Plastic woes

When considering Trivandrum’s (or any other city’s) rapid development and expansion, it is hardly surprising that numerous retailers are colonising any available spaces to sell their products. And with India being one of the biggest consumers of plastics/ polythenes, it is not unanticipated to find the plastic menace rearing up its ugly head.

Matters were quite different less than two decades ago. One was expected to utilise a shopping bag (usually durable) when commencing on the customary and/or sporadic shopping expeditions. And retailers, in turn, used old newspapers to pack the products. Bags were either of paper or jute, and those tantalising plastic bags with pink, blue, yellow, and white hues could be bought only for a price.

The past morphing into the present has resulted in many changes, one of which is that these plastic bags are now generously supplied by all retailers (and, usually, for no charge) - even the fishmonger. It has become such an integral part of the average existence, that I am met with surprised and sneering looks when I insist on the vendors placing the purchases into my large shopping bag instead of using their plastic bags.

Manufacturers of these plastic bags are quick to insist that these don’t cause any environmental problems. Furthermore, banning these bags would jeopardize the livelihood of many workers. Retailers are also in the same bandwagon for these bags provide an affordable marketing and publicity solution. Surely, there is no one who hasn’t noticed the glaring logo of Burberry Prorsum on that silver (or gold) bag held proudly by a WAG? And isn’t it common to find consumers carrying plastic bags which advertise sales at the large department stores (including John Lewis/Peter Jones)?

Denying the environmental problems caused by plastic bags is akin to insisting that the sun revolves around the earth. Firstly, it is difficult and expensive to recycle plastic bags. Secondly, being non-biodegradable, these bags take a loooong time to degrade (apparently 300-1000 years). Even then, these degraded pieces are toxic and would contaminate the area in which they are found. Fourthly, animals trying to swallow plastic bags are common sights- and the conclusion is inevitable. The plastic bags continue to dodge one when walking in any street- in the gutters, on the road, amongst the undergrowth, and on the rivers and streams (and it seems as if residents have assumed that these are the ideal sites for discarding plastics and other wastes). Another common sight is plastic being burned- should I elaborate more on the composition of these noxious fumes and the effects which it will have on human health?

I understand that the state has now stipulated a minimum thickness of plastic bags (around 30-50 microns) - but this still doesn’t curtail the use of plastic bags. The best solution would be if everyone would reuse the same bags instead of absent-mindedly accepting more at the various shops - and if each one of us refuses to a plastic/polythene bag each day, this amounts to refusing 365 plastic bags per annum! Another option would be to use a jute shopping bag- spacious and hardy.

If there is no improvement, the retailers could be pressurised to institute a hefty charge for the plastic bags (something along the lines of Rs 15 per bag)- and this, surely, will reap benefits.

Or perhaps the solution is along the lines of what has been so effectively implemented by the Municipal Council of Nagercoil (in Tamil Nadu)- anyone using/manufacturing flimsy plastic bags faces hefty fines (the minimum is Rs 25; the maximum is around Rs 5000). I recommend something much more heftier.

Image: http://www.everystockphoto.com/ (photographer:tibetanelements)

The modern-day Sisyphus

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.

Flying elephants? Dumbos? Or just, elephants?

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).


Wildlife photographer Sali Palode, who has been trekking in the forests of Peppara Wildlife Sanctuary and adjoining areas for nearly fifteen years, had photographed a herd, ten years ago, which were identified by the Kani as adult Kallanas. In 2005, Palode and Mallan Kani (a member of the tribe) encountered a small herd in the Sanctuary. In January 2010, he photographed a supposed Kallana carcass, which the Kani found in Kuttiyaar (within the Sanctuary). The Kani explained that a group of four Kallanas had come to the area. Subsequently, guided by Mallan Kani, Sali Palode and fellow photographer Jain Angadikkal photographed one such elephant sighted in the Kotoor division of the Kerala Forest Development Corporation, adjacent to the Sanctuary. Last month, Mallan also guided photographer Ajanta Benny, to a water body in Marakappara, where another Kallana was photographed. However, when forest officials, along with Mallan, visited the area immediately after these sightings were reported, they could find no evidence at all.


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!

Watery facts

Further to my post alluding to the quality of tap water supplied in Kerala, the Water Resources Minister admitted that:
- 1,879 wards in Kerala have sub-standard drinking water.
- 43 water treatment plants are outdated.
Over the years, we were always advised to drink boiled water since the water treatment itself uses unsafe levels of various chemicals (sometimes it is exceptionally easy to detect chlorine!). Moreover, the drinking water is easily contaminated by the adjacent drainage/sewage pipes, especially during the rains.

Paradoxically, according to V Srinivasa Chary (Director of the Centre for Energy, Environment, Urban Governance and Infrastructure Development in Hyderabad), Trivandrum is the one among the two Indian cities to have continuous water supply (the other being Kota).

