What is surprising is that while the state has a booming fishing industry, with an annual catch of nearly 1.2 lakh tonnes, fish is expensive. An even more shocking fact emerged during the ongoing legislative assembly when Fisheries Minister Vinod Palyekar said that the Goa Government gives a subsidy of Rs 108 crore annually, including on fuel. The government also subsidises insulated boxes, power boxes, life jackets and lifebuoys.

Yet the fisheries department has no control over the imported fish. The formalin incident revealed that traditional fishermen were not allowed to sell their catch at the wholesale market as agents and their trucks occupied the place from 2 am. Sydney Furtado, chairman of the Goa Fishing Boat Owners Association, told Grassroots, “Trawler owners are not allowed to enter the market and hence artificial scarcity is created to inflate prices, making fish unaffordable.” Previously, anyone could enter the wholesale fish market. “But since a compound wall was built, after all the out-of-state trucks arrive that the gates are locked,” he said.

And Goans pay an arm and leg while 38000 tonnes of fish catch is exported. “Export of fish is not restricted to local produce alone,” Chief Minister Manohar Parrikar defended in the assembly, adding the hotel industry’s requirement

After the ban on fishing was lifted on August 3 at midnight, fish-laden

trucks were coming across the border where Food and Drugs Administration (FDA) officials were doing random checks. The fish business was slowly picking up, but customers were still apprehensive about how long before such vigilance disappeared and formalin or some other adulterant put them in jeopardy again. Formalin, which is carcinogenic, is the liquid form of formaldehyde, used to preserve bodies.

During the ban, fish eaters in Goa – it is a staple food whether you are Catholic or Hindu, in the form of xitt codi anik nustem (fish curry rice) – were forced to turn vegetarian sometimes because chicken, egg, beef and pork were straining their wallets. Fifteen days after the ban was declared by the government on July 18, the markets saw a trickle of customers who kept off fish out of fear. They were further horrified later the same day when FDA, after being leaned on by politicians, uttered its famous last words “permissible limit of formalin” after laboratory tests. Customers were further repelled when at the politician’s behest, phrases like “formalin is inherent in fish” were bandied about.

Dr Shankar Nadkarni, a doctor and farmer from Sanguem in

A clean-up drive sets a village on a path of far-reaching changes 4

August 2018 - Volume 10 Issue 8 Rs 20

I n s I d e‘Are city people with their money and fancy things really happy?’ 2

Is something fishy going on here?There is a saying, ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime’. But in Goa, like the other states which banned imported fish temporarily, the saying has been turned on its head because locally caught fish has been sidelined while the fish mafia that has been importing fish from other states has been allowed to flourish. And that was the genesis of the 'formalin in fish' issue that began on July 12 when spot checks on 17 trucks (coming from Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, Kerala, Odisha and Tamil Nadu) by the Food and Drugs Administration led to the discovery that fish was adulterated with formalin

Goa, only underlined the fear among fish-eaters, at a press conference to conduct an “experiment” on formalin. He poured formaldehyde into a bowl and kept it open for a few seconds. When he inhaled it, his eyes started to water. Longer exposure would lead to skin/ throat/ stomach/ respiratory tracts irritation, he said. “It can cause anaemia and leukemia, and can damage kidneys and liver,” he added.

While manufacturers, sell-ers, distributors, importers and those who store unsafe food can be punished in theory, no one has been for causing such an avalanche in the life of Goans almost a month ago.

Initially, fish vendors were distraught. For a few days after the scare, markets everywhere in Goa were bare. One vendor said he had been selling fish for 30 years but had never seen a situation where there was fish in the market, but people were shunning it. “Our sales have dropped from the usual 70 to 40 per cent,” lamented Rosy Fernandes. Customers would interrogate vendors about where the fish came from, would sniff it for its freshness and leave empty-handed. Fish would be unsold for days. Even small and big restaurants known for their ‘fish thalis’ (plateful of fish) saw a drop in business.

But the fish mafia, allegedly run by Ibrahim Maulana, was blasé. “Seafood is safe for human consumption,” a wholesale dealer said, no doubt because his business was in tatters – he had purchased only about 2-3 tonnes of fish as opposed to 40 tonnes normally.

Prajyoti Naik, a teacher, told Grassroots that her family was unaffected. “We only eat fresh fish which my father brings after

Choked by encroachments, a lake gasps for breath 5

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Empowering villagers, changing lives 6

A sacred bond comes under strain 3

pushpa iyengar, Cansaulim, Goa

The demand for tribal textiles seems to be fading, sadly 7

he goes out fishing everyday at 4 am. We never buy fish from the market.” But former Chief Minister and Benaulin MLA Churchill Alemao admitted, “I have been instructed by my family not to buy fish.”

Although fish was back on the table, consumers were still the sufferers because even if they were buying local fish (such as mackerel) netted from the shallow sea waters, they were paying a premium.

Fish vendors like Francisca Dias scaled the graph from being shunned by consumers to being sought after. “It’s nice to be back in business,” she said, basking in her new-found riches as customers milled around her and other vendors’ baskets at the busy traffic signal in Cansaulim, South Goa, on the way to Margao where Goa’s wholesale fish market is. It is estimated that 200 fish trucks arrive here every day.

Invariably, the formalin issue led to jokes, memes on social media and now even a song in one of Goa’s famous tiatrs (loosely translates to a drama but is more politically loaded). Formalin kiteak zai (why do you need formalin?) is the name of a song in Francis de Tuem’s latest offering, Konnak Pateupachem. There were cartoons galore: One shows a schoolboy giving his marks card to his teacher, saying, “Can you change my marks to the permissible limits?”, a jibe at the FDA.

From rag picker to craftswoman – a project shows the way forward 8

Continued on page 2Fish vendor setting up shop in anticipation of a rush.

Customers mill around a roadside fish vendor near Cansaulim on the way to Margao where the wholesale market is.

An empty market – a day after formalin was found during the checks on 17 trucks on July 12.

