French soldiers guarding the hangar. The French are still involved in the politicsand economy of Togo, Niger, Benin and most of the other Francophone countries.

The British left when they left; the French stayed back. And thatessentially marks the difference between the Anglophone and Francophonecountries of West Africa.

Ghana has its own currency – the cedi. You needed a few thousand cedisto buy a US dollar. When this value touched 10,000 in 2007, Ghana issued the Ghanaiannew cedi, which was US$ 1 to cedi 1. Currently the value of the new cedi hasfallen to around 1:1.62. At this realistic exchange rate, which reflects thesize of the Ghanaian economy vis-à-vis the US economy, the country isregulating its imports, exports and domestic production.

With the exception of Guinea, all Francophone countries use the CommunautéFinancière d’Afrique (CFA) Francas the common currency. Since this currency has the support of the Frenchtreasury, each of these countries have to deposit 80% of their foreign currencywith the French treasury. In other words, sovereign governments have controlover only 20% of their forex earnings. The return – French backing ensuresconvertibility across the globe and stability that a common currency can givein comparison to the volatility that multiple national currencies could havecreated in the region.

The flip side is rather severe. The CFA islocked to the Euro at a fixed conversion rate of CFA 655.96 to a Euro. Thismeans that it can swing anywhere between 450 and 520 to a US dollar, dependingon the greenback’s health vis-à-vis the Euro.

Let’s put this graphically. US$1 = 1.62 newGhanaian cedis = 16,200 cedis. Benin, whose economy is a fragment of theGhanaian economy, the rate is US$1 = CFA 497. You get my point?

No wonder that my Indian friends in Cotonouare predominantly importers – bringing in rice, oil, commodities and FMCGproducts. They do export cashew nuts in which Benin has quality advantage. Butpredominantly the Francophone countries are importers with absolutely nocompetitive advantage with exports, given the artificially overvalued CFA.

During the period we were in Benin, Raji andI have a standard repartee. “Is product X available in Cotonou?” one of usasks. “If it is available in France it will be available here,” comes thereply.

What did this mean to us? Blowing up US$ 100 while shopping is as easyas snapping one’s fingers. The smallest currency note is CFA 1,000, theequivalent of Rs 100 but in real terms worth Rs 10. When I got air filled intothe tyres of my car I paid CFA 500, the equivalent of Rs 50. I earned indollars, lived in a good part of the city. Half of Benin lives on less than twodollars a day.

Ifonly Sahir Ludhianvi’s words could be translated to French, Fon, Adja and manyother West African languages – “Wo subaha kabhi to aayegi.”

Greener than we care to know

2011-12-10T15:10:00.001+05:30

One evening on my streetin Cotonou, Benin, I found four children playing under a table. The boywas pouting "brrruuuu", turning an imaginary steeringwheel and shifting imaginary gears. The girls were passengers.

The scene was similar,though a generation and a continent away. I have taken turns to be the driverand the passenger in imaginary cars in my childhood. I have had cordial as wellas quarrelsome companions during my imaginary rides.

My primary ambitionthose days was to become a bus driver. It filled me with power thinking aboutit. On bus rides I would sit as close to the driver as possible, and keep hisactions under constant surveillance. Back home I imitated his body language -reaching out with the left hand to shift gears or stretching with the right topress the bulb horn outside the door. I used to be particularly impressed withthe power that his high position on the road gave him; he could look down atother erring motorists and shout.

My father worked withthe then undivided Madhya Pradesh Government, and travel to Kerala on holidaysinvolved long train rides. Steam engines had rhythm in their voice. In theearly 1970s, in Bhilai steel township we could hear the engine coasting intothe station over the sound of neighborhood gossip. The pistons clunked to astop when the driver shut off steam. Clunk, clunk, clunk.

However, the dieselengine drivers impressed me more than their sweaty, black-with-soot,bandana-headed counterparts in the steam engines. Electric engines, which I sawonly when we came close to Madras Central, were too quiet and smooth for myimagination. The diesel engine drivers were a picture of authority as the traincame into the station, one hand on the window and other on the bright-bluecontrol panel. The diesel engines embodied power, even when idling, when thesilence was interspersed with ghud-ghud-ghud of turningmotors.

I did not know, then,that more than the "authority" that a young boy saw in theseoccupations, these men did an environment-friendly job, transporting morehumans and material spending minimal resource.

Imagine a long-haultrain from Chennai to New Delhi - 25 coaches with 70 passengers on an averagein each coach would mean transporting 1,750 men/women/children with one engine.There is one mouth to feed with fuel and one exhaust to take care of, i.e. ifwe assume that it is a diesel engine that is pulling the rakes. Since most ofthe main lines are electrified in India, the power to pull the train comes froma grid originating from a centralized power plant, thereby making it easier todeal with the exhaust.

We Indians take our railand train network for granted. There may not be a man or woman of my generationwho hasn't played train with friends in childhood – koo-chuk-chuk.Steam engines were mostly eased out by the time my son was growing up, but Idid see him and friends snaking their way through our apartments. However, whatwe take for granted as a convenient and affordable means to move from point Ato point B in our country does not exist as an option in many other parts ofthe world.

The railline between Lome and Kpalime

in Togo disappears into the bush

Though the colonialmasters laid the initial foundation for the rail network, Independent Indiasystematically worked to strengthen and expand the infrastructure. In the past30 months, I have lived in and traveled through four countries in West Africa.These countries too had gone through a colonial past – three under the Frenchand one under the British. They too have had a few rail lines developed duringthe colonial period. The colonial motive was the same as in India – the railwayswere primarily designed for moving resources and troops that could be used formoving ordinary people. However, unlike in India, the rail system has not grownin these countries post-Independence.

Connecting urban centersand even villages with each other with a rail network is no more a challenge inIndia. The challenge is to see how the railways can be used to transport peoplewithin cities.

With the exception ofChandigarh, Lutyens Delhi and industrial townships such as Bhilai, most of theurban centers in India have grown organically from villages or cluster ofvillages. Laying rail lines through these unplanned urban centers and runningtrains through them is not an easy task – not only as an engineering exercise,but also as a political decision.

Trains for intra-citytransport have the greatest advantage that any commuter can ask for in a city.They travel through secured passages and thereby have control over their runningtimes.

During his three-yearstudy in a college in Tambaram outside Chennai, my son knew exactly how manyminutes his train travel from Kodambakkam would take. What he could never judgewas the time needed to drive a scooter from Virugambakkam to Kodambakkam tocatch the train. And since he knew there were trains every five minutes, it wassomething like stepping onto a conveyor belt at Kodambakkam and getting off atTambaram.

Mumbai grew because ofits suburban trains. So did the urban corridor between Guindy and Tambaram inChennai. People bought property, built homes and offices along the railcorridors. The reverse challenge today is to create rail lines and runtrains through areas where people have built homes and offices.

Delhi has done well withits Metro. Even in the late 1980s, a bus ride from Janakpuri to the Inter-StateBus Terminal would have taken hours. Today that travel time by Metro can becounted in minutes. Bengaluru took its first baby step recently. Kolkata,of course, prided itself for its Metro network since the 1980s.

Economic mobility inIndia has happened in the past two decades. Even as late as mid-1990s, therewere not many families in the cities that owned cars. For most members of thegeneration that started their employment with the IT boom, a car (A-, B- or C-segment)has become their personal vehicle.

There is a historic andgenerational resistance against giving up the convenience of driving your car downtown.So if these young men and women are opting to take the metro or the suburbantrain, it means that they find it reliable, convenient and affordable; also environmentfriendly, though the commuter may not necessarily know it. The process hasbegun.

A tale on the hills

2011-10-17T01:11:00.000+05:30

If you are a Google Earth aficionado you will empathize with my excitement of seeing satellite images of mountains and valleys in 3D and traveling through them. In spite of a slow internet connection this week in Cotonou, Benin, I was standing on top of Anamudi, the tallest peak in the Western Ghats of India.

The Idamalayar valley as seen from Anamudi

The pointer was showing north and I could see a deep gorge running east-west beyond the peak. I stepped beyond the ridge, into the gorge, turned my pointer west and flew in through the forested valley. It was like watching an IMAX movie at Prasad's in Hyderabad. I went down steps in the valley, into the midlands, and there the river widened into a reservoir. The legend on the map said Idamalayar Dam.

I did a U-turn with the pointer and headed back to the mountain. On the way back I noticed the walls of this valley were far steeper than the adjacent ones. This did not look like a gully, formed due to erosion, turning into a river valley. It seemed that the Idamalayar river was flowing through a rift valley formed along a geological fault. I checked my presumption on Google, and I was right. The earth must have cracked - some day in geological past - and the same force that thrust the mountain up created a crack for the river to flow.

