Rainspotting in Bangalore
Rainspotting is a project run by Greenpeace to investigate how people in India are already being affected by climate change. Grace Boyle has traveled from London to Bangalore to work on the project, and will be documenting their progress here.
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In dry, hot Tilonia, where sunlight slanting through risen Rajasthani dust turns the air a soft pink, the few outsiders you see are European or from elsewhere in India. Nothing much grows here because of the drought-like climate - this year the monsoon season brought rain only twice - so herds of goat, buffalo, sheep and cattle crowd the roads, driven on foot every morning to find pasture. Women walk tall as columns across the flat plains, two pots of water balanced on their heads. They wear their brightly-coloured saris over their faces to shield from the heat, veils of hot pink, crimson red or egg-yolk yellow on the dusty landscape.
“We had no doubts about coming here,” says Belle, a 45 year old grandmother from Kisumu Village, Kenya, her head wrapped in a printed cotton cloth. “We were very courageous. We thought, ‘Yes! We can do it. We are African women!’ We wanted to make it to India and we did.”
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'COAL', by F. H. Wilson, was published in 1921 in London.
Introduction:
"Great Britain undoubtedly owes her wonderful position among the great nations of her world to her vast store of that natural source of energy - coal. Without a cheap and plentiful supply of the mineral the industries of this country could never have attained their present prosperous condition and importance, and as a substitute equal in every respect to coal has not yet been discovered it can truthfully be said that the maintenance of the commercial supremacy of Great Britain depends on her coal mines."
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I visited some villages in rural Karnataka this week where people are living without electricity. After nightfall we drove to Mahime Village in Uttara Kannada, a coastal district of Karnataka State and left the car at the side of the road. On foot we picked our way along a dirt path through the forest, splashed through a creek and uphill until we reached a house. The muted blue of the mud walls glimmered in the yellow light of the small kerosene lamps as we picked leeches off our feet and Sarojini Rama Naik, the wife of the house, burnt them with embers from the fire.
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The monsoon season is now drawing to a close, and the newspapers are rife with articles on how India will wrestle with the drought that was this year declared in 25% of her districts. Yet all summer the meteorological offices were defiant of any suggestion that the monsoon is becoming increasingly erratic, maintaining that the season has always displayed such unpredictable behaviour and that everything was hunky dory.
I met with the Director of the Indian Meteorological Department (IMD) in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, in the middle of the season and he also echoed this stance. An imposing man who seemed slightly nervous, M.D. Ramachandran’s ready agreement to meet me came as a pleasant surprise, particularly as I showed up unannounced. My friend, an established Indian journalist who took me there, said that he was rarely granted such an impromptu audience.
“Every year, people come to us saying ‘This summer it is very hot! There is no rain!’ There will also be others who say ‘This year is the heaviest rainfall I have ever seen!” he said, leaning back in his chair and chuckling. “But weather is variation only. Research may be showing that there will be changes from this global warming, but our day-to-day data is not showing any change.”
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I met with the Director of the Indian Meteorological Department (IMD) in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, in the middle of the season and he also echoed this stance. An imposing man who seemed slightly nervous, M.D. Ramachandran’s ready agreement to meet me came as a pleasant surprise, particularly as I showed up unannounced. My friend, an established Indian journalist who took me there, said that he was rarely granted such an impromptu audience.
“Every year, people come to us saying ‘This summer it is very hot! There is no rain!’ There will also be others who say ‘This year is the heaviest rainfall I have ever seen!” he said, leaning back in his chair and chuckling. “But weather is variation only. Research may be showing that there will be changes from this global warming, but our day-to-day data is not showing any change.”
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Scrub, scrub, twist, wring, plunge, swill, gush! Down the drain. Open the tap, fill the bucket again. Swill the clothes, knead them with your hands, whoosh! Soap suds swirl into the gutter. And again. And again, and again... you get the picture. Now, I have no doubt that my attempts at handwashing are grossly inept and inefficient, but it wasn’t long before I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable with the amount of water I was pushing out, each bucketful merrily laced with pollutants. I thought back to my eco-shower: I’d used at least four different chemical products, and even if the shampoo had ‘extract of wild peach’, it also had methyl paraben and sodium dodecyl suphate. Standing on the roof, the smell of wet concrete in the sunshine brought back memories of water fights we would have in the summer when I was a child. Ouch.
