Sahyadrica

  A Backhoe Loader (a capitalist arm) feeding a Cattle Egret? As this JCB reclaimed a coastal floodplain for development, the egret waited to snack on disturbed insects. It is cliché when we say the only constant in the world is change. It is a paradoxical fact, always at the back of our minds when talking about what was, what is, and what will be. That history influences the present is as much a part of this phrase as the present influencing the future. When we talk about environment preservation, biodiversity conservation, and wildlife protection – all a part of the broader environmentalism – we often look back to find reasons for the present and make predictions for the future. Even a walk in the wilderness makes us wonder what it was like in the past but also what it would be in the future. Environmentalism is as much a science as it is a movement. Some mark the dawn in the west, with the Silent Spring published in 1962. In India, one of the most well-known grassroots movemen...

  Returning to the roots, the book sits along one of the many rivers it journeys with, Banjar On February 1, 2025, Our Roots Run Wild, a book of the history of the highlands of Central India, was published by The Alcove Publishers of New Delhi. Released at a small non-event at the New Delhi World Book Fair where I felt too embarrassed to talk or sign the book, it marked the day the book became available as paperback and e-book, primarily on Amazon India. This is a short three-part series on the writing journey of this book that I let consume me. In 2016, I started writing a longform essay hoping to publish it as a booklet of my experiences working in Madhya Pradesh, particularly in the region of Balaghat, Mandla, and Seoni districts. Working on the issues deemed important for wildlife conservation – particularly of large wild mammals – had put me in touch with the grassroots quite intimately. I worked not only for but also with the local communities, the Baiga folk, in particular...

That time I looked at the sea, I did not think much of it. It was the warm feeling the usual place gives. It felt like strolling leisurely, but I quite dislike becoming comfortable with this feeling because it makes me invisible to things – they don’t present themselves like they used to. When that happens, moving away from the place, as I often do for long intervals, helps me reflect upon it, makes me think of things I didn’t realise earlier, makes me long even. It is winter, and I miss the sea, even as I long for the distant snow-capped Kangto I see once in a while through a sheet of fog. But time makes it difficult to reminisce. It becomes difficult to write, not because I cannot recollect, but as memories become more distant, emotions explode. Collecting them and weaving them in a string of thoughts is exhilarating if not overwhelming. But here I am, thinking about that moment I knew I would write about. Years later, I thought to myself then, I would look back at this cherished...