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money, but what’s money to the rich city people? She orders a taxi to go to the hall a five-minute walk away, then goes to the – what do you call it? Gym? To sweat.”

I can’t deny any of this. She is perfectly right. Those who have money, would rather spend it on gadgets to work off flab, than fund some deserving child’s education, or help the indigent in some way. As I return to the metropolis, I think about city life – we are also disadvantaged, in many ways: in terms of loss of connections with nature, imitation of Western lifestyles and priorities, and following wrong models of development, forgetting that we need to take only that which suits us, help the poor, and eschew that which is harmful to the environment, to heath and long-term progress (in real terms, not just GDP percentages).

We don’t need high level academic research to tell us this, even a rustic Heera has valuable comments that we need to heed.A week after I returned from my interactions with her, her last question still haunts me: “Are you city people, with all your money and fancy things, happy? Happier than village people?”

August 20182

‘Are city people with their money and fancy things really happy?’ City-dwellers are disadvantaged in many ways: in terms of loss of connections with nature, imitation of Western lifestyles and priorities, and following wrong models of development. We forget that we need to take only that which suits us, that we must help the poor and eschew that which is harmful to the environment, to heath and long-term progress (in real terms, not just GDP percentages). Heera, the woman in this story, is rustic, but her comments are valuable and we must heed them

Focus

Her name is Heerabai which means ‘dia-mond’, but she is

manifestly poor. As she sits bent over a piece of cloth that she is embroidering for sale at the show that an NGO has organised in Bengaluru to help her group of rustic women earn some much-needed cash, I watch her at work and talk to her. I am looking for material for my column on developmental issues for next week.

She never went to school and was born to indigent tribal people, and this embroidery, picked up from her mother and grandmother, is the only skill she knows and can market. As we sit talking, the NGO representative suggests that I accompany Heera when she returns to her village, and I decide to take up her suggestion. I pity her and, seeing her in her own environment, may suggest ways I can help her. She makes around Rs 800 a month, she tells me. Enough to stave off hunger for her and her family. But that’s it – 800 rupees is nothing today, given current prices of even basic essentials.

Heera is big built – they call her the pedda avva, the big mother – and I make a mental note to educate her about better nutrition, and exercise which she doesn’t get, sitting cross-legged, working on embroidery all day.

We take the bus and reach her rustic, one-room dwelling in the countryside the following afternoon. Her eight-year-old granddaughter runs out to greet her, munching on a piece of thick ragi roti. A goat stands tethered at the entrance, while a creeper laden with pumpkins trails over the thatched roof. A jasmine creeper lends fragrance to the air.

Heera hands me a tumbler of fresh lassi with a squeeze of fresh lemon plucked from her tree. It is delicious. The girl watches me and gawks at my laptop as I feed this story into it, then settles

comfortably outside the entrance to their dwelling, just watching the bushes and trees surrounding the place. A bird is calling from nearby, and the child tries to match its call, laughing to herself. “Is there a school nearby?” I ask avva. “This child should not be idle, she should go to school and get an education.”

Avva looks at me, and says, “She is not idle, she is watching the birds, and the squirrels, and watching the sunset,” she says. At my suggestion, while I sip my lassi, she talks about herself, her family and her life. She does not like the city which she has visited a few times to sell her work through the NGO. “The air is not fresh,” she says, “the water is not tasty, it tastes of chemicals, and the food – ugh, I don’t like it. Not healthy. And garbage everywhere…”

As I mull over that, she says, getting up to begin her chores indoors, “I pity the city people.” “But you are poor, you need money? If the city people didn’t buy your work, what would you earn?” I say.

That sets her off. She is articulate, though illiterate, and as she busies herself, folding away clothes and preparing the night meal, she launches into a monologue, almost as if she guesses why I have come with her to see the village. “Yes, my granddaughter should go to school, but there isn’t one nearby, the one in the next village, an hour’s walk away, is no good… the teacher is no good, the children learn nothing even after five-six years.”

Heera is right – it’s not her fault, but that of the government which boasts about ‘progress’ in education when it seeks votes. As I write, the Karnataka Government is even thinking of closing hundreds of government schools because there aren’t ‘enough’ students. It is easy for us city people to preach to the rustics about ‘educating’ children, but who ensures that they are able to? A government that writes off tens of thousands of crores of farmers’ loans, can’t find a few crores to keep schools going for the rural poor, to ensure that the shame of illiteracy doesn’t persist even seven decades after independence?

I keep quiet, churning my

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thoughts. Heera says next: “Amma, do your children enjoy bird song, or watch the trees and flowers? They are always hunched over (she mimics) mobiles and computers. Do they enjoy the outdoors? Fresh air? Are these not important too…?”

Again I keep quiet. In the two days she spent in the city she had obviously watched urban life around her. “Amma, are your children able to eat fresh fruit and vegetables straight off the field? Look at this girl.” Sure enough, the girl was plucking fresh tomatoes off a plant and munching happily. “Fresh milk?” Heera goes on. “Your milk comes in plastic bags, two days after it is milked. We get fresh, from our goats and cows.”

Where did this illiterate woman get ideas that city people ‘discuss’ in esoteric seminars? <

Why do we always equate ‘rustic’ with lack of knowledge, and city with 'modern’ or ‘better'? Or is she romanticising her advantages (which we consider of no consequence)? ‘Do city children run around and play, in open spaces, like they do in the villages?”

I don’t answer. A minute’s silence follows. In the middle of stirring the gruel in the pot on the fire, Heera leans back and breaks into a hearty laugh. “That madam president,” she says in between giggles, referring to my friend in the city, “the fat one. She has three servants to do her work, one to cook, one to fetch and clean, and one to take her children to school, she just sits before the computer or the phone all day, then she climbs on a machine to do exercise. The machine eats electricity, it costs

Continued from page 1

sakuntala narasimhan, Bengaluru

for fish was not restricted to what Goan fishermen net. “So if we ban fish import, the tourism industry will suffer.” So a permanent ban, the main demand of some fishermen associations and gram sabhas (village councils) in every village, was vetoed.