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The Kumbhara community migrated from Andhra Pradesh over two hundred years ago, searching for an ideal location to practice their age-old skill: pottery. They found it on the banks of the River Nila in Palakkad, Kerala and settled there, seamlessly weaving their existence into that of the tributaries. Every year the monsoon rains would swell the river, flushing nutrients into the adjacent paddy fields and depositing mud and clay onto its banks. The potters would gather this clay and use it to make their wares – rich terra cotta utensils they then traded with the other river communities.
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- 1 GW of energy from solar by 2012,
- 6-7 GW by 2017,
- 20 GW by 2020,
- 100 GW by 2030 (or 10-12 % of total power generation capacity)
20GW by 2020 is a whopping figure, especially when you consider that it’s only eleven years away, and an almost negligible 3MW (0.003GW) of the energy on the national grid currently comes form solar sources.
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There is a fight going on in the coastal region of Raigad, in the state of Maharashtra. Only a half hour drive from Mumbai, Raigad's fertile lands, ragged mountains and crumbling fort couldn't be more different from the 24-hour burn of the maximum city. But there's a change being proposed - and opposed - to the land.
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49 years old, Sahijid has been fishing from this port since he was nine. His cousins work here too. Every morning, he rises at 3am, completes his toilet and takes his daily tea at a nearby tea stand. At 5am, he and the other fishermen join together and start out to sea in their traditional wooden boats. If the day’s catch is good, they won’t return until 3 or 4pm. If the catch is poor, as it often is these days, they’re back in the harbour by 9am with little to do but prepare their boats and hope tomorrow will bring more a bigger yield.
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In 1966 he married a girl called Mariakkutty and these few acres of land have been their livelihood through forty-three years of marriage and five children. When the first agricultural settlers came here in the fifties, they razed the land of forest and planted lemongrass oil seeds that they had bought with them. The initially small-scale production was fruitful in the rich biodiversity of Wayanad, and the farms grew. Rather than planting a variety of crops for food, the farmers chased the money they could make from exporting cash crops such as pepper, coffee and plantain. Now the combination of years of monocrops, coupled with the rising temperatures and reduced rainfall caused by climate change has made the unthinkable a reality: the fertile lands of Wayanad are going dry.
I sneaked out of the office to a massive party on the beach yesterday, filled with extremely attractive, half-naked Bollywood stars cavorting in a riot of Bacchanalian abandon.
That's a lie. I went to a lecture on Nuclear Energy and the Environment. Plus ça change, etc.
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That's a lie. I went to a lecture on Nuclear Energy and the Environment. Plus ça change, etc.
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Now Back to Bangalore Broadband, I can upload some footage of the polluted Periyar River. From the opposite bank, Riverkeeper V. J. Jose points out the back of a few of the 247 factories that line the banks of this part of the Periyar, dumping 170m litres of waste effluent into its waters every day.
The yellow-stained earth that can be seen on the track down to the water is a result of factory trucks dumping large loads of waste gypsum, either directly into the river or next to it, from where the chemicals wash down into the river with the next rain.
The yellow-stained earth that can be seen on the track down to the water is a result of factory trucks dumping large loads of waste gypsum, either directly into the river or next to it, from where the chemicals wash down into the river with the next rain.
The following is by Akhila Vijayaraghavan, a friend of mine who works as a campaigner on sustainable agriculture at Greenpeace. She returned to India in March of this year having spent six years studying in Glasgow, and still retains much of the excellent accent. With this perspective, I asked her to write something on her impressions of the Indian attitude to environmentalism.
( Read more... )Running a jagged line across India, the river begins in the eastern state of Tamil Nadu and ends in the western port town of Cochin, where it meets the Arabian Sea. In its final few km, the path splits and curves around a series of tiny islands that make up Cochin. One of these islands is Eloor, the mere eleven square kilometres of which are home to paddy fields, traditional fishing communities, forty-two thousand people, and two hundred and forty-seven industrial factories along the river banks. Of these, one hundred and six produce chemicals. And they all pour their waste into the Periyar river - a mammoth one hundred and seventy million litres of toxic effluent per day.
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