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Development is essential. But what I dislike is when the funds for development are squandered in the most despicable manner.
I would like to present the following as an example of mismanaged development plans: Ever since I returned back to Trivandrum, I have been witnessing many road expansion works. Now, unlike Washington DC, the roads of Trivandrum weren’t planned after deducing the population of Trivandum in the 21st century (774,983 residents as per the 2001 census) and accounting for roughly 315000 residents (in 2003) possessing a vehicle (which, I reckon, would have at least trebled by now). And unlike Cambridge with its narrow roads, the current powers-that-be have decided against implementing efficient system of one-ways and effective traffic management.
Road expansion projects are generally unpopular. Firstly, it is a bane for those owning properties or buildings by the road side: they would, inevitably, have to vacate, undergo the excruciating torture of witnessing their hard work being demolished to rubble, and are forced to accept a paltry compensation (if any). Secondly, these projects generate so much of dust which results in particulates much higher than the usual levels (considered to be supposedly 50 microgram per cubic metre; the US EPA’s National Ambient Air Quality’s standards are 150 µg/m3 for 24-hour PM10 and 35 µg/m3 for 24-hour PM2.5). Thirdly, all of this digging may result in a hapless wayfarer falling into the ditches.
Nevertheless, once slated, road expansion projects are seldom deterred, although there might be some amount of delays. The end result is quite striking: relatively wide metalled roads, with good terracotta-tiled footpaths (they definitely don’t spare any expenses!), and lawn turfs on the traffic islands, bordered by flowering herbs and shrubs such as bougainvillea, hibiscus, and canna. All lovely except that the vision is marred by 99.99% of vehicle drivers violating the basic rules of driving…
I shan’t deviate into listing the hazards of traveling in these roads, but would like to direct the attention towards these newly-made roads for, unfortunately, the happiness derived from observing these are transient. Within a month or two, one is bound to find these metalled roads and footpaths dug up so that the other-powers-that-be can install water pipes, electricity cables, and sundry. Upon completion of these ‘works’, the roads are seldom metalled again, neither are the footpaths reinstalled. Now, another recently developed road at Plamood (Plamoodu) has work underway to reduce the width of the footpath and to relocate the newly made bus stop. Numerous other sites in the city are also witnessing the laying of pipes and cables resulting in dug up roads and footpaths. And I am not the only individual who is frustrated by all this.
It is baffling as to why the departments concerned with such development plans are bent on negating all the good work done by the others. Surely all of this could be avoided with some amount of effective communication? This could, for instance, ensure that the pipeworks and electricity works are conducted first, followed by metalling the roads and creating footpaths. After all, all these development plans require resources, time, and expenditure. Doing this all over again only results in waste. Surely these powers-that-be wouldn’t practice the same whilst constructing their own residences?
Now, what’s the source of these development funds? Certainly not their own personal funds.
We often come across fiercely contested disputes which, after a spell of intense discussion, are shifted to the backburner, and then surface once more after a new stimulus prods it back to the limelight. The local newspapers of late have been featuring one such debate, which first emerged in the early 1990s. What are we to believe? Does the Kallana exist or not?
Kani tribals, who dwell in the rainforests of Peppara (in Trivandrum district), very much insist that these Kallana (I would spell it as ‘Kal-aana’) exists. Based on the accounts, Kallana are pygmy elephants, miniature versions of the Indian elephant, around five foot tall, supposedly subsisting in the forests of the southern Western Ghats ranges. Their feeding habits are similar to that of the stately Indian elephant, but their smaller size enables them to be agile and scamper over steep and rocky slopes (and thus can be seen in the higher altitudes of the mountain ranges, where the topography comprises of rocks and grasslands).
Zoologists and ecologists are sceptical since the Kallana’s existence has not been scientifically proven. Apart from eyewitness accounts and photographs not being strong evidence, the criticisms are: i. Peppara Sanctuary is not an island forest where animals could evolve in isolation. ii. The photographs doesn’t provide anything which could serve as a scale. iii. Could it be the Borneo pygmy elephant? (more on this later) iv. Is it a true elephant dwarf as opposed to a different subspecies/species? v. These could be adolescent Indian elephants.
Palode argues that Kallanas are not baby elephants since they lacked the fine hairs characteristically present on the babies. Furthermore, these were sighted at altitudes and thickly forested and steeply inclined terrains, which are not usually haunted by the Indian elephants.
Fossil records demonstrate extinct pygmy elephants from around the world. However, in 2003, after conducting DNA analysis on nine dwarf elephant specimens, it was concluded that these are 'the results of individual cases of nanism (dwarfism) or pathological growth'. The elephants of Borneo, tagged as ‘pygmy elephants’, are around 6 foot tall. The population of approximately 1000 lives in the northern tip of Sabah and extreme north of Kalimantan in north Borneo. A DNA analysis, by Columbia University in 2003, confirmed these to be a genetically distinct type of the Asian elephants.
The Forest Department has supposedly dispatched search teams to the forests of Agasthyavanam, Neyyar, and the Peppara Wildlife Sanctuary. Previously, in 1995, the Kerala Forest Research Institute’s (KFRI) search/survey for the kallana, supported by the ecologists from the Indian Institute of Science (Bangalore) was abandoned due to heavy rains. Searches in 2005 and 2008 came up with naught.
Interestingly, the older generation recollects Kallanas. One local narrated to me of how, before the 1940s, a Kallana had been domesticated by a landlord of a nearby village. It was very popular with children- hardly surprising since I picture it as a Dumbo. Unfortunately, it met its demise when being forced to carry heavy timber along with other sturdier Indian elephants.
If the Kallana indeed exists, what resulted in this different morphology- ecological conditions? Or is it a variation within the species? Would the tribals make some cock-and-bull story, one which is traditionally believed? After all, the tribals are much more aware of the forest biodiversity than the best ecologist in the world.
As for why the search teams came up with nothing, it is certainly much easier to survey animals in the African grasslands than in the oft-impenetrable forests of Kerala. And as for the experts’ opinion, I have my own doubts: after all, they failed to identify the mysterious animal in a television footage of someone’s backgarden, some even supposing that it might be an unidentified species…. until an academic (who isn’t a zoologist per se) easily pointed out that it was none other than a slender loris.
In any case, I am hoping that the ‘DNA sample’, reportedly taken from the corpse of the Kallana by the Kerala Forest Research Institute in January, would solve the puzzle- provided they locate the sample first!