Chennai after the deluge: How social media came to the rescue

Chennai after the deluge: How social media came to the rescue

My favourite bits:

"If one lived in the suburbs abutting the Adyar or Cooum rivers or in the suburbs that used to be lakes before greedy real estate developers (and greedier citizens like us) turned them into urban jungles, it was likely a nightmare."

"Social media was amplifying aid requests from a small part of the city. The wealthier, social media-savvy side. There were several parts, particularly in north Chennai that were in scarily bad shape and had no one tweeting or Facebooking on their behalf. Social media, we realized, was a middle-class-centric echo chamber. "

"NRIs simply had not heard back from their old folks in West Mambalam and Ashok Nagar for 24 hours, and that was enough for them to assume that escaped crocodiles that had mutated thanks to submerged electrical wiring were on their way to devour their parents." 

"the uncomfortable truth this incredibly huge army of volunteers is likely to conveniently ignore is that the poor in India live in conditions that no civilized society should tolerate.
The slums on the banks of the Cooum have always been mosquito-infested hellholes and now they are mosquito-infested sludge-filled hellholes." 

 "We also realized that in the entire group of 200, there was not a single public health expert or even someone with experience in relief operations. It was a bunch of really passionate folks figuring things out on their own, and while definitely making a difference, could have done so much more if governments and institutional experts in relief were less sceptical about social media and its ability to connect people.
We had no access to information from the National Disaster Response Force in terms of where they were operating, who they had already rescued and where food packets were being air-dropped."

‘Just look out of the window’

‘Just look out of the window’ - Madurai - The Hindu

A chat with Geetha Iyer, well-known consultant on science and environment education, leads one to view spiders and other insects with a tolerant eye

What would you do if you saw spider’s webs around your house? The majority would go into a frenzy of cleaning. But not Geetha Iyer.

This science teacher of many years and well-known consultant on science and environment education thinks of spider webs as the first line of defence against household insects.

Geetha is also a passionate advocate of raising awareness about neighbourhood biodiversity. “It means,” she says, “look out of your window and observe.” “Observe” is another favourite word with this sprightly lady. The cornerstone of our biology lessons is observation, she points out. “But looking at a formalin-bleached cockroach or frog in a jar is not observation. Observation is something that will evoke a previous memory, raise a question in the mind, or evoke a sense of awe. It is the beginning of learning,” she says with great feeling. “And there is nothing like neighbourhood biodiversity to promote observation.”

There’s that term again. By now, I begin to understand what she means. So far biodiversity conjured up visions of soaring mountains, dense forests, and animals like tigers, lions, elephants and pandas.

But Geetha is talking about something much simpler. She’s talking about flies, spiders, lizards, butterflies, moths; about crows, mynahs, pigeons and sparrows.

“I’ve lived in cities like Mumbai, Delhi, Jaipur, Chennai…. And everywhere there are trees. Where there are trees, there will be birds even if it’s only a crow or a mynah. Did you know there are different kinds of mynahs?

“People see a black bird and immediately say ‘Oh! Crow!’ But if they ‘observe’, they might see the red eyes and greyish-green beak of the male Asian koel.”

She brings up the issue of spiders and lizards and how many people run screaming from these harmless animals. Lizards feed on insects and mosquitoes, she says, and are not dangerous unless they fall into your food.

“This business of lizards licking food is a fallacy,” she says scornfully. “Most likely it was there because of an insect on your food.” She agrees that one really can’t have spider webs in one’s living rooms but “in the backyard or on balcony corners is okay. One kind preys on cockroaches but is rarely seen.” Spiders definitely have my vote then, I think.

Speaking of spider webs and pigeon droppings, something she says sticks in my mind. “A super-sanitised environment is not good for one’s immune system. Biodiversity is also closely linked with well-being and health. By not allowing biodiversity to flourish around you, you are denying space for those that could well check the population of dengue/malarial mosquitoes.”

Even if children are asked to write about biodiversity or environment, it’s usually downloaded from the Internet, rarely about first-hand experience. She narrates an incident from one school. The Std. V NCERT textbook had a lesson on laws to protect wildlife and instructs teachers to discuss the implications with students. The teacher asked if the decision to make snake catching a punishable offence was correct. One girl’s answer was: Catching snakes and exhibiting them is for livelihood, so give them other ways of making a living before you make this a punishable offence. Otherwise they will be forced to beg or left without any way to live a decent life. “And do you know what the teacher said?” Seeing her expression, I could guess. “This is a wrong answer. Go check the textbook and write what it says.”

She reflects on her days as biology teacher and how she used to look for opportunities to take children out of the classroom. “At Apeejay School, NOIDA, the Yamuna was across the road. In winter, there would be many migratory birds. I used to take the children bird watching. Today, there’s a four-lane expressway. No way can you cross the road now.” What if the school is in the middle of a concrete jungle? “Use potted plants. There will be grasshoppers or flies.”

She has quite a bit to say about flies. “In the insect world, the fourth largest group is flies. Not all are the kind you want to swat. Many are beautiful. They are pollinators and pest controllers. For us, fly means carrier of disease. But if you watch a fly carefully, you’ll see it cleans itself more often than we do. A fly tastes its food with its feet, so it has to land on different stuff. Humans throw garbage in the open, defecate in open spaces and then complain about the fly carrying disease.”

In an attempt to create more awareness, she has curated the content for the Biodiversity module of Wipro’s Earthian programme for schools. Geetha shows me the pamphlet of commonly seen fauna, which helps one spot the difference between a chameleon and a garden lizard, or a grasshopper, a mantis and a Katydid. There’s a card game and a booklet with activities to facilitate observation  and personal experience of biodiversity. The material for schools is available for download athttp://www.wipro.org/

earthian/school.php#HTP

As we wind up our chat, Geetha says, “We don’t need any new curriculum. If schools can engage with forest departments, they can actually use the forest to study the regular curriculum and fulfil the classroom requirements. Even parks and gardens can be used for biodiversity studies, if natural areas of wilderness are not accessible. And environment education won’t be the namesake project it is today.”

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Biodiversity is also closely linked with well-being and health..

Bustard population less than 300 now

Bustard population less than 300 now - The Hindu

The population of Great Indian Bustard, a critically endangered species, is estimated to be less than 300 now and its numbers are declining owing to alteration of its habitats due to industrialisation, mining and agricultural practices, the government on Friday said.

“The Great Indian Bustard is one of the critically endangered species of birds in India and is confined in six states — Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh.

“Population of this species is estimated to be less than 300. The population of this species is declining due to alteration of important bustard habitats due to industrialisation, mining, intensive agricultural practices, etc,” Environment Minister Prakash Javadekar told Lok Sabha in a written reply.

He said that the Gujarat government has submitted a Species Recovery Plan of Rs 187.13 crores for a period of ten years for Great Indian Bustards to the Union government for financial assistance during 2014-15 and the proposal has been examined by the ministry.

He said that the proposal for rationalisation of Great Indian Bustard Sanctuary was received by the ministry which was recommended by the Standing Committee of National Board for Wildlife in its 36th meeting.

“The recommendation of the Standing Committee has been forwarded to the Maharashtra government,” Mr Javadekar said.

He said that the species has also been identified as one of the species component under “recovery programmes for saving critically endangered species and habitats” of the centrally sponsored scheme of Integrated Development of Wildlife Habibats.

Financial assistance of