Joe D’Souza, a former head of the department at Goa University’s Microbiology Department, is apprehensive about the scenario post-ban. “Can anyone guarantee that we will get fresh fish post August 3? The trawlers that go into the deep sea are there for eight days. How is fish preserved? It cannot be ice because it just adds to the weight of trawlers.”

On July 30, the Panaji bench of the Bombay High Court adjourned to August 6, the hearing of a judicial inquiry into the formalin fish controversy in response to a petition by Shivraj Kamat Tarcar who had also sought a ban on fish imports till the FDA was equipped with proper testing facilities. His prayer was after the revelation that Goa has only 35 of the total 129 staffers on the field.

Goa is a major importer - 200 trucks of fish, 25 tonnes of beef, 150 to 180 tonnes of vegetables, 70 tonnes of fruit. Chicken, rice, pulses and other essential commodities are imported from Karnataka and Maharashtra. Then there are about 32094 food manufacturing / sale outlets (retail, wholesale, restaurants, etc). So to say FDA is short staffed is an understatement. The Goan palate has evolved over the years. In the past Goans were used to fish shortage during monsoons because of the annual fishing ban in June and July and would eat dried fish and small fish. But with fish imports, gastronomic preferences changed.

About the “robust mechanism would be put in place” promise by Manohar Parrikar, no one is holding his or her breath considering that two weeks ago, a fruit vendor in Canacona in South Goa was caught red-handed applying calcium carbide, also cancer-causing, to ripen mangoes. <

Heerabai engrossed in her embroidery work.

Is something fishy going on here?

August 2018 3

A sacred bond between community and environment comes under strain

Growing up in Shillong, Meghalaya’s capital, we often made day trips

to Mawphlang for a picnic or escorted visitors from the ‘plains’ there. We were not aware that there was a sacred grove nearby; in fact, we did not even know the term until a Khasi friend told us not to go into the particular area. “Even if you do, don’t pluck any plant. It’s a law kyntang (sacred grove), protected by our deity”, he cautioned.

It was only later, when discussions on the need for preserving biodiversity picked up and the invaluable role of sacred groves in this mission figured in discourses, that the significance of the Mawphlang forests dawned on me. The local community of Hima Mawphlang has been protecting the forest for over a thousand years. The people believe that a mystical creature – some say it’s a tiger, others believe it is a snake – is lord of the forest.

A sacred grove is an ancient community-based system sanc-tioned by religion, promoting biodiversity conservation, and these groves can be found across the world among indigenous communities. Environmental experts define sacred groves as ‘distinct patches of vegetation (ranging in size from a small cluster of a few trees to a large forest stand spanning several hundred acres) which are consecrated in the name of local deities or ancestral spirits’. It is estimated that around 50000 to 100000 sacred groves exist / existed in India.

The Northeast is one of the four biodiversity hotspots in India. The National Botanical Research Institute (Eco-education Division) in Lucknow and the North Eastern Hill University, Shillong, have documented around 79 sacred groves in Meghalaya. They are

Change in belief systems and modernisation have resulted in many traditional practices disappearing, such as the maintenance of sacred groves. Here is a look at the status of an important link between the environment and the community in the Northeast and West Bengal

owned by individuals, clans or communities and are under the direct control of the clan councils or local villages.

Interestingly, though Megha-laya’s population is pre-dominantly Christian now, the ancient tradition of preserving the sanctity of sacred groves continues. The groves are home to at least 50 rare and endangered plant species like the Japanese Blue Oak (Quercusglauca), according to the State Biodiversity Board. A new species of frog (Leptolataxkhasiorum) was also discovered from a sacred grove recently.

Despite its good record on preservation, the Meghalaya Biodiversity Board expresses concern as some sacred groves have turned into “degraded forests” due to lifestyle changes. Besides Meghalaya, sacred groves are found in Assam, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur and Sikkim. In Manipur, the worship and protection of forests is called Umanglai.

Arunachal Pradesh has the highest number of tribes in India. Some of them follow Buddhism, like the Monpas, basically a nomadic tribe. The Gompa Forest Areas (GFAs) they are attached to are looked after by them and the Lamas. Many sacred groves are dedicated to local deities. In all, around 101 sacred groves have been documented in the state.

Seventeen sacred groves have been documented in Assam. Tribes like the Bodos and Rabhas who live in the plains and foothills in western Assam have a tradition of maintaining sacred groves locally known as than. Giant Bamboo, Pear Bamboo, Pink Banana, Indian Smilax, Arecanut, Sandpaper Tree and Devil’s Cotton are among the most commonly found plant species in the sacred

groves of the State. Many taboos are in place relating to the plants and trees there, which help to preserve the groves in pristine condition.

Says Rita Boro, a Sahitya Akademi awardee (Bodo language), who teaches at Tangla College: “In our community, we pray to the Siju tree at home but for community worship, we congregate under a big tree in the village. It’s called bathou puja and we pray to Burha-Gosain. People also call it garja puja when it is done at a than. As a child, my mother, grandmother and others impressed on me that no tree in the than must be cut, as they are all sacred.

Boro has an interesting explanation about why the Siju tree is held sacred. “This tree has thorns in pairs said to represent a man and a woman. It usually has five branches which are believed to represent the five elements - earth, water, air, fire and sky, she says.

The Dimasa Tribe living in the Dima Hasao autonomous district in Central Assam also reveres sacred groves. The Dimasas are one of the oldest indigenous people in Assam. Researchers Pramod Medhi and Sachin K. Barthakur say: “Of the plant species considered sacred by the Dimasas, 13 relate to worship, 21 have given their names to areas/villages and eight are associated with the naming of the clans.”

In West Bengal, too, sacred groves are known as thans. They are typically found in the south-western districts, where tribes are in the majority. When the Permanent Settlement Act was enacted in 1793 during Colonial rule, all village forests were converted into agricultural lands and numerous groves disappeared. Today, sacred groves exist only where indigenous communities maintain them according to

social and religious edicts. Bankura, Birbhum, Midnapur, Purulia and Jalpaiguri Disricts together have around 700 sacred groves, dedicated to various deities, including Goddess Kali.