When I was a young boy, I used to gaze at the Palghat Hills in the Western Ghats from my grandmother's house. The mountains had moods. They stood tall and cheerful on bright, sunny days, rocks reflecting sunlight and the forests taking a darker shade in contrast. They turned gloomy as they stood to hold back the monsoon clouds.

I could only imagine what was beyond the ridge. There are no limits to a boy's fantasy but the human eye has limitations. Today, sitting at my desk in West Africa, I can see far beyond the ridge on my computer. My knowledge is portable - I can see it on a smartphone in any part of the world. I notice that the Palghat Hills are contiguous to the Nilgiris, where I went to study in my teens. I also understand that the ridge that I thought to be the tallest hid taller mountains behind them.

The Western Ghats form a mountain chain 1,600 km inlength, that runs parallel to the west coast at around 150 km distance. It runsthrough the states of Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and Kerala, andthough it has an average height of around 4,000 feet (1,200 meters), it hasridges rising above 8,000 feet.

The mountains, which form the uplifted edge of the DeccanPlateau, intercept the rain-bearing monsoon clouds as they enter from the westcoast into the Indian subcontinent. This leads to high precipitation along the mountains,with some regions getting between 5,000 to 7,000 mm of rainfall in a year. Thishas led to some of the thickest and most biodiversity-rich forests in India tobe located in the stretch.

The Western Ghats are home to evergreen, semi-evergreen,moist deciduous and dry deciduous forests. In addition, the mountains have theunique shola-grassland ecosystem in the upper plateau. This consists ofgrasslands on the hill slopes with evergreen forests of short-statured,close-canopied trees (shola forests) in the groin of the hills.

Theshola-grassland ecosystem ensures that the streams flowing out of the smallfolds in the mountains have water throughout the year. This system constitutes the ‘overhead watertanks’ for the plains of peninsular India, feeding into three major rivers –Godavari, Krishna and Cauvery – and hundreds of smaller rivers. For instance,the state of Kerala itself has 44 rivers.

In exactly a year from now, in October 2012, there would be international attention on the Western Ghats when India hosts the 11th Conference of Parties (COP-11) to the United Nations Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) at Hyderabad. The diversity of life on the mountains is rich, and it isamong the biodiversity hotspots in theworld. It has over 5,000 species of flowering plants, 139 mammal species, 508bird species and 179 amphibian species. Many undiscovered species and at least 325 globally threatened species occur in the Ghats.[i]

One of the framework conventions that emerged from the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (more popularly known as the Rio Summit) in June 2002, the CBD recognizes biodiversity as a sovereign property, and aims to promote its conservation, sustainable use and equitable sharing of benefits.

Since CBD is only a framework convention, the member countries require national policies and laws to put into effect its principles. India was one of the earliest countries to discuss and enact a legislation to protect the country's biological diversity. The Biological Diversity Act of 2002 was gazetted on 5 February 2003. Through the Act, the National Biodiversity Authority (NBA) was established in Chennai in 2003, and the establishment of similar institutions at the state and local level was recommended.

The Biological Diversity Act mandates that the country's biological diversity and traditional knowledge associated with it cannot be transferred out of the country for research or commercial gain without prior approval of the NBA. Similarly, for commercial utilization within the country of biological resources or knowledge, permission has to be obtained from the relevant state biodiversity boards.

The NBA or the state biodiversity boards, while giving permission can order that a part of the benefit from the commercial use of the biological resource or the knowledge has to be shared with those groups or communities that helped to preserve the resource and develop the knowledge. The Act has teeth, and contravention is punishable with imprisonment and/or monetary fine.

This Act strengthens the other forest-related legislation such as the Indian Forest Act, Forest Conservation Act and the Wildlife Protection Act.

As a journalist working with the Hindu Business Line newspaper, I closely followed the evolution of the Biological Diversity Act from 1997 to 2002. It was an interesting process, that had many consultations with the public in which citizen's groups, environmental activists, tribal-rights activists, foresters, bureaucrats, parliamentarians were involved. More or less at the same time there were discussions for the development of the Protection of Plant Varieties and Farmers' Rights Act of 2001. I wrote about the interface between these two Acts.

The biodiversity of the Western Ghats and the ecological services that the mountains provide, however, is far greater than what can be signified by legislation. These ecological services are not only to the communities living in the hills but also to those living in theplains of peninsular India. If therivers do not carry enough water, it can adversely impact the downstream townsand cities and thereby India’s economic growth.

With new species of plants and animals still beingdiscovered in the forests, the source of a wonder ingredient or molecule formedicine could be lost before being found.

While the forests in the Western Ghats have the power to reduceclimate change by absorbing carbon dioxide, the mountain ecosystem can also be seriously and adversely affected in a warmingworld. In the higher plateaus of the Ghats , the climate is temperateeven though they stand in tropical latitudes. A warmer world would mean theloss of these temperate pockets including its unique biodiversity.Economically, this could result in loss for the plantation industry – tea,coffee, temperate vegetables and fruits, etc. – that provide livelihood to millions and export revenue to the GDP.

As I zoomed out from Anamudi Peak on Google Earth and looked at the Western Ghats in their entirety, I noticed that the patches of green were fragmenting and the urban centers were expanding. Perhaps those living in the cities and towns do not realize that the mountains and forests give far more to them then what they are aware of in their day-to-day lives.

[i]Myers N,Mittermeier RA, Mittermeier CG, Da Fonseca GAB and Kent J. 2000. Biodiversity hotspotsfor conservation priorities.Nature, 403:853–858.

Dead starters and live economic growth

2011-09-25T19:54:00.000+05:30

It was a year before he died. I used to work in Chennaithose days and had gone to Thrissur on a holiday. The tube-light in the dining room was not working, and my father asked me to check it out. It seemed that the starter was dead. I got ready to leave for the store to buy a new one.

A green smokestack?

Father stopped me. He asked me to follow him to his study. His lung disease had progressed by then and he panted with the excitement of the effort. He took out a brown paper cover from inside a plastic box and said, "try one of these, it may work." I turned the brown paper cover to loosen the rubber band and saw his label for the contents inside the cover - 'Dead starters'.

My father was born in 1917, the year Indian soldiers whofought for the British in the First World War returned to their villages. Justtwo years before he was born, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, an Indian lawyer hadreturned from South Africa. Though not as an active participant, he had livedthrough the freedom movement and World War II. He had experienced scarcity,rationing and queues. For him there was nothing wrong in coaxing a dead starter to work for a few more months.

Though the economic reforms were initiated in 1991, in 1995 (when my father tried to resuscitate starters) the Indian economy was not soaring. But even by then the use and throw culture was slowly coming into practice. Summer this year, when I had parked my Maruti 800 in Swaraj Round, Thrissur, I found a friendly message hanging from my rear view mirror. "Exchange your old car for a new Nissan Micra," it read. Just like that?

High domestic production and high domestic consumption is good for the economy. It is better than the export-led economies (like in South-East Asia before the crash of 1997), or the import-led economies (like in much of Africa). However, when consumption becomes an end in itself, when today's goods and services are bought from tomorrow's expected earnings, there could be danger ahead.

I was a journalist when Sir Richard Jolly, lead author of the 1996 Human Development Report which focused on 'consumption', came to Chennai to release the report. Explaining the concept of consumption to us, Sir Richard said that when the human waistline expands beyond 34 inches then the problems due to consumption starts. I presume the conceptual 34-inch waistline also exists for national economies.

Mall owners in Chennai today will assure me that waist size does not matter. They have jeans for all sizes. They also have jeans of all brands. They have enough jeans chasing my money.

This summer the contrast was yet stronger for me, since I was coming to Chennai from Cotonou in Benin, West Africa. In Cotonou, good money has to go chasing for goods and services. In fact, the city has a used-jeans market. I do not know how the supply chain to this market works, but I would not be surprised if the jeans used and put aside in Chennai would find their way here through a network of international traders.

To get a snapshot picture of the Indian socio-economy between 1995 and the present, I referred the United Nations Millennium Development Goal indicators. Infant mortality dropped from 72 per thousand births in 1995 (starting year for all remaining comparisons) to 48 per thousand births in 2010. Under-five mortality dropped from 100 per thousand births to 63 per thousand births in 2010. Maternal mortality dropped from 470 per 100,000 live births to 230 per 100,000 live births in 2008. The percentage of HIV incidence rate (mid point) in 15 to 49-year old decreased from 0.06% to 0.02% in 2009. With the exception of tuberculosis, which showed a slight increase both in prevalence and death rate, all other health indicators have improved between 1995 and 2011.

