Climate change Armageddon: letter to CM Sukhu ji

Respected Chief Minister Shri Sukhu ji,

Namaskar.

I am aware that like my earlier one of 14 October ‘23 imploring you for a total shift to “Evergreen Himachal of smiling Himalayas”, this communication too is destined to find no audience with you. However, as a deeply worried and anxious in-love-with-Himachal, fellow Himachali – though ordinary – I feel impelled to keep shouting and ringing the alarm bells of climate change that is now so visibly and tangibly upon us. Like a rapacious Armageddon, it is running amuck– out to ravage and destroy all that the bountiful Mother Nature has bestowed on our hill state with such generous abundance.

I hesitate to sound like a doomsayer akin to Cassandra. But I must share what I witnessed a few weeks ago.

In early June when sun blazed like a malevolent orb, I embarked on a short drive from my Palampur town towards Dharmshala. The sight that greeted my heat-weary eyes was nothing short of ghastly. My beloved Dhauladhar which I’ve always held as heavenly, wore a deathly countenance– grave, grim, utterly helpless and downcast. Thick coils of smoke lazily spiralled skyward as if carrying urgent SOS for divine intervention, it seemed. These emanated from smouldering fires devouring Dhauladhar’s lush ‘manoram aanchal’ of oaks, pines and deodars– the very sanctuary of countless exquisite birds and animals. Amidst its grief and agony, sepulchral silence presided over the scene reminiscent of the somber spectacle of multiple funeral pyres witnessed during the height of the Covid pandemic.

Vehicles zoomed by, oblivious to the silent tears and sighs of Nature. Tourists were making merry picnicking on the grassy greens leaving leftovers behind, or bathing in the Neugal waters and littering its banks with plastic. Roadsides were chock-a-block with revellers’ luxury cars. While Mother Nature sobbed, for us however – the self-obsessed Indian Middle Class in particular – it was business as usual.

I paused by the roadside absorbing the tragic irony: The dance of death unfolding above and across on the Dhauladhar’s expansive, life-nurturing bosom on the one hand, and the life-destroying honks and horns, shouts and screams, noise and many-fanged pollution being unleashed by the humankind, on the other. 

As I retraced my steps toward Palampur, my hometown, a nagging sense of disgust welled up – an ugly, ominous wave crashing against my consciousness. How our valley that was once a wonderland of hills, terraced fields, and serene countryside now hurtles toward a chaotic urban sprawl at reckless speed. The innocent charm of rural life – where dainty Paharans sang folk songs while tending to paddy fields with their salwars tucked up – is giving way to brick-steel-cement monstrosities, glitzy malls, and showrooms. My own narrow Saurabh Kalia Marg, the road leading to our home, now suffocates under encroachments. Where lush tea gardens once sprawled, buildings now stand. Unscrupulous residents permanently park their vehicles along its flanks, exacerbating the situation. Even the recently widened Sughar Road, which connects to this link road, has fallen prey to some mysterious “power project” personnel, who use it as a regular parking lot near the Sai Mandir. Requests fall on deaf ears, and the Municipal Corporation (MC) looks away. Ironically, life was simpler during our panchayat days. Now, the MC – proving our worst fears true – seems like more a bane than a boon, with stray oxen and dog squads ruling the roads, and bureaucratic tangles growing ever more convoluted. Soon, taxes will follow, after the grace period is over.

Indeed, all of Himachal’s towns and cities – Shimla, Manali, Solan, Kasauli, Mandi – are becoming eerily similar to each other. They blur into a disconcerting sameness, losing their unique identities and geographic landmarks. Once, the monsoon brought hope, joy, love, poetry, song and romance– a time for Mother Nature to recharge. Now, it’s different. The hills vivisected or flattened, the rivers mined, the slopes denuded and bulldozed – these wounded guardians of Nature patiently await the rains, ready to unleash their wrath… (They already are with the very first bursts of rain.) Floods, cave-ins, landslides, and destruction loom, while fancied “four-lanes” transform into alien landscapes of mud, slush, rock, and stone. Recently, Delhi, Ayodhya, Jabalpur– have been leaking. At this rate, Himachal, like its cousin Uttarakhand, confronts a grim destiny, perched as it is atop the powder keg of an impending catastrophe.

CM Sahib, I am not a Congressite, and least of all a BJP bhakt, but when you assumed the CM’s chair, I was all glee. Your humble background, determination, confident bearing and your ear to the ground led me to believe that you’d forge a new path. I hoped you’d champion green initiatives, halt the march of capitalist greed, and seek eco-friendly alternatives. Alas, that vision remains unfulfilled. We feel let down… Perhaps “doomed” is too strong a word– yet not entirely out of place, I dare say.

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