Sacred groves aren’t only in forests. They are also attached to some sacred tanks and ponds. In Jayanti of Jalpaiguri District, villagers protect large catfish populations in a sacred pond inside a sacred grove.

In Bengal, many of the thans transcend religious boundaries and are examples of inter-mingling of cultural traditions. The Pir-than (Sufi saint’s shrine), for example, is visited by both Hindu and Muslim devotees. In the Sundarbans, honey gatherers and crab catchers of both faiths worship at the Bon Bibi than before entering the forest.

The Bengal government is planning to declare the Chilki-garh sacred grove in Jhargram District as a biodiversity rich heritage site. The famous Kanak Durga Temple is part of the 60-acre forest which is maintained and managed by the temple Trust. It is the biggest sacred grove in Bengal, with 388 species of herbs, shrubs, trees and climbers, including 105 species of medicinal plants, of which a few are rapidly vanishing from the surrounding forest areas.

Unfortunately, with a change in belief systems and modernisation, many traditional practices have disappeared. Many

sacred groves are deteriorating or have vanished, says Debal Deb, a pioneer in sacred groves research. He cites the case of Yellow Bamboo sacred groves maintained by the Rajbanshis, a tribe in north Bengal. The ‘golden bamboo’ was primarily used for making staffs to be used as weapons, and the Rajbanshis were once famous for wielding these staffs.

“Today, the groves are gone,” Deb says. He records that at least 50 sacred groves have disappeared in the last 25 years from the districts of Midnapur and Purulia in West Bengal, resulting in many rare trees becoming extinct. For example, the last specimen of the critically endangered tree Vitexglabrata was cut down in 2016 in a sacred grove in Bankura, he says.

A UNESCO international workshop on the importance of sacred natural sites for biodiversity conservation (China, 2003) noted, “In many non-Western societies, traditional sacred areas fulfill functions similar to those of legally protected areas in the West...These sites have survived environmental degradation as they are well embedded in local cultures and traditional belief systems.” Indeed, the Western approach to biodiversity now recognises the value of the relationship between local environmental knowledge and the community. <

ranjita biswas, Kolkata

The Mawphlang-sacred grove.

The Bodos believe in praying to the Siju tree.

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comprises women from across caste groups. Kamla Gautam (50) says working together has resulted in greater cohesiveness among the women and this is slowly percolating to the men folk. But the biggest social advantage has been the identity that the women have carved for themselves while expanding their spheres of influence. “We only mingled with our neighbours, relatives and community groups. Now we know everyone in the village. People invite us to their ceremonies. Some barriers are breaking,” Kamla says.

One of the crumbling barriers relates to interaction between men and women. Community dialogues on hitherto taboo issues such as menstruation have fostered a new openness. And the SHG women aren’t as strict as before about veiling their faces, particularly in the presence of Amarnath Pal (52) who pulls the garbage cycle. “How can we work together if we are so shy,” asks Reshma Rawat (40).

A measure of economic independence means that women are emerging as decision makers. For the group’s 19-year-old treasurer Gayatri Pal, for instance, overriding her father’s disapproval of her daily outings was a scary first step while Seema Gautam (30) learnt to ignore villagers who taunted her husband for not being man enough to provide for her. The more overarching criticism about women ‘roaming the village in the name of work’ and name calling (the SHG women are called the ‘garbage women’) has also started to die down.

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August 20184

Lalpur is a 162-hectare village of 252 households, the majority of which

belong to the Scheduled Castes. Till very recently, open defecation and piles of garbage were common. Also common were painful memories. Gyanendra Singh, the 43-year-old village pradhan (chief) remembers, “My grandmother died of diarrhoea. During her last days we would hoist her charpoy (cot) on our shoulders to carry her 200 metres to the village pond so she could have a bowel movement. That stress took her life.”

Nirmala Singh, 56, speaks of how difficult it was for her as a young bride. “When I came to this village 40 years ago, we had to hold back from passing motion. That meant not eating or drinking for hours, for if we dared step out to relieve ourselves during the day, our in-laws abused us.”

Many attempts were made towards better sanitation facilities. Gyanendra Singh’s father, who was the headman in 2005, made a start by pushing for construction of toilets but not everyone took to it. Even those who built them did not use them,

A clean-up drive sets a village on a path of far-reaching changes How many people does it take to clean up a village? In Lalpur, situated just off Uttar Pradesh’s capital Lucknow, the entire community joined together to not only sanitise the place but also maintain spotless status – quite an achievement in a state which routinely fares poorly on the country’s sanitation rankingspuja awasthi, Lalpur (Mohanlalganj), Lucknow

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citing a host of reasons from poor construction to superstition.

From April 2016, pressed by two development organisations, a sustained awareness building exercise was undertaken in the village to spur toilet construction. “Some people opposed it for the sake of opposition. They said I was aiming for personal glory. I responded by making them guests of honour at various village level functions or by entrusting them with leadership roles,” says Gyanendra.

While five masons in the village were trained in toilet construction, a 15-member vigilance committee was formed. Krishna Devi (45) explains: “We would spread out at the crack of dawn, armed with whistles which would come out as soon as someone was spotted heading to the open. Those who persisted were given flowers and requested with folded hands not to defecate in the open. The most common grouse against us was that we did not let people sleep in peace. But we were persistent and perhaps shameless,” she laughs.

The village achieved open-defecation-free status in August 2016. However, in the quest for

sanitation, that essential first step of building toilets is often rendered useless by a lack of accompanying behavioural change. The Household Survey for Assessment of Toilet Coverage under Swachh Bharat Mission - Gramin, a report submitted to the Ministry of Water and Sanitation in 2017, notes: ‘Access to toilets is necessary but not sufficient in ensuring increased sanitation coverage’. The report places rural UP almost at the bottom (just above Bihar and at par with Jharkhand) with just 37 per cent toilet coverage of which only 87 per cent is used.