People's access to improved drinking water source increased from 76% in 1995 to 88% in 2008. Access to improved sanitation facilities, though still abysmal, increased from 21% to 31% in 2008. Telephone lines increased from 1.24 per hundred population to 2.87 in 2010. Mobile phones registered a dramatic increase. It increased from 0.01 per 100 population to 61.42 in 2010. Internet connectivity increased from 0.03 connections per 100 population to 7.50 in 2010.

However, all this was not without a cost. India's carbon dioxide emissions increased from 0.92 billion tonnes in 1995 to 1.74 billion tonnes in 2008 (more recent figures not available on the chart). The per capita carbon dioxide emissions increased from 0.96 tonnes in 1995 to 1.47 tonnes in 2008.

India comes 145th on the list in terms of per capita emissions, keeping pace with Georgia, Gabon and Angola. Qatar takes the top position with 53.5 tonnes emissions per capita in 2008; the USA in the 12th position with 17.5 tonnes; and the UK in the 43rd position with 8.5 tonnes.

When the country figures are listed, India comes third after China and the USA, and fourth if the European Union is counted as a block. Despite the ranking, the differences are considerable. In 2008, China had an emission of 7.03 billion tonnes (23.33% of the global total); the USA 5.46 billion tonnes (18.11%); the EU 4.17 billion tonnes (14.04%); and India 1.74 billion tonnes (5.78%). This data and analysis was made by the Carbon Dioxide Information Analysis Center of the US Department of Energy for the United Nations.

This is the data on which the entire India vis-à-vis the world climate change discussion revolves. There are two ways of looking at it. While one can argue that India is a major emitter, the counter argument is that a country with 17.28% of the world population only shares 5.78% of the emissions, and global warming is caused due to present and historical emissions. India's economic growth and increase in emissions is a recent development. The per capita emissions is amongst the lowest in the world.

I do not know how much of these arguments my father would have read through the newspaper. Even if he had, his philosophy would have been simple - if a tube-light starter can be brought back to life it should not be thrown away.

Welcoming an itinerant Maveli

2011-09-09T11:17:00.000+05:30

This year Maveli is coming to Cotonou in Benin, West Africa. We are preparing to receive him on Sunday, 11 September.

Maveli is a good man, very considerate. He meets his people on a day of their convenience, rather than his. On Sunday his calendar should be full. I am sure as the earth turns he would be coming from Perth, Singapore, Dar es Salaam to Cotonou. After shaking our hands he may be going to Accra, London, Chicago and San Francisco.

I am grateful, my King. We are humble immigrants, peripheral statistics in the global pool of migrant labor.

I left Kerala in 1987. Since then I have welcomed Maveli at New Delhi, Chennai, Hyderabad and now Cotonou. Many a year I have welcomed him at home, along with my family. Some years I have done it with friends, in a larger gathering.

At one such gathering, one of my friends asked me a question. "Did Parasurama throw an axe to reclaim Kerala from the sea?"

"I am told so," I answered. "I was not born then."

"Dashavatara says that Vamana came before Parasurama. Then how would it have been possible?" my friend persisted.

Touché!

The point, of course, is not to check the historical veracity of mythological stories but to imbibe the spirit that they convey. In almost every part of India there are two major celebrations in a year. Call them Onam-Vishu, Diwali-Holi or Diwali-Pongal, these are post-harvest festivals where historically a predominantly agrarian society thanked the Gods for a good return on investment.

We have moved from agrarian to industrial to service sector economics, but maintain these celebrations that remind us of our gratitude to the soil of our land. An IT professional, doing a project in India for a company in the USA, has very little connection to the soil or the harvest. But he joins in because the celebration of the day links him with every other Malayali in the world, and also to his forefathers who celebrated this day every year during their lifetimes.

My first Kerala Onam experience was in 1976. My father had retired from government service in Madhya Pradesh and had bought our home in Thrissur. He was keen that his children experience the real Onam. We made Thrikkakara Appan in clay and laid the floral design in front of the steps leading home.

Only once did I return to Kerala for Onam after I left in search of employment. It was in 1991, the first Onam for my son, and like my father before me I wanted him to experience it. He was too small and may never remember that day, but I could not fail in my duty of baptizing him as a Malayali.

In 1976, the going rate for a Kummattikali performance was 10 paise. I knew that many boys went around the corner, changed into a new mask and returned as a fresh Kummatti.

Today perhaps there are not that many Kummattis in Thrissur. It is not worthwhile to perform at the bottom of a multi-storeyed apartment block. Who watches? Who pays? Today's equivalent of Kummattikali are the Onam special programs on Asianet and the umpteen other television channels in Kerala. People watch. And since they watch the advertisers pay.

With satellite links some of these channels are watched by Malayalis all over the world. These programs make the Malayali diaspora yearn for the land of mountains, rivers, backwaters, lagoons and beaches that they left behind. This 590-km long thin (it is 150 km broad at the broadest point) strip of land has the tallest mountains in India after the Himalayas. Forty-four rivers start from these mountains, with 41 flowing west into the Arabian Sea. A mesh of tributaries and distributaries cover the state.

Historically, Kerala was the landing point for all those who sailed from across the Arabian Sea, making it a cultural and religious melting pot. Apostle St. Thomas sailed to the coast a couple of decades after Christ's Crucifixion, and his followers were among the earliest Christians in the world. He is said to have landed near the present-day Kodungallur, the town in which one of the earliest mosques was built in the country. Buddhism, Jainism and Judaism were also practiced in Kerala.

In the mid-1990s, the Kerala Tourism Department started marketing this beautiful and rich land as "God's own country." As a journalist, I listened to officials talking about packaging and promoting the state to the discerning global traveler. They were right - Kerala is known across the world today.

However, the strongest ambassadors for the state have always been those who traveled out in search of employment. Good education and paucity of opportunities were the push factors. One fine day, early in his life, my father caught a train to Mumbai. He returned only when he retired from active service decades later. My wife's father sailed to Malaysia, carrying his hopes and a steel trunk. A generation later in 1987, my friends saw me off in a train out of Kerala.

Raji and I were on a tourist coach in Dubai in the summer of 2009. We were driving into Palm Jumeirah. The Pakistani guide was talking about the engineering adventure, and how it had attracted the rich and the famous from across the world. He mentioned something about Shahrukh Khan. We overtook an Ashok Leyland bus with windows open. The workers inside looked mostly Malayalis.

Maveli, my King, this Onam please give joy to them, and to all of us staying inside and outside your kingdom.

Ouidah road

2011-09-04T15:12:00.000+05:30

There is a road along the beach connecting the city of Cotonou to the historic town of Ouidah in Benin. Some pictures.

The missing link

2011-08-28T00:18:00.000+05:30

The news is out – climate change reporting in the media has increased in the past couple of years. A continuing media monitoring study by the Center for Science and Technology Policy Research (CSTPR) of the University of Colorado, Boulder, USA, has posted the trends on their website. I saw it first on Mike Shanahan’s blog on the environment.

The CSTPR has produced graphs for global trends (2004-2011) and also for India (2000-2011), Japan (2005-2011), UK (2000-2011) and USA (2000-2011).

In the global graph, the curves for the continents look similar. Climate change reporting across the world has increased since the middle of 2006. The tallest spike in all the graphs is around end-2009, which correlates to an increase in reporting everywhere closer to the Fifteenth Conference of Parties (COP-15) to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) held at Copenhagen, Denmark, in December 2009. There are a few smaller spikes after 2009.

The global trend on climate change reporting (source: CSTPR)

For the global study, Boykoff and Mansfield looked at climate change coverage in 50 newspapers. They used the keywords "climate change or global warming" over multiple search engines to get the number of stories.

Interestingly, after the spike related to the Copenhagen COP, there is a decline in climate change stories in North America and Europe. Newspapers in Oceania show consistent interest in the subject. In fact, since February the number of news reports have been steadily rising from Oceania. Maybe the flood in the eastern part of the continent and the drought in the western part is contributing to the interest in the subject. Though showing a decline in the recent months, Asia and Middle East have been keeping pace with coverage in Europe and North America in the past two years. The study records very few stories on climate change from Africa and South America.

The trend on climate change reporting in India (source: CSTPR)

For the Indian study, Boykoff has looked at four newspapers- Indian Express, the Hindu, Hindustan Times and the Times of India. The Hinduhas had the highest coverage, followed by the Indian Express and Times ofIndia. The Indiannewspapers have had a peak corresponding to the Copenhagen COP. This is inkeeping with the world trend.

There are a few other peaks in the Indian graph. I wrote to Dr Boykoff to confirm what was the reportedduring the other spikes in the Indian graph. They relate to the coverage around annual COPs.

Overall, the trend for India is clear. There are far more climatechange stories in Indian newspapers since end-2005 when compared to the years2000 to 2005.

