This August I was in Srinagar after twenty-five years. I took a deep breath as I emerged from the airport. Like an eager kid, I wanted to have as much of the freshness and crispness in the air as I could. It was a most welcome change from Gurgaon’s dust and heat. Farhan, the local driver, was amused. “Madam, where are you from?” “Gurgaon,” I said. “I visited Gurgaon once. I couldn’t breathe there,” he said. “We Kashmiris can’t live away from home.” “I understand,” I said. Later on, I remember asking the lady at the hotel reception, “It’s hot. Doesn’t it rain in Srinagar?” She smiled and said, “We don’t experience monsoon the way you do. Moreover, the last few years have been relatively hot and dry.”
So what happened within a span of a month? A month ago no one could even contemplate that the Jhelum could unleash a flood fury on the hapless residents of Srinagar. On our visit, the sight of unemployed youth idling in the presence of gun-toting CRPF men, around every nook and corner of the city, was disturbing. Our cab driver, Farhan, was polite, but his angst was obvious when he was frisked for a security check. We visited the Dal Lake on the very first day. In a fit of nostalgic reverie I wanted to feel like Shammi Kapoor, when he sang here and immortalised the shimmering waters. Since the ashes of the actor were immersed in the Dal Lake, I expected it to sing ‘Deewana hua badal’. However, even though sunlight danced on its ripples, and the backdrop transformed in different hues of green, the Lake refused to sing. And, ravaged by circumstances, its olive waters were festering with weeds. In the midst of the Lake, the shikara owner - an old man - lamented the lack of tourists. Routine strikes by separatists have ensured that development remains a dream, he said. “But the airport is crowded with hordes of tourists,” I said.
“Most of them are Amarnath yatris. They (only) go to Pahalgam and the holy cave.” Stuck in a time warp, the old man narrated stories about ghosts and spirits descending on the terrace of Pari Mahal, located on the Zabarwan mountain range overlooking the Lake. He truly believed in the folklore. “Why don’t they clean these weeds?”I tried to change the topic. “They have purchased weed cleaning machines worth lakhs. But the machines don’t work,” he said. “Madam, this lake is less than half of what it used to be when I was a young boy.” “Why, what happened?” I asked. “Most parts of the Lake have become landfill sites for new construction,” he said. “In the last decade, more than fifty percent of the lakes and wetlands of Srinagar have been encroached upon, for constructing buildings and roads.”
And a month later the consequences are upon the city and its residents. The old man’s lament about nature being taken for granted should serve as a wake up call. Such angst is turning out to be increasingly ‘prophetic’. The only silver lining is that I hope the mistrust between the locals and the army now dissipates, and that together we are all able to contribute towards the re-building of a state that truly is heaven on earth.
For those living in Gurgaon, the Kashmir floods are a reminder that the flouting of environmental norms will inevitably invite disaster. It is a warning for politicians, planners and land grabbers, that their mindless urbanisation and short-term ‘benefits’ can lead to devastation. We cannot afford the luxury of the idea that this will not happen to us in Gurgaon. Nature’s wrath unleashes in ways that we cannot even fathom. I hope someone is listening.
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