The challenge in Lalpur, as elsewhere was thus two-fold - to bring about a sustained behaviour change so that toilet use becomes the norm; and to approach sanitation in its entirety. For the first, a relentless monitoring system with participation of all age groups was put in place. For instance, in the village primary school a six-member committee of students from Class 5 was tasked with ensuring that all children washed their hands before and after the mid-day meal and after using the toilet; and that dry and wet waste were segregated and disposed of in the correct garbage bins.

Komal Rawat, a 10-year-old member of the committee, says that while her schoolmates are ready to listen to her, her older siblings at home aren’t as cooperative. “My brother abuses me when I tell him to wash his hands. He says ‘the germs are mine, so what if they go into me?’” When Komal’s retort that the germs will leave him disfigured doesn't work, she turns to her parents for support. Around the village, the small committee morphs into a larger Bal Sena (Children’s Army) which uses a song on hand-washing steps to convey the message of cleanliness. It ends with: ‘Kyunki saaf haathon mein hain dum’ (Because clean hands have power).

The second challenge in Lalpur required greater thought. The village lacked a community dumping yard or community dustbins. Without a system of garbage disposal, it was strewn with waste, including menstrual waste. “The same flies which settled on the garbage would sit on our food. It was almost like eating garbage and faeces” says Jagganath Raidas (70) with a shrug.

The solution came in the form of a 10-member self-help group (SHG) of women to undertake solid-liquid waste management (SLWM) as an economic activity.

Every morning, members of the group, now called the Harit Mahila Samuh, dressed in plain green saris, set out along the narrow village lanes to collect garbage. They pick up dry and wet garbage and put them into appropriate sections of a three-wheeled cart. From 9 am to noon, they work, admonishing those who have not segregated the waste or committed some other garbage-related offence. After a short break, they sort the rubbish at the village community centre. The inorganic waste is segregated according to type, while organic waste is converted to manure, pesticides, compost and liquid fertilisers.

The group has three office bearers – the president, supervisor and treasurer – who are paid Rs 3000 each from the panchayat’s funds. The other women share the funds generated by the collection fee of Rs 2 per day per household. Since not all households pay the sum fully, the pradhan ensures that the women get an average of 10 days work under the MGNREGA to supplement their income. Thus far, the group has sold Rs 15000 worth of fertilisers (made from wet waste and water hyacinth from the local pond) and is now discussing the possibility of setting up a kiosk by the highway for greater product visibility and higher sales selling inorganic waste at a wholesale market in Kanpur.

In just over a year, Lalpur has emerged as a model village. In addition to the expected benefits such as better health, there are other deeper changes. Caste hierarchies are being reworked within the SHG, which

Children at the village primary school know the importance of hand-washing before and after a meal, and after using the toilet.

Garbage stored for use.

Members of the SHG go about the task of garbage collection.

Fertilisers made from organic waste.

August 2018 5

Around 2000 families live along the periphery of Anchar Lake, once

known for its pristine water, which was used for cooking, drinking and other household purposes. “Today, it is highly polluted and a source of infection”, says Abdul Aziz Khanday, a local man in his early fifties. “It is not only the government but local people too who are responsible for the mess,” he says. Abdul’s father Ghulam Nabi depended on the lake for his livelihood, fishing, but since Abdul himself did not find it rewarding, he became a mason. His three children have had to discontinue their studies after their matriculation due to lack of financial resources.

Five decades ago, around 40 per cent of the Valley’s population depended on water bodies for their livelihood. These water bodies provided food and fodder. Tropa, locally known as gaaeer, and niphides (nadru) were cultivated on floating gardens, says Abdul Rauf Zargar, wildlife warden, Wetlands, Kashmir Division. The water bodies were earlier treated as wastelands and local people were given access to them under the ‘grow more food policy’ but as a result they were encroached upon, he says.

Most of the people living along the Anchar’s banks belong to the Scheduled Castes. Mohammad Maqbool recalls that there were once around 1200 springs in and around the area (Nagbal to Sadipora), but only few are left now. Houses have been built over many springs, says the 50-year-old. A form of farming is carried out in the Lake, and cattle fodder (locally known as khor) grown in it has been a source of livelihood for many. Generally, women

Choked by encroachments and pollution, a lake gasps for breathWidespread pollution, large-scale encroachment, official apathy and an indifferent society have turned the Hokersar wetland and the once famous Anchar Lake in Srinagar into a huge dump yard, adversely affecting those who relied on the water bodies for their livelihood.

go out in boats and harvest the khor to earn some money. Now, the extraction of nadru and collection of fodder and fishing show a marked decline. Fishermen are unable to net more than 1-2 kgs a day. A sizeable portion of the population has shifted to alternate livelihoods. For instance, unable to make ends meet by fishing, Maqbool became a labourer.

Residents of the area allege that drains from various adjoining areas empty into the Anchar, and even though they have taken up the issue with the concerned quarters, their pleas fall on deaf ears. Further, the locals have built cowsheds, planted kitchen gardens and in other ways encroached on land that was once part of the water body. Consequently, it has shrunk from around 19.4 sq km to just 6.8 sq kms. The Lake is almost dead. It can survive only if government intervenes,” says Maqbool.

Once a popular tourist destination, the Anchar was connected to the famous Dal Lake via a channel called the Nallah Amir Khan and tourists could travel to it from Dal in shikaras(houseboats). They could also go on to the Kheer Bhawani Temple in Tulmulla in Central Kashmir’s Ganderbal District through this water body. In the 1990s, when Nallah was covered to build the Mearplan Highway on the western side of the Dal, it is said that six-foot pipes were laid under the new road to allow the Dal to continue to drain into the Anchar Lake system. However, the pipes were soon clogged due to waste and debris.

Barely 12 km north of Srinagar lies Hokersar, that supports plant and animal biodiversity. It is home to thousands of migratory

birds from Siberia, China, etc. The wetland is also a source of livelihood for people in the catchment areas, but the water body struggles for existence now.