The Indian graph caught my attention since itgave empirical evidence to a conversation I had with my environmentjournalist friend in India a few weeks ago. My friend and I go a longway. We both started writing on environment and development more or less at thesame time - in the late 1980s-early 1990s. In 2001, both of us wereinvited to Helsinki to interview the Finnish Environment Minister, Ms SatuHassi, before her maiden visit to India. He was representing the Indian Expressand I the Hindu Business Line newspaper.

A few weeks ago, I was discussing with my friend the presentenvironmental reporting situation in the Indian media. I have been away from thecountry for two years and needed to know the situation from him. He said thatthere has been an increased reporting on environment in India, and especiallyso on climate change. The CSTPR graph for India confirmed what he said.

The trend is not surprising for somebody who has followedclimate change negotiations since the 1990s. India was not listed among thecountries that had to reduce their greenhouse gas emissions by the end of thefirst reporting period of 2008-2012. Even in the 1990s it could be foreseenthat India would be under pressure to make binding commitments onmaking emission reductions in the second phase. This background went into allthe discussions on emissions trading after the Kyoto Protocol of 1997. Thesustained growth of the Indian economy in the past decade has ensured that thepressure to make India join has been getting stronger in every annual COP.

In the buildup to each COP, since the one held at Nairobi,Kenya, in November 2006, there have been international stories mentioning aboutIndian emissions in relation to the global picture. These cues have been pickedup by Indian media and there are many stories on Indian policy position before,during and immediately after the COPs. The spikes on the Indian graph are notcoincidental.

In his blog Shanahan asks, “newspapers in developingcountries are publishing more stories about climate change, but how much islocally relevant and how much is just recycled from the West?”

In Indian media the dividing line is not between Westernstories and Indian stories. The Indian media generates its own stories, andeven when a story from the West is used it is contextualized for India. Thedividing line is between the macro policy stories and the local stories onenvironment which do not link to the larger climate change picture.

Many of the local stories which have a link to climatechange will not get counted in a study such as the one being done by CSTPRbecause they do not use the keywords (climate change or global warming) inthem. Most of the storieson industrial pollution, forest rights, iron ore mining, wind energy and solar energy may not get reflected.

All stories do not need to make a mention about climate change. But if they do then they will help building the concept of climate change among the readers. The issue of climate change and global warming are still vague for the uninitiated. That is still because the reader cannot link between the developments that he experiences in his day-to-day life to something related to a warming world and discussions that experts have in international meetings.

And herein lies the catch in the entire climate change narrative - the missing middle link. There are stories on global meetings and policies and there are local stories. How the macro links the micro and vice versa is mostly lost in the reporting. This, however, is not a gap with the reporting alone. Scientists themselves shy away from making the connection. Maybe the science on climate change is still evolving and it is not possible to make definitive statements.

At least in the recent years, journalists, scientists and policy makers have tried to talk about the linkage with climate change during major extreme weather events. In August 2010, for instance, there were two important stories that had caught global attention - floods in Pakistan and fires in Russia. The events were heavily reported.There were a few caveat-ridden hints to climate change in some stories and when interviewed scientists did make some indirect references.

Nearly 20 years after the UNFCCC came into being, people do talk about climate change. However, it is still a distant concept, which does not link to day-to-day realities. It will become tangible and palpable only when it reflects in local stories.

A story about stories

2011-08-15T00:59:00.002+05:30

A scientist reprimanded me once for asking for a story. “I do scientific research and am not in the business of telling stories,” he said, before ending the phone conversation.

Perhaps the use of the word “story” irritated him. A journalist uses the word so often that it becomes a creature in itself in newsrooms. Life is a story, and so is death, accident, tsunami, fashion show and the infidelities of a celebrity.

However, I am sure journalism borrowed and used the word only because the concept of storytelling has been with humanity ever since civilization and culture started. I can imagine the editors of the newspapers of early days asking their reporters “do you have a story to tell our readers today?” But much before newspapers started there are records of cavemen telling stories about the wild animals they saw. Cave etchings testify to these storytelling sessions around the fire.

Growing up in a boarding school, we often reenacted the cave situation. Starting a fire inside the dorms would have got us expelled, so we exchanged stories while warming our hands over an electric stove to ward off the cold of the nights in the Nilgiris. There were new, fresh stories when we returned from holidays. Seven weeks of separation from friends was enough to generate creativity. Some amongst us told tall ones; the others were wannabes. Like the cavemen, we also recorded our succinct messages on the walls for posterity. A cryptic “PGP was here” scratched on the wall marked the tiger’s territory in our teenage social forest.

From time immemorial stories served the same purpose as our sessions around the electric stove. They brought people together. When domesticated agriculture started, communities sat together during that part of the day when they could not do any farm work and told stories.

In most societies storytelling evolved into an art. In Kerala, the Chakyar koothu tradition has evolved into a sophisticated performing art form. Not much unlike the present-day standup comedians, the Chakyars narrate mythological stories, interspersed with modern-day parallels.

Much of country music does the same. A guitar is not a difficult instrument to carry. It can give both rhythm and tone to music. The narrative, however, is not mythological. In a country of mixed histories that would not have been possible. The country songs instead dip into stories of yore, and talk about miners and railroad engineers.

Epics in all cultures tell the stories of the struggle of good against evil. They instill good values in societies.

It is because of the timelessness of stories in the epics that references are continuously made to them even in the present day. The movie In the Valley of Elah tells the simple story of a father wanting to find how his son died. The story of post-traumatic disorders suffered by young American soldiers returning from Iraq is weaved with the David-Goliath story of the Old Testament through a story-telling session between an old man and a young boy. The old man’s struggle for truth against a stonewalling army establishment is compared to David standing his ground and fighting Goliath.

It is said that the forced migration of the Joad family in John Steinbeck’s Grapes of wrath has parallels to the migration of Israelites from Egypt in the Book of Exodus. If Steinbeck linked to the past in this book, the story of Kino when he finds the magnificent stone in The pearl continues to find parallels to the plight of many poor countries when they find oil or minerals on their land.

Ernest Hemingway told simple love stories blended into the background of historical events. In A farewell to arms, Lieutenant Frederic Henry made love to Catherine Barkley, got her pregnant, crossed national borders as she was approaching labor and lost her in childbirth while the First World War raged in the background. In For whom the bell tolls Robert Jordan participates in the Spanish Civil War.

Memorable stories keep coming back to us. Even without being Hamlet, the prince of Denmark, we face the “to be or not to be” question almost every day of our lives. Have we not faced the situation like the salt tax inspector in Premchand’s Namak ka daroga where our principles are initially assaulted and then see us through difficult situations?

There are some story tellers who have the ability of explaining complex scientific theories through simple stories. Stephen Jay Gould, the Harvard paleontologist, spoke about the theory of punctuated equilibrium of evolution through comparisons with the price and size of Hershey chocolate bars.

In the mid-1980s, when my father bought our first television set, life was simple. We had one channel – Doordarshan. We watched unending saga of Buniyad and Hum log, the activism of Rajani, and the class conflicts of Nukkad.

Twenty-five years later, we have more than a hundred channels. But even today, while surfing channels mindlessly, at times I come across one frame in a movie which holds my attention. The director succeeds to hold me with the story in that frame. I stay on to watch the whole movie.

“To state is to kill, to suggest create” is an old adage in literature. Good story tellers suggest. They persuade us to experience the situation through our senses.

Hemingway compares this with the dignified movement of an iceberg. In Death in the afternoon he writes: “If a writer of prose knows enough of what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.”

Stories are the foundations on which human civilizations and cultures are built. They link the past with the present. They blur the boundaries of truth and fiction, like the itihasa-puranas of India. They put gods and men shoulder to shoulder in the same frame, and create a class of demi-gods such as Achilles and Hanuman.

Many a time in restaurants, I have seen someone telling a story to a group at a table. The table would have been far and the language spoken unintelligible to me. But seeing the body language of the raconteur and his audience, I have become a party to the story.

For young adults, the ability to tell a story well is a sure way to attract members of the opposite sex. In my days I tried. I never got a response. Today, I read my university-going son’s stories on his social media networks. And considering the number of responses he gets, I know he has succeeded in an area in which I failed. Unfortunately some genes skip a generation before expressing their traits.

An urban rainforest

2011-08-07T02:41:00.000+05:30

Death is a celebration in a rainforest. The nearby trees grow into the canopy space left by the dead one. Life grows from the dead trunk on the forest floor. Life disintegrates the dead trunk into the forest floor.

When I returned after two years to Chennai on a holiday this summer, the urban rainforest was thriving. New businesses had taken over old ones; malls had been constructed over iconic theaters; new flyovers had eased traffic at old junctions, but reassembled vehicles on different points on the same road.

