Back in prehistory, that is, about three decades ago, when Kolkata thoroughly drowned in the monsoon deluge, we looked forward to sarat or autumn. The rains would be gone, the heat would be a bit less though the oppressive humidity would still be around, but that’s not what mattered. The special part was the sky at dusk. The grey of the monsoon clouds, still lingering, would be tinted pink and purple by the setting sun and create a riot of colours. And through this sky would pass large flocks of birds in a V formation.
How they communicated with the thousand birds that came to rest in the huge banyan tree behind our house, I do not know, but the deafening chatter they made before they fell silent for the night must have reached a bit right up to the flying formations. Nature was gorgeous, even in the heart of town, and its mood was that of a glowing mature woman who was past the frivolity of youth but before the decline of life’s winter had set in.
A little after it came winter proper — with gentle chilly mornings and a slow mist coming up from the river. Yes there was a terrible smog from the coal fires early in the evening, but it would get dark quite soon and the colours in the sky created by the lingering monsoon clouds would not be there. So, visually you didn’t miss much anyway. The night chill would require woollens and a beer at midday in the sun at any of the city’s clubs would literally be the high noon of a pleasurable life.
Today, the banyan tree is gone, and with it the birds. I also hardly spotted the flying squadrons above when I spent a winter holiday in Kolkata again after a long time. But the biggest change was in the winter temperature — the chill was gone. An unhealthy, unseasonal warmth, that got almost oppressive at midday, had replaced it. And, of course, the cars and auto pollution had gone up manifold.
In some ways the same thing has happened to Delhi. The physical memory of how the day began when I came to live in it four decades ago remains intact — a cold water bath early in the winter morning (newer entrants in the working men’s hostel didn’t get hot water) before setting out to work. The high noon of winter was the Sunday midday, sometimes spent with college friends who had gone on to D School, sipping coffee in the sun on the lawns of their hostel with rose bushes around.
The summer heat was intense and it was not till late into the evening that the roof of the barsati — where a college friend and I had moved in — became good enough for us to drag out the charpoi and fall asleep as the night cooled down. I had not known such summer temperatures earlier but remember being surprised how bearable it was. There was no oppressive humidity. You had energy to keep going and look forward to the gorgeous winter.
The Delhi weather of recent years hardly needs detailing. Fairly early into the summer, it acquires some of the humidity that I wish had remained in Kolkata, made worse by the power cuts that were not there earlier. And the biggest loss is the sparkle of sunny winter. My abiding memory is that of fogs so dense that they manage to transmit some of their bleakness inside you, making a quick getaway to sunny Rajasthan irresistible whenever a long weekend obliged.
If these have been painful changes, the transformation in Bangalore has been more so. When I visited the city the first time shortly after finishing with college I remember asking my host when I was about to turn in why there was a light blanket at the foot of the bed. After all, it was June! You’ll need it early in the morning, he replied with a smile. When you didn’t need a ceiling fan most of the time even in the summer months, now the AC is turned on liberally. And the trees, the majestic rain trees, are going by the dozen as they widen roads to make space for cars. To top it up are the power cuts, nowhere near as severe as in Kolkata in the seventies or in Delhi now, but irksome nevertheless.
The lament for the good life lost — be it from pollution or the impact of climate change — in all these cities is heard every day but we seem powerless to call a halt. On the other hand, those visiting Europe from Asia say how startling is the contrast. The air is so much cleaner and there is a campaign to go back to drinking tap water (it is perfectly safe!) and not fall for the marketing hype of the bottled water industry. Even as I write this the wife reads out an item from the papers saying there is so much of nitrate contamination in the borewell water that simply boiling it will not do; you need a filter with reverse osmosis, whatever that is.
We don’t have to take this lying down. We too can clean up our act, as Europe has done, if we want to.