Urbanisation, pollution from agricultural fields, sewage and siltation are the major threats faced by wetlands in the Valley, with serious impact, says Farooq Ahmad Lone, dead, Division of Environmental Sciences, Sher-e-Kashmir Agricultural University of Science and Technology-Kashmir. Wetlands, he said, act as carbon sequestration areas as they absorb carbon dioxide, being rich in plant wealth. They also govern the micro-climate of their localities. Quoting Bombay Natural History Society (2014), he said, nearly 50 per cent of wetlands in the Valley have been encroached upon or severely damaged during the past three decades. He emphasised that all activities within these wetlands need to be sustainable and limited.

There are over 1200 wetlands in the state – 400 in Kashmir and 600 in Ladakh. A century ago, there were vast wetlands starting from Budshah Chowk (in the heart of Srinagar city) and going up to Dalgate. This is now a completely urbanised area. Similarly, the land from Batamaloo (in Srinagar) to Narbal (on the outskirts of the city), where Srinagar’s biggest housing colony Bemina is located, was once a wetland, according to Gurcharan Singh, an environmental expert.

Singh points out that encroachments have resulted in loss of biodiversity and changes in the lifestyle of local communities which depended on the wetland ecosystem for sustenance. “Most of these communities are now facing

unemployment, resulting in huge socio-economic disparity. Wetlands act as lungs of the city, ensuring preservation of biodiversity, providing for good air quality and water requirements of the city in particular and the Valley in general,” he added, stressing the need for urgent measures to properly manage wetlands, lakes, urban areas and forests.

Wetlands not only act as water reservoirs, but also play a significant role in preventing floods, said Lone, adding that increased siltation reduces their water retention capacity. During the September 2014 floods, most of the urban areas which have come up in the flood plains of River Jhelum and wetlands in the Valley were inundated, causing loss of life and property, indicating the impact of the disappearing wetlands. Protect wetlands – this will help control floods and recharge ground water levels, thereby ensuring better food security, he emphasised.

Stressing the importance of demarcating wetlands, Rauf Zargar said the last demarcation was done around four decades ago and boundary pillars have been stolen. He alleged that

cases against encroachers have been lodged in police stations and courts, but no action has been taken so far. He accused the police and the revenue department of being hand-in-glove with the land mafia, leading to the disappearance of small wetlands.

Restoration of the Hokersar wetland requires to be managed on short-term and long-term interventions, with coordinated efforts from various departments. Its tourism potential can be exploited under an eco-restoration programme. Cycling and boating are two possible revenue-generating activities. Special huts can be erected for tourists to stay overnight. Zargar says a project proposal in this regard was sent to the State’s Tourism Department in 2015 but there has been no response yet.

Use Google Maps to collect spatio-temporal data, and reverse encroachments on that basis and conduct large-scale de-weeding with imported technology if need be, is the advice of technology expert Huneef Mohammad. He called for “holistic and integrated management of all water bodies, lakes and rivers instead of having a separate body for each. “An integrated approach tends to address the root cause,” he felt. Without end-to-end de-siltation of the Jhelum and steps to prevent pollution by plastic and harmful chemicals, it is not possible to save the connected water bodies, he added.

(The story is being published as part of IHCAP-CMS Media

Fellowship Program).

afsana rashid, Srinagar

A magnificent view of the Hokersar wetland, 12 km north of Srinagar.

A spring outside Jenab Sahib in deteriorating condition. The spring is located right in front of the Anchar Lake in Soura-Srinagar.

A view of Nallah Amir Khan (a channel) that connects Anchar Lake with Dal Lake.

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the customers get it not less than Rs 35.” She however admits that the entire milk is sold and nothing is spoilt. “In my village men and women equally share work, our education level is almost at par and every woman has a bank account,’ she points out. Soma belongs to the Durga Self-help Group.

The condition of women is no longer what it used be decades ago when they were restricted to kitchen, says Krishan Kumar Sharma from a hamlet close to Badhol, echoing Soma’s views. “I myself sent my daughter-in-law to take up nursery teachers training. Now she is teaching in a school and my two grandchildren have been admitted to the same school there.”

Yogesh Sharma says sharing the responsibility together is what a family is all about. “I don’t mind kneading flour or making chapattis in the kitchen if my wife has gone out somewhere in connection with the activities of the self-help group. We have to share work; women can’t be burdened with domestic chores all the time.”

Small terraced fields lush with greenery and laced with mouth watering

tomatoes, capsicum and cucum-ber greet you as you approach Badhol, a picturesque hamlet in the backdrop of the hills, under Tundal Gram Panchayat, 10 km from Kandhaghat on the Shimla-Chail Road. Thanks to the rich yield of cash crops that has changed the economic status of the people, villagers have brought high milk-yielding cows like Jersey and Holstein that has in turn brought further prosperity to the village. Almost every household in the village has a pucca (strong/ solid) house, a four-wheeler and a flow of steady income to spend on education of children and spare some to indulge in luxuries of life.

How empowering women helped change lives for the betterThe story of Badhol and other villages in Tundal Panchayat changed thanks to the Mid Himalayan Watershed Development Project that has touched the lives of the people living in the villages here. The strategy was about empowering the villagers through self-help groups. With economic empowerment, the social status of women has seen a sea change. Badhol is now often showcased as a model village in Himachal Pradeshsarita brara, New Delhi

pradhan (village council head). “With no irrigation facilities only traditional crops could be grown and the people lived from hand to mouth. There was hardly any cash in our hand.”

The story of Badhol and other villages in Tundal Panchayat changed thanks to the Mid Himalayan Watershed Development Project that touched the lives of the people living in the villages here in more ways than one. The strategy was not to just funding but empowering the villagers through the formation of self-help and other such entities.

For example, Navyuvak Kisan Mandal, a group with a representative from each of the families living in Badhol was formed exclusively for tackling issues related to water harvesting. There was a kuchha (raw) pond that would irrigate just a few fields. Also, water flowing from the channel was going waste. The group with assistance from the World Bank funded the project and constructed an RCC dam at a cost of Rs 257000.