Mercuric

The mercury has been rising. Quite astronomically, if I may add so. Whilst newspapers tagged yesterday's temperature of 37.5 deg C as the highest in 22 years, our two reliable thermometers indicated 45 deg C (outdoors-in shade) at 1630 hrs. This morning, at 0800 hrs, the same thermometers recorded 29 deg C.

Ideal room temperatures are usually in the range of 21-25 deg C, which the American Society for Testing and Materials stretches to 38 deg C. After all, it is recommended that the human body should be maintained within/around 37 deg C. In Kerala, there have already been some deaths due to sunstroke which is hardly shocking: when the windows are opened, a blast of searing air greets you, very much akin to how it feels when opening the door of a pre-heated oven. Perhaps the boiling temperatures mightn’t pose a problem for the well-heeled, who reside in centrally air-conditioned houses, travel in air-conditioned Mercs/Audi/BMWs, and work in air-conditioned offices. But the majority is fortified only with an umbrella. Our non-air-conditioned home, during these sultry times, have an indoor temperature of 30 deg C, which is certainly thanks to the greenery maintained by us. Our neighbours, on the other hand, have been moaning about the agonising heat.

The Trivandrum of my earliest memories had a pleasant temperature range (this link would provide a quick glimpse), with us then considering temperatures of 30 – 32 deg C to be exceptionally warm. Until around a decade ago, the maximum range was around 33- 34 deg C. The change in weather/climate is much more perceptible since I have not been around for a few years. And I am quite convinced that these soaring temperatures have to do with (at least partly) the virulent de-greening of the city, the foliage having been a protective cloak.

As a toddler, I recollect Trivandrum as a very green city which the aerial view substantiated: a dark emerald carpet with very few perceptible buildings (for the towering trees concealed the myriads of settlements). Roads were lined with stately avenue trees, the parks and grounds of various offices had copious greenery (mainly mature trees), and most houses had shrubs and trees of various sizes. Pockets and belts of paddy fields, fallow grounds, and wooded areas were located just around 10-15 minutes walk away from our home, which is located barely 1 km away from the main arterial road, MG Road, the continuation of the National Highway (a twin of London’s Marylebone Road). Such green pockets, with water bodies, used to abound everywhere, with culverts and brooks transporting pristine water flourishing with aquatic flora and fauna. The traditional Keralite house was also very eco-friendly, similar to a Roman villa, often in the same proportions: there was one-three nadu muttam (an inner courtyard like the peristylium), often with pools (like the Roman impluvium). Whilst herbs and shrubs would be planted in the areas immediately surrounding the house, trees would be planted a little distance away. Thus, it is not that surprising that the weather then was tolerable.

When we fast-forward to a few years, we can notice the progressive de-greening, more so within the past six years. Most of the avenue trees have been hewn down (presumably as part of the road widening projects or to lay down massive cables; or for no apparent reason). The pattern is repeated in the grounds of various offices, where the ‘garden’ comprises of concrete tiles and lawns. The green pockets are, more or less, nonexistent, having been replaced by towering apartment complexes and sprawling mansions. Culverts and brooks have dried up and most ponds have been filled up. And the modern Keralite house shuns greenery (as hinted in my post in Ecoratorio).

So, what can be done?
The first should be to halt (or at least decrease) this de-greening in the name of development. This can be easily implemented by the city corporation (and the state government) which not only issues building permits, but also makes and implements building policies and controls. For instance, making it mandatory for new buildings and developments to:
- plant and maintain a sufficient amount of vegetation.
- follow environmentally friendly and sustainable architecture.
- plant more avenue trees.

Secondly, residents could be provided with incentives to maintain greenery in the grounds of their homes.
Thirdly, the derelict ponds could be cleaned.
Fourthly, instead of converting paddy fields and fallow lands into developments, farming could be encouraged.

If not, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kerala ends up with a faster desertification rate.

The Ponmudi example

Over the past 45 years, various members of my family have researched into various issues faced by the Ponmudi forests, part of the Western Ghats range of high mountains in India. Ponmudi, at 1100 m elevation, is located 60 kms North-East of Trivandrum city. When my father commenced his fieldtrips in the 1960s, the Ponmudi forests used to start immediately after the Vithura village. Nearly four decades later, Vithura is now a sprawling township and the forests have receded approximately 5 kms, and now commence from Kallar bridge. Ponmudi, from a distance

Although Ponmudi is now incorporated under the Agastyamalai Biosphere Reserve (so named after the 1868m tall Agastyamalai peak), Kallar is changing with new developments sprouting up and more developments slated to be constructed at the summit, an area with montane grasslands and cloud forests (also known as sholas). Plantations sprung up in these mountains nearly 100-150 years ago (mainly tea), which was later followed by the construction of tourist resorts.

This is just one little example of what’s happening in one little part of the Western Ghats. But it cannot be denied that the pattern can be extrapolated to forests elsewhere around the world.

The afore-mentioned developments at Kallar