I missed landmarks, since they were no longer there. I took wrong turns because I did not recognize the junctions.

It is not surprising that Chennai has grown, since in the last decade every city in India has been growing. Chennai is a late starter. Bangalore was the first to grow with the information technology boom, followed by Hyderabad. As a journalist and as an on-and-off resident of Chennai, I have seen the city change. But the change in the past two years was much more rapid than the earlier changes.

In the summer of 1992, when I had moved to Chennai, the bridge across the Cooum at Anna Nagar had just been constructed; at Jaffarkhanpet it was a causeway across the Adyar river; and the main road in Ashok Nagar passing to the airport was dimly lit and donkeys meditated Einstein-like for hours on the shoulder of this arterial passageway.

The next year was a drought year and I had worked on a story on water diviners. These are men and women who have the ability to detect the location of water underground and thereby predict at which point digging for a well will be most productive. I had seen them in action during my childhood in Kerala. In 1992, I interviewed the few remaining ones in Chennai. They said that their service was becoming less popular since apartment blocks were replacing independent houses. When you have 20 families occupying the land that earlier one family did, then it is not enough to know if there is water in the aquifer. You also need to know how much water the aquifer will yield. And this investigation needed a hydrogeologist. Chennai the overgrown town was turning into a city.

When I had moved into my apartment in Virugambakkam in 1997, it was the wild west of Chennai. Today, Nungambakkam has spread into Virugambakkam. Fair enough, since it is easier to have downtown at your door than to drive through the traffic.

We bought our monthly groceries from Joy Stores, and we had credit with him. Then Royal Shoppe, a supermarket, started. Joy Stores closed down. Now Food Bazar has come in our neighborhood. We have a line of credit with them – through Visa card. Food Bazar is part of Chandra Mall, which has in addition to the shopping complex a food court and a five-theater multiplex. All this stands on the ground where National Theater once was.

In the 1990s, the urban authority had a program called sustainable cities in Chennai. “Sustainable cities” is an oxymoron. No city can ever be sustainable, since these are centers of consumption. When a city draws its water needs from the far-off Krishna river, power from the national grid with power plants across the country, petroleum from Arabia, coal from Jharkhand, fruits and vegetables from the Nilgiris, and rice from Thanjavur and Nellore, it cannot call itself sustainable.

Cities are centers from where the economy moves. Cities are epicenters of power, the place from where policies are made and implemented in the hinterlands. Cities are insular – they consume without bothering to know where it comes from.

Chennai does not have the history of Madurai or Thanjavur. Located 75 km from Chennai, Kancheepuram has a far longer history than Chennai. It was the capital city of the Pallavas, one of the strongest kingdoms in peninsular India between the 6th and 9th Century AD. Hinduism’s Adi Sankara and Zen Buddhism’s Bodhidharma are said to have walked the dusty lanes of Kancheepuram in its glorious days.

Chennai’s history begins as the most important colonial base for the British in India in the 17th and 18th Centuries. In the scramble for power in the 50 years after the death of Aurangzeb in 1707, the British outsmarted everybody else. Robert Clive, the general who enlarged the British presence during that period started life as a writer at Fort St. George in Chennai.

After the First War of Independence in 1857, the British Crown took over the administration of India. They started to create through English education a class of Indians who could administer the country on behalf of the British. The great Indian middle class was born in Chennai, Mumbai and Kolkata, the centers of British power. Chennai grew with the political and military power supported by an educational system. Those who had education and through it access to employment and capital, did not want others to enter their club. Chennai was educated, middle class and conservative, the trait had become the hallmark of the city.

Chennai benefitted from administrative infrastructure, early industrialization, railways and urbanization. Over the decades it became an important base for the manufacturing sector. The oil refinery added a set of downstream petrochemical industries. New car plants capitalized on the existing auto ancillary industries around the city.

When I started reporting from Chennai in 1992, I realized that the city’s strength was its manufacturing base. It prided itself for its IIT and the ingenuity of its engineer-managers who found solutions to intractable problems. For instance, starved for water in the drought of 1992-93, the refinery and the fertilizer plant bought secondary treated sewage from the Sewerage Board and treated it further to use for industrial processes.

With the information technology boom of the more recent years, the engineer-manager base of the city changed track from manufacturing to developing software. There is a critical difference though. Employment opportunities in the IT sector turned out to be far more egalitarian than in the manufacturing sector. The jobs in the manufacturing sector were less in number, and after these had been taken up by graduates from IITs, regional engineering colleges and government engineering colleges, there was not much left for anybody else. The hundreds and thousands of job openings in the IT sector could absorb graduates from even the engineering and other colleges that had barely managed to get accreditation.

More people earn better today; from a younger age. There is more money in the market and there are more hands to grab that money. Express Avenue has pipped Spencer Plaza as the place to hang out. The supplements of the Hindu and the Times of India are filled with advertisements screaming for my attention. Along with Diwali and Pongal, we also celebrate Akshaya Tritiya, Valentine’s Day, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day and whomsoever-can-increase-business day. The restaurant at the junction has a new name, new management. It used to be Safari, Pandian and Amaravathi, in that order of reverse history. Shopper’s Stop, Megamart, Pantaloons have all moved closer – for my shopping convenience.

Like the trees racing to get to that hole in the canopy left by the dead tree in the rainforest, businesses are constantly vying to grab the consumer’s attention. Some businesses die. Others grow from the dead ones. This Phoenix rises from another bird’s ashes.

A river of twists and turns

2011-08-01T02:56:00.001+05:30

River Volta is to Ghana what Ganga is to India. It is the icon for the country.

Starting in Burkina Faso and running through the length of Ghana, the Volta twists and turns through the landscape. The name "Volta" (turn), was given by the Portuguese due to these twists. The Black Volta and the White Volta are the main tributaries, with a smaller Red Volta joining the White.

In 1965, the Ghanaian Government built the Akosombo Dam, thereby creating one of the largest man-made reservoirs in the world. The reservoir stretches from Akosombo to Yapei, 400 km north. The hydro-electric project at Akosombo provides power to Ghana, as well as Togo and Benin.

The ferry Dodi Princess does a day trip on weekends, taking tourists to an island in the reservoir and back to Akosombo.

An Indian river-log

2011-07-23T21:41:00.001+05:30

The Narmada is the most beautiful river I have seen in India. No, not at the rail bridge at Hoshangabad; that is a blur of steel girders. I absorbed the Narmada while walking along the rocky gorge from Kevadia Colony (the temporary town for the construction workers for the Sardar Sarovar dam) to Bamni in 1991.

Flowing through the rift valley, the Narmada has the Vindhyas flanking its north and the Satpuras in the south. The river valley is a platform of sharp-edged rock, and I trekked gingerly to avoid a slash on my feet and shins. The mountains are not tall – a few hundred feet at the most – but they rise sharply from the line where the earth broke millions of years ago.

I was representing the Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (INTACH) at a meeting organized by Medha Patkar at Bamni. The Narmada movement was strong in those days and the meeting had drawn many people from different parts of the country. We slept on the sloping ground while the river rippled gently below us. I saw stars in the sky, something that I had not seen for years in the smoggy Delhi.

We went to the river to bathe in groups. There were gharials (alligators) in that part of the river. There was this guy, more or less my age, who sang full-throated, baul-like as we held out our towels to dry in the damp river breeze. He had long hair, which he tied loosely in a turban. He had a PhD in environmental toxicology from Cornell University. When we climbed back to the hill top the smell of warm khichdi from the thatched kitchen pushed against the river breeze. We ate in leaf plates.

Chambal has alligators on its banks. It is muddy, washing the ravines continuously. The river takes a turn before the rail bridge. Whenever I crossed the river by train in the evenings, I have loved the brown of the river silhouetted against the orange of the setting sun.

The river Bhagirathi, which later goes on to become the mighty Ganga, was mucky as it reached Tehri town. The point where I stood, then, is below the water of the Tehri reservoir today. I traveled upstream by bus to Silyara village which is on the banks of the river Ramganga, which later joins Bhilangana, which in turn joins Bhagirathi at Tehri. On our return, my friend and I were 45 minutes early at the bus stop. A delay would have meant loss of half a day to catch the next one to Tehri. While waiting we drank tea from the only shop in the village. There was nothing extraordinary about the milk or the tea leaves, but the glacial-melt water from Ramganga ensured that my tongue remembers the taste after 20 years.

Scores of Ramgangas join the Ganga by the time it reaches Rishikesh and Haridwar. It carries the copious amount of swift-flowing water that is needed to wash away the sins of the hundreds of thousands of people who bathe in the river every year.