The groups also shared the

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cost of construction. The water is now available around the year and the farmers in the village are able to grow cash crops and raise their income. Rajesh, who heads the group, said that after water harvesting a tank was constructed and they were provided pipes. The group applied for a three-phase connection and contributed money to buy a motor costing Rs 70000. He says that a system was evolved to keep a record of the use of motor and the details were entered in a register. “This way everyone knows how much he has to pay and more than that not a single drop of water is wasted. The system is running smoothly without any disputes or quarrels.”

Drip irrigation and nursery development are other activities the group is engaged in. Saplings are used for cultivation. The sheds were constructed with project funds. More than the economics, it is the empowerment of women through self-help groups initiated by the project that has brought about a real change in the social set-up of the villages, says Tundal Panchayat’s Deputy Pradhan Yogesh Sharma.

“When the women were asked about what they would like to do through their SHGs, several of them gave the option of dairy farming. Thanks to the women SHGs and initiative of the panchayat, a milk collection centre has opened in Sadhupul Market close to the village. Today, 10 to 15 litres of milk are sold on a daily basis by these women in this and other villages in the area.”

Soma Thakur from Ruda hamlet in Tundal Gram

Panchayat, who belongs to one of the SHGs that started in 2008, says that a number of women were given four days training in dairy farming. There are five groups with more than 45 women involved in dairy farming in the panchayat, including from Badhol. “We were trained in chopping fodder using a machine. We were also provided with a fodder-cutting machine. Then women bought cows by taking loans from the banks.” Soma says the first problem they faced was where to sell the milk and how to go about it.

A milk society based in Solan was contacted. When they came to know about the high production of milk from the villages and that women were associated with it, the society lost no time in opening a milk collection centre in Sadhupur Market for them. Now, the milk containers are left at the roadheads by the villagers of the small hamlets from where transporters from one of the villages take them to Sadhupur and leave the empty containers on the return trip.

Another problem is the low price at the milk collection centre, says Som. “We are getting just Rs 27 per kg whereas

August 20186

Badhol, a picture-postcard village.

The shift from traditional to cash crops proved extremely useful.

An RCC dam built as part of the Mid Himalayan Watershed Development Project.

Villagers from Tundal Gram Panchayat at Badhol pose for a picture.

Soma Devi.

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That was not the case some years down the lane, says P r a v e e n K u m a r Tundal, gram p a n c h a y a t

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August 2018 7

The demand for tribal textiles seems to be fading, sadly

aditi panda, Bhubaneswar

Odisha has 62 tribes livi-ng in various pockets, comprising a rich

heritage. Each tribe has its individual ethnicity and cultural background. And each has a distinctive way of dressing and wearing ornaments as well as of weaving cloth. Each tribe weaves textiles in its own traditional patterns. Tribal textiles have good business value and, consequently, huge potential for supporting livelihoods.

In the past, the textiles were mostly for the tribes’ own use, and were made using local raw materials. But slowly, following the advent of modernisation and reach of new technology, the textiles have crossed borders, albeit on a very small scale. On the other hand, textiles from the outside world, with their sheen and exciting colours, have lured the tribal communities into changing their preferences.

Raja Muduli hails from the Bonda Tribe. He travels around the state in search of new ways to sell the cloth woven by his tribe. “Bondas wear minimal clothing. Women wear ringa woven with Sitakudi fibre and men use gamcha made with the same fibre. The Bondas traditionally do not buy clothes from the market and use only the textiles they weave. The Dongrias wear kapada ganda similar to a shawl that is draped around the body. The women wear gandire ganda like a sari and the men drape a lenguti called drili around the waist. The Dongria women embroider the cloth they weave, both for personal use and for the market,” says Raja.

“The Gadaba women wear a strip of cloth called kishal

As traditional fabrics unique to tribes are slowly losing ground to modern textiles with contemporary patterns, those seeking to keep alive the old styles are in a dilemma – if they adopt new designs to promote sales, the integrity of the distinctive designs will be lost. If they stick to the age-old patterns, there will be no takers for the fabrics, and the ancient skill will die out. Government and the civil society must take strong and effective measures to save traditional textiles from becoming history

which they weave from the kerang fibre and men wear the gamcha in a distinctive way. The Santhal men wear a penne kachha resembling a white dhoti and women wear the penejhaala like a sari,” he explains.

The textile of every tribe differs from that of others, and can be differentiated by means of the material and motifs used to decorate the fabric. Many tribes, like the Kulis, make fabrics for commercial purposes as well as for personal use, and it is one of the main sources of income for the family.

“We are unskilled weavers and there is no embroidery work on our cloth,” explains Dolamani Meher. “The weaving is time consuming and the raw materials have also become expensive. Our cloth still is traditional and does not have any modern patterns, so it looks ordinary, but in reality it takes a lot of weaving time and the price it commands is very little in comparison with the effort and time taken. Now with sewing machines and more stylish cloth available in the market, many of us have stopped weaving and shifted to lucrative jobs. Our children too like to wear town clothes as they find our fabric very plain. We need to improvise and learn to mix colours to get new combinations to boost demand. But then, it will destroy the authenticity of our traditional fabric.”

Earlier, the tribes were not exposed to the outer world and were self-sufficient in terms of food and cloth. But when their youth started migrating from their native areas, they brought the influences that have been adopted in the food, language and, most significantly, the apparel, impacting the lifestyle of the tribal villages.

Deliberating on this point of view, Harish Wadaka, a youth from the Kandha Tribe, currently working in a steel plant, said: “It was tough at first to adjust to the new surroundings. The food was different and most importantly the clothes. It took some time to understand that there are different clothes to be worn for different events, as back home

we wore the same clothes all the time. There is no place for those clothes outside our village and, now, with the youngsters going out to study and work the trend is changing. We cannot wear our traditional clothes anywhere apart from our village.”

Fashion is changing everyday and so is the mindset of people. The tribal textiles are simple but their rustic finish has a classiness of its own, which city folk appreciate when they look for something different as apparel or accessory.