River Indiravati drains the moist deciduous forests of the Bastar Plateau in Chhattisgarh, curves and joins the Godavari. At Dhantewada, two tributaries join Indiravati. One flows clear and serene, and the other flows rapid and red, bringing down ore-rich soil from the Bailadila iron ore mines.

Crossing the Godavari at Rajahmundry is like crossing the ocean. The bridge almost never ends. In 1993, I was in this area covering a story on a gas well blowout in the Komarada region of the Godavari delta. In the evening I sat in the balcony of my hotel room and watched the solitary lights of the ferries fade as they carried passengers to the island villages in the river and across.

I have seen the Godavari in Ramagundam, Basar and near Shirdi. She is at her most magnificent at Rajahmundry. After this point the river breaks into multiple distributaries of the delta, creating hundreds of islands or lankas.

Beyond the Grand Anicut at Trichy, the Cauvery too splits into a delta. The land between the multiple branches of the river has traditionally been the most important rice growing region in Tamil Nadu. The water flowing into the delta has also been the bone of state’s constant contention with Karnataka. Driving through the winding roads of the delta, I realized that there was space for everything except automobiles on the tarmac. Harvested paddy stalks were laid out to dry and thresh, people were sitting and working on it, dogs, cows, crows, everything but cars. With thousands of years of agricultural history, the delta region is also the home to delicious cooking.

In the Nilgiris I was in the land where rivers began. There is no shola from which a stream is not born. More than thousand such streams join to form the four rivers from the mountain block – Bhavani, Moyar, Kabini and Chaliyar. While the first three in turn join the Cauvery, Chaliyar flows westwards into the Arabian Sea.

A river is only a drainage channel through which rain water flows into the sea. While Bhavani has water flowing throughout the year, the adjoining Noyyal basin, draining the dryer slopes of the hills, runs dry most months. Modern-day engineering is required to move water from the Siruvani and Bhavani rivers to be moved to Coimbatore and the other industrial towns in the Noyyal basin.

I could not have grown in the Thrissur-Palghat region without Bharatapuzha etching a long line on my psyche. I love to ride along the river every time I travel by train into Kerala. I had bid goodbye to my father and father-in-law on the banks of this river.

*****
After two decades I saw the full-throated singer from the Narmada valley: on YouTube. Rahul Ram is the lead singer for the band Indian Ocean. When I heard his voice crack at the highest note of arey ruk ja re bande, I remembered the chitter-chatter of the river, the breeze on my face, the stars in the sky and the smell of Medha’s khichdi.

International Voodoo Festival

2011-07-18T03:13:00.000+05:30

Benin is considered to be the birthplace of Voodoo. From here it spread to the Caribbean and the Americas with the slaves. Every year, on 10 January, the International Voodoo Festival is celebrated at Ouidah in Benin. Raji and I shot these pictures this year.

Elmina Castle

2011-07-16T20:53:00.004+05:30

The castle at Elmina, 170 km west of Accra in Ghana, is one of the oldest and largest slave castles on the West African coast. It was in the hands of the Portugese, Dutch and the British. During the slave trade, thousands of men and women were held captive in the castle and shipped to the Americas. The walls, doors and the iron bars in the castle still tell the story of a time in history when man inflicted misery on another for greed. Raji, Varun and I visited the castle in January 2010.

Varun and I shot these poignant pictures.

Long time, no write!

2011-07-15T03:07:00.000+05:30

It has been a rather long time since I updated my blog. I will do it sooner than later.

A sad road in human history

2009-12-31T14:37:00.011+05:30

Traveling through the Route des esclaves (the route of the slaves) in Ouidah in coastal Benin is a poignant experience. Through this road, thousands of slaves were marched to the waiting boats on the coast. Ouidah was a major slave trading center of West Africa from where west-European slave traders procured men, women and children to work in the plantations of the Americas. These human beings had the misfortune of being born in a period of history when they were forcibly turned into commodities and traded for canons, gunpowder, alcohol, and perhaps other goods unavailable on African shores.

In 1992 modest monuments were erected along the Route des esclaves – bookmarks in this dark chapter. Varun shot these pictures.

The tree and the square where the slaves were traded.

The rebels were tied and gagged.

Many died even before reaching the boats. A memorial marks the mass grave.

Free in death.

The gate of no return.

The land that they left behind… forever.

A village on stilts

2009-12-28T21:17:00.020+05:30

Not very far from Cotonou city, is the fishing village of Ganvie. Populated with fisherfolk of Tofinu community, it is said that the ancestors of the present residents moved into this swampy patch running away from the slave hunters of the 17th Century. The village is built on stilts, and the community members ride boats into the city to sell their fish and buy their material needs. Women have a strong social and economic presence.

Varun and I shot these pictures.

Beads and bands

2009-12-23T10:51:00.004+05:30

Every little African girl loves to add color to her hair with beads and rubber bands.

Keeping pace with the seniors

2009-11-24T10:41:00.006+05:30

The recent Balafon Festival at Cotonou brought together many greats of African music. The young Cameroonian singer, Sanzy Viani, kept pace with the seniors.

Two hands many skills

2009-11-24T10:25:00.006+05:30

I was introduced to African music only recently. What amazes me is how musicians perform multiple tasks with ease and perfection. The famous Manu Dibango sang, played the saxophone and the keyboard in the same soul-stirring performance.

Hair on fire

2009-10-29T01:57:00.010+05:30

Cotonou is a big city, small city. It is big enough to attract musicians and artists traveling through West Africa to stop and perform. It is small enough for us to attend some of the performances without jostling through traffic for hours.

Reggae artist Jahcoustix was in the city recently. While his hair was on fire, he managed to set fire to the feet of the audience.

Life on a sand bank

2009-10-23T01:26:00.007+05:30

Cotonou city is built on a sand bank between Lake Nokue on the north and the Atlantic Ocean on the south. A channel that runs through the middle of the city links the lake with the ocean. While the port is the gateway for imported goods to come into Benin, the lake provides livelihood for thousands of fishermen, and the beach has something for everyone.

Diwali in Benin

2009-10-18T00:45:00.005+05:30

This was our first Diwali outside India. Without the bang of the festival back home, we celebrated by lighting a few diyas.

Seven star football

2009-10-18T00:31:00.004+05:30

Dubai is a rich city with a short history. This accounts for the city's insatiable desire to build the biggest and richest structures in the world. Despite the tiring afternoon sun and the dust hanging like a mesh curtain, these young men were busy playing beach football in front of the only seven-star hotel in the world - Burj Al Arab.

Carrying rain inland

2009-07-23T18:55:00.004+05:30

When the fury of the South-West Monsoon hits Nattika coast, the otherwise pleasant beach turns into a picture of anger. However, even the menacing sea cannot stop a few young men from enjoying themselves.

A temple by the river

2009-07-23T18:39:00.005+05:30

The rivers that flow west into Kerala from the Western Ghats break into distributaries and backwaters. The Sri Rama temple at Triprayar in Kerala sits beautifully on the banks of one such river. It is believed that the Sri Rama idol was the one used for worship by Sri Krishna in Dwaraka and had drifted southwards through the Arabian Sea and was picked up by the fishermen from the sea coast nearby.

What-a-phone!

2009-07-20T20:03:00.007+05:30

In the late 1980s, when I graduated from university and started working in New Delhi, there used to be a long-haired, French-bearded gentleman who advised Prime Minister Rajeev Gandhi on telecommunications. Sam Pitroda dreamt of a telephone connection in every village.

Though I do not know if every village has a telephone connection, in the last two decades we certainly have witnessed a telecom revolution. At first there were the ubiquitous ISD-STD-PCO booths which spawned an age of small-scale enterprise in telecommunications.

This was followed by the cell phone revolution, which started another round of family-level private enterprise for talk-time recharging.

Roads to somewhere

2009-07-20T19:50:00.005+05:30

Automobiles are spawning the growth and development of roads in India as they did in the USA many decades ago. In many parts of the country, national highways are being converted to multi-lane expressways. And in places like the crowded Kerala, where expansion becomes difficult, road surfaces are being improved.

For a person born in the 1960s, I have grown in an age where for decades the Ambassador was the only mode of transport from point A to point B. We filled the car with friends and relatives and rode on two-laned highways and pot-holed byways. A generation of Indians may soon be born that will take for granted the presence of good roads.

Cat genealogy 2

2009-05-31T17:31:00.012+05:30

Every popular movie has a sequel. The story of cats in our ICRISAT home needs one. If you don't remember part 1 you can read it at Cat genealogy.

Ashley, the matriarch continued to deliver children every six months. Her children - Honey, Candy and Toffee - grew into mature adults. Tofee became the sub-dominant male in the region, fighting sporadically with Boyfriend (his father) to become the dominant male. Candy and Honey grew into pretty females delivering children of their own (I will come to them later).