Nandini Meher, a boutique owner says “Tribal textiles are slowly fading away as trends are changing. At present, we do have a good clientele, women looking for kurtis or blouses in handmade tribal fabric. The folders, purses and bags made of this material have a decent demand from organisers of conferences and workshops. But these textiles need more promotional activity and exposure to stay afloat, with fashion and styles changing every day. The big brands should start using tribal fabrics and make them more fashionable while safeguarding their originality.

This will help augment demand and increase the income of the tribes.”

According to Upagupt Mohanty, a travel photographer, lifestyle changes have pushed tribal textiles to the brink. Fashion designers need to be encouraged to work with tribal traditional weavers to experiment with latest designs and keep abreast of market trends to generate a consistent demand, he felt. Just as in the case of the GI tag for the rasagolla, the state government should take interest in getting a GI tag for tribal textiles, he said, stressing that this would boost the tribal weavers' sustainability. <

Bonda women weaving their traditional fabric.

A traditional tribal cloth.

The simple loom used to weave the cloth, in Bargarh District.

Registered with The Registrar of Newspapers for India under TNENG/2009/275578

The project, imaginatively titled Resolve: Trash2Cash, of recycling

urban waste to utilitarian and decorative objects initiated by the South Asian Forum for Environment (SAFE) in Kolkata is not new. However, it is gaining in momentum as new artisans are created even as we bemoan the passing away of traditional skills in some areas of Indian traditional handicrafts. From research and documentation in finding the gaps that needed to be plugged in climate change

From rag picker to craftswoman – a project shows the way forwardThe small three-storied office of the South Asian Forum for Environment located in south Kolkata, off the Bypass, is easy to miss. On a sleepy summer afternoon, a visit reveals the quiet yet pioneering work the civil society organisation has been doing towards sustainable environment development, poverty alleviation and gender imbalance. The Resolve: Trash2cash Project, inclusive, urban and sustainable, seems to have the potential to grow, showing as it does that new skills can always be taught to create first-generation crafts personsmanjira majumdar, Kolkata

Cooperative members at a fair selling products - wastepaper bins and boxes crafted out of water hyacinths.

Some popular recycled cloth products such as bags, hairbands and paperweights.

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and environment way back in 2004, SAFE began the actual work 2011 onwards.

What makes the project special is that today, more than ever before, it is associated with a segment of workers who are placed at the lowest rung of the chain of urban labour: the rag-pickers. Mostly women and a sizeable amount of children, the ‘scavengers’ are at the bottom rung of unorganised workers – those who sift through discarded, often hazardous city wastes. They separate and segregate

what can be salvaged to earn a pittance. Exploited and abused, they are placed in the lowest of the low-income group. Bringing them together in a sustainable environmental project has been a bold step.

“It is an urban climate initiative for resolving the municipal solid wastes of the city and offering an alternative livelihood for city's waste workers and slum dwelling women,” says Amrita Chatterji, director of Communications, SAFE and project leader of Resolve Trash2Cash. This is an important part of SAFE’s work in addition to other projects such as WASH-US (Water Sanitation and Hygiene for Urban Slums) and hydroponic aqua-framing for building capacities towards climate resilient agriculture in indigenous small holders at Majuli, the world’s largest river island in Assam.

Chatterji explains the trash-to-cash project: “Reports documented show that more than 5000 tonnes of solid waste are generated and growing every day in Kolkata. More than 50 per cent of the urban poor are engaged in the waste trade as collectors, segregators or suppliers.” The waste is segregated at source and diverted from landfills (which are slowly encroaching upon the East Kolkata Wetlands) to produce compost. Paper waste is recycled to produce value-added products in women-led workshops, and organic waste is turned into compost.

In such a scenario, the project’s objective was to help and develop women to lead micro-enterprises on waste recycling. Their income has grown substantially over the years. As rag-pickers, they earned a paltry sum but now, besides work such as segregation of waste, they can earn a stipend after being trained in certain skills and in turn training others, and also sharing profits through the sale of multi-utilitarian household objects.

For example, the women can fashion papier-mâché products out of paper and other items out of cloth, trained as they are in workshops to cut, stitch, paint and acquire other skills.

Some of the women turn master trainers and train other women and, thus, is created a self-sustained economic model. “It is somewhat similar to Lijjat Papad model, which encourages collective ownership and equal stakeholders in profit and loss,” says Chatterji.

With new and utilitarian products recycled through wastes sold at exhibitions and in shops, the women are part of a three-part sustainable development micro-economics scheme initiated by SAFE: learn, train and earn through sales of artistically produced value-added craft objects.

Discarded old clothes donated by citizens or even paper dumped by corporate offices that do not have a system for recycling paper, and even water hyacinths, a free-floating aquatic plant growing in abundance in ponds, are utilised to make a number of objects as the SAFE catalogue demonstrates. Photo frames, ring boxes, folders, dustbins, pens stands are the usual products but newer ones such as trendy bags, casseroles to keep food warm, and other household items, which can be embellished and enhanced, are constantly being produced after much brainstorming. Another dimension of the project is that the waste collected for compost has a large market demand in the urban, agricultural and government sectors.

So far, the SAFE initiative has helped train more than 300 women to turn recycled paper into handicrafts. It has helped empower women, provided them economic security and become a model. SAFE has received recognition and awards – the UNFCC Momentum for Change Award, the Lighthouse Activity Award 2014 and the Match International Women Fund Award for Women Empowerment.

“If we have to save this planet earth, we have to minimise the use of plastics,” reiterates Chatterji, “but we also have to keep in mind that just banning the use of plastics will not solve the problem. We will have to ensure that there is no plastic pollution.”

Poised at an interesting stage where the concept has been well received by the stakeholders themselves, Chatterji says, “We are planning to scale up operations and look at 2019, with a three-pronged approach of research, product creation and feedback.” To create branding, the organisation needs more investments – for raw material (other than waste) machines, and decorations and design inputs to make the products more elegant for a wide appeal. More women from the low-income category need to be roped in so that more children and families benefit from their mothers doing well.