Fluffy followed in Ashley's next instalment. She is a pretty, agile female who has moved into a new territory and has delivered kittens of her own.

In September 2008, Ashley gave birth to four more. We called them Gundumani, Koorachimoonji, Leopard and White Tigress. These kids grew in our house, and have still not separated from each other.

Candy and Honey delivered kids this summer. The heat took its toll and Candy lost her kids. Honey brought her kids to our house. Since Honey Bee is a famous liquor brand in Kerala, we named them Vodka, Whiskey and Rum.

On sentry duty

2009-01-24T17:04:00.004+05:30

On a winter morning, Raji shot the Roller and the Kestral perched on vantage points.

Water birds come calling

2008-11-24T18:36:00.009+05:30

As winter sets in, the water birds come to roost in the mounds inside the Red Lake in ICRISAT. Raji and I have a field day shooting pictures.

Shapes and designs

2008-09-21T18:25:00.011+05:30

Rajput and Mughal architecture excel in shapes and designs.

No rainbow here

2008-08-29T17:11:00.009+05:30

Though the water drops from the sprinklers don't produce a rainbow, they have their own beauty against the setting sun.

Come rain or shine

2008-08-29T17:11:00.008+05:30

Come rain or shine, the plants in my small garden live their lives in glory.

Dragonflies

2008-08-14T19:05:00.006+05:30

Dragonflies have fascinated me since childhood. In my young mind I have fantasized them to be nature's helicopters, hovering over shrubs and flowers. As kids we have persuaded them to lift tiny stones. Though not as colorful as butterflies, they have their own sinewy beauty, spartan in build - like Ernest Hemingway's prose.

Wild berries

2008-08-11T18:43:00.005+05:30

I don't know whether these wild berries are poisonous. But they certainly have tempting form, color and texture.

Enchanting Ellora

2008-07-28T12:59:00.013+05:30

Unlike Ajanta, the caves of Ellora are not exclusively Buddhist. They also have Hindu (top four pictures) and Jain (last picture) temples, adding to the diversity.

Transcendent Thiruvannamalai

2008-07-28T12:59:00.011+05:30

Situated under the Arunachala mountain is the Thiruvannamalai temple in Tamil Nadu dedicated to Shiva as Arunachaleswara. The huge temple with four compound walls and multiple temple gates (gopurams) is said to date back to the 8th Century. In the scrub jungles of the Arunachala mountain live many sanyasis, or Hindu holy men and women

Awe inspiring in simplicity

2008-07-17T17:04:00.015+05:30

Aurangazeb's grave in Khuldabad, near Aurangabad in Maharashtra, is awe inspiring in its simplicity. For the man who ruled the whole of India, the grave is spartan. Aurangazeb chose to spend his last years in poverty, inspired by the Sufi tradition. He died in 1707, and the history of India went through radical change in the next 50 years, culminating in the British colonialisation of the country in 1757.

Ajanta

2008-07-17T17:04:00.013+05:30

The Buddhist caves, carvings and paintings at Ajanta in Maharashtra are both rugged and sophisticated.

Morning has broken

2008-07-10T16:31:00.008+05:30

A savanna landscape with sparse trees standing on grasslands has its own beauty when silhouetted against the rising sun.

Anything but a castle

2008-07-10T16:31:00.007+05:30

Though called Manmool Castle, this structure inside ICRISAT campus has served many roles, except that of a castle. Constructed in the 16th Century, this building was used as a taxation center, hunting lodge, shelter for the poor and later as a shelter for animals. The building was recently renovated and has become a museum of sorts displaying early ICRISAT history.

Shooting the shooter

2008-01-12T11:36:00.003+05:30

It is very rarely one gets an opportunity to shoot those who fill our lives with news morning, noon and night - the television crew. I had the opportunity when the crew from Doordarshan (India's national channel) was at ICRISAT to do a story on our research.

Cat genealogy

2008-01-12T11:36:00.002+05:30

From the time we moved into the ICRISAT campus quarters in August 2003, we were never short of feline company. Ashley (top picture) was the first to join us in September of the same year. She delivered a litter of kittens after every mating season. The current crop (bottom picture) are growing up secure in our yard. They are (from left to right) Honey, Candy and Toffee. Toffee is the tom cat, rogue.

Almost at the time Ashley appeared, a grown male cat also appeared. Varun, my son, called him Gundu. Gundu's partner was Ashley's enemy, called just that. Gundu and Enemy produced a lineage, whereas here Ashley and her Boyfriend produced another. One of the earliest lots from the Ashley-Boyfriend partnership were three kittens - Snowflakes, Bruno and Aerial (so called for his/her penchant for climbing). Aerial disappeared one day, Bruno was gifted to our neighbour, where he has grown to a handsome young male, and Snowflakes is also a handsome male with long legs in the lookout for good-looking females. Snowflakes and Bruno befriended two of Enemy's children - Ching Ming and his sister. Boyfriend in fact is Enemy's brother.

In the next litter Ashley delivered another three - Silver-Moonbeam, Mixed-Pickle and Dark-Chocolate. They disappeared one by one mysteriously. The current crop is growing, rearing to face life.

In the meanwhile, Gundu competed with Boyfriend for territorial supremacy. He routinely chased and bit Boyfriend, till one day when Boyfriend was cornered he fought and realised that unknown to himself he was stronger than what he had expected. Gundu sulkingly disappeared from the scene. Now Boyfriend continues the tradition by attacking Snowflakes and Bruno.

Boyfriend and Ashley fell apart. Why I don't know since I am not tutored in cat psychology. Last seen, Boyfriend was dating Enemy's daughter. A case of avuncular love.

Raindrops and roses

2007-08-26T18:50:00.005+05:30

Rose flowers glisten with rain drops, while the drops hang on lens-like on the leaves.

Candles

2007-08-26T18:50:00.004+05:30

Candles remind us of light, powercuts, exams and even birthdays. I have watched the wax drip from the side of the candle, grow into amorphous shapes, and collect at the base in lumps. When the wax cooled, I have tried to squeeze it into shapes.

Candles also throw a beautiful yellow light, unparalleled by any other source. Varun was patient enough to model behind the light.

Lotus blooms

2007-08-26T18:50:00.003+05:30

Raji brought these lotus plants from Kerala. I was irritated by her attempts to carry these to Hyderabad, and was even more peeved when she bought a concrete basin and forced me to transport it in our car. Must admit her attempts, despite my reluctance, have paid off. The lotus blooms give us joy and peace.

Sunset at Nattika beach

2007-07-01T10:40:00.001+05:30

We visit this beach in Kerala at least once a year - one visit is mandatory every holidays.

My first vist was in 1985, collecting crabs and starfish during my final year of my Bachelors in Zoology. Fate tied me to the beach more strongly when I married Raji, whose house is two km away from the beach.

Over the years we have seen the profile of Kerala change at this beach. A predominently fishing beach, Varun and I have come to collect shells and crabs and take a walk into the water. As the boats came loaded with fish, we have bought fresh mackarels and sardines. At times we have participated in beach-side fish auctions, buying a mound for Rs 50.

Along with Raji's father Varun and I have walked the length and beyond, up to the point where the minor river joins the sea.
Varun has stopped collecting shells, relegating such childish activities to younger boys and girls.

There are more visitors to the beach in the evenings nowadays. The new Keralites are more mobile, and they reach everywhere. There are more cars parked at the edge of the beach, and the icecream vendor is a new addition.

Fertilizer bags ready for the soil

2007-04-14T11:21:00.003+05:30

Bags of organic fertilizer wait to be transfered into the tilled field.

Potted cat!

2007-04-14T11:21:00.002+05:30

A warm summer afternoon and Snowflakes couldn't resist the siesta in the empty flower pot.

Lonely at sunset

2007-02-13T21:53:00.014+05:30

This picture shot by Varun emphasizes the loneliness at sunset.

Casting a web

2007-02-13T21:53:00.013+05:30

This Signature Spider casts a web outside my window. With mosquitos in plenty, it gets food home delivered!

Matching colors

2007-02-13T21:53:00.012+05:30

The black body with golden rings of the wasp matched with the color of my wall. Just as well that I shot this picture then, because a couple of days later they painted our walls yellow.

Past and the present

2007-02-13T21:53:00.011+05:30

It is said that the site where ICRISAT campus is located - Patancheru - has had unbroken human inhabitation for more than a thousand years. Many relics were excavated when the construction and landscaping was carried out. A young creeper emerges from close to the urn, linking the past with the present.

Bounteous bloom

2007-02-13T21:53:00.010+05:30

The mango trees have bloomed well this year. If these flowers turn into fruits, we should be expecting a good mango harvest this summer.

This Indian Tree Pie mocks me

2007-02-13T21:53:00.008+05:30

This beautiful bird mocks me. I can hear his/her calls from the branch of the tree in front of my house. But by the time I have got my camera out, the bird hides behinds the leaves, and continues mocking me from behind the foliage.

Scaring a Kingfisher

2007-02-13T21:53:00.007+05:30

When I stepped out to shoot this Kingfisher, Ashley my pet cat decided to walk with me. Now, when you have a cat as an escort, it is not exactly the most appropriate moment to shoot bird pictures. However, I managed this shot before the bird flew away.

Spot-billed ducks

2006-12-03T22:39:00.002+05:30

These elegant ducks stay close to the shore and swim away when they see you coming.

At the frontier outpost

2006-12-03T22:24:00.002+05:30

This large pied wagtail keeps guard during sunset.

A model

2006-12-03T22:11:00.002+05:30

Presumably there are models even within birds. This bay-backed shrike modelled for me, hopping from one branch to another.

Entrapment

2006-12-03T17:43:00.002+05:30

Cobwebs on the grass trap dew which sparkles with the morning sun.

Sandpiper, off the bottle!

2006-12-03T17:19:00.002+05:30

My city-slicker friend, RN, visited ICRISAT a couple of winters ago. While driving him through the campus I pointed the beautiful sight of a pied kingfisher hovering helicopter-like over water to catch a fish.

"I have seen many kingfishers," RN dismissed my excitement.

"Where?" I was curious.

"On beer bottles!" he said.

Likewise, if you are the kind who sees sandpipers only on beer bottles, here is a picture of one.

Writing in air

2006-11-27T19:48:00.001+05:30

The last Diwali gave me an opportunity to try the classic Diwali shot.

From darkness lead us to light!

2006-11-27T19:16:00.001+05:30

This picture of the lamps was shot by Varun on the Diwali night.

A stealthy predator

2006-11-27T19:10:00.001+05:30

At times the lens captures what the eye misses. I almost missed this yellow spider sitting on the flower to catch unwary insects visiting for the nectar.

The bell

2006-11-18T09:18:00.001+05:30

Bells have dominated our lives. In schools it signalled the start of an interesting class or the end of a boring one. In my younger days, railway stations announced the arrival of a train with a bell. Wedding is supposedly marked by bells, though with the Hindu community in South India it is more with nadaswaram and drums. In temples they hang bells so that you can announce your arrival to the Lord. And in churches they have bells to announce your departure to the world at large.

Water plants

2006-11-12T20:28:00.001+05:30

Raji bought these water plants from a nursery, and they are already spreading buds in the water.

Moon and sunlight

2006-11-12T20:24:00.001+05:30

There are times when you can see the moon during daytime. I caught a glimpse.

Ashley and Snowflakes

2006-11-12T20:21:00.001+05:30

Ashley and her son, Snowflakes, visit us regularly, and give us much joy.

The stalker

2006-11-12T20:18:00.001+05:30

Ashley's enemy stalks quietly into our house.

Siesta time!

2006-11-11T10:35:00.001+05:30

An old lady and her daughter catch a wink of sleep inside Amber fort, Jaipur. This is the picture I liked the best out of our Rajasthan trip.

Quaint Pushkar!

2006-10-28T09:30:00.001+05:30

Pushkar hits your senses. As you get off the bus you realize there are no auto- or cycle-rickshaws. There are only handcarts that transport both humans and their baggage. The lake is sorrounded by white- and blue-washed buildings. Sadhus abound (Indian/non-Indian, junkies/non-junkies)in this small town. It has a beautiful temple dedicated to Brahma (rather rare). As the sun sets, groups of Pushkarites do aarthi with lamps on the steps leading down to the lake.

We have strict copyright rules in our family. Since all of us were clicking pictures at Pushkar, these images are credited to Raji, Varun and Gopi Warrier.

Riding the camel

2006-10-24T16:03:00.001+05:30

You cannot visit Pushkar without taking the mandatory camel ride. Varun ahoy!

In the third picture, Raji and Varun contemplate a serious decision - what to order for breakfast!

Salim Chishti's dargah

2006-10-24T11:38:00.002+05:30

For us a trip to Agra is never complete without a trip to Salim Chishti's dargah at Fatehpur Sikri. We have loved returning to the dargah and praying there.

The third picture, in the mosque adjacent to the dargah, was shot by Varun.

Mughal craftmanship

2006-10-24T11:25:00.001+05:30

Mughal craftmanship is as fine as it is grand.

Pyar kiya to darana kya?

2006-10-24T09:42:00.001+05:30

Madhubala as Anarkali sang this while Pritviraj Kapoor as Akbar seethed at her impertinence in the all-time classic Hindi movie, Mughal-e-Azam. The song sequence, which was the first sequence to be shot in colour in India, was shot in the Seesh Mahal (the palace of mirrors in Agra Fort). We managed an entry and saw the small shining mirrors while our guide showed a candle.

Wah Taj!

2006-10-21T17:23:00.001+05:30

This is my fourth visit to the Taj Mahal. It never fails to awe me. Varun, who was seeing the monument of love for the first time said that it is much grander than the pictures. This is exactly what I felt when I saw the building for the first time, when I was as old as what Varun is today.

Sunset at Taj

2006-10-21T16:58:00.001+05:30

Mughal architecture looks grander when silhouetted against the sunset. Varun shot this picture of one of the buildings in the Taj Mahal complex.

Taj - Upside down!

2006-10-21T16:40:00.001+05:30

There is always a different perspective to everything in life. This foreign tourist wants to see Taj upside down!

The parrots are here

2006-09-17T10:26:00.001+05:30

They come in groups, at dawn and dusk. They squawk and screech, and raise a racket. Who said parrots are sweet-talking birds?

Babblers come calling

2006-09-17T10:21:00.001+05:30

Babblers are busy birds. They come in a group of six or seven. It's like a military operation. They come, keep babbling to each other, upturn the soil for insects, grains, eat and fly away together. This one, of course, was perched on the tree.

Birdcalls at dawn and dusk

2006-09-10T11:18:00.002+05:30

Having lived for more than 15 years in urban Delhi and Chennai, it is a different experience to hear birds from the trees around my campus residence at ICRISAT. Raji, my wife, hates the 5 am cuckoo though. After perching on the tree next to our bedroom window, he starts his alarm call early in the morning - with every coo getting louder and shriller.
Here's the villain.

And below is his mate.

In the field

2006-09-02T10:49:00.002+05:30

A farm worker walks through an experimental field.

A sorghum head in the same field.

The bovine connection

2006-09-02T10:14:00.002+05:30

Agricultural research is incomplete without livestock research. It is awesome to watch the gigantic cattle (being researched by the International Livestock Research Institute) return to their sheds in the evening. Of course, an entourage of egrets follow their every step.

Sunset at ICRISAT

2006-09-02T09:44:00.002+05:30

I have watched the sun setting over ICRISAT hundreds of times. The beauty is that no two sunsets are same. Sitting at the edge of the mud bund that stretches into the ICRISAT lake, it is peaceful to watch the sun slide under the horizon, only to rise the next morning and hit me sharp on my face from the east-facing front door. I will keep returning to this theme over and over again on this blog.

Raindrops on petals

2006-08-29T19:55:00.002+05:30

It rained last night. There were raindrops on the petals of the Vinca rosea flowers in the front yard when I woke this morning.

Why mid-life blues?

2006-08-27T13:26:00.002+05:30

Joseph Heller starts his chapter on Col Cathcart in Catch 22 with words which mean something like this (not exact quote): "Col Cathcart was a happy and a sad man. Happy that at the age of 39 he was a full colonel. Sad that at the age of 39 he was only a full colonel."

There is a Cathcart in all of us, and it surfaces rather menacingly when one is around 40. We feel that we have done something worthwhile in life, but also feel that there was much that could have been done left undone.

Gopi Warrier is my name. Crossed 40 a couple of years ago. Was a journalist for many years. Now I am on the other end of the table, handling media relations for the International Crops Research Institute for the Semi-Arid Tropics (ICRISAT). I live on the beautiful, expansive ICRISAT campus.

Here's a picture to set the mood. I like to call it the sentinel at sunset, for it shows a farm laborer scaring birds at sunset to prevent them from attacking the standing sorghum crop.

Maya or virtual reality

2006-08-27T13:26:00.001+05:30

I have heard about blogs for some time now. Never tried creating one for myself. I once had a free website, where I used to post some of my writings and pictures. I hadn't made any changes to the website for more than a year. It vapourised! They call it "virtual reality." Advaita gives it another name - Maya. I will be posting pictures and random scribblings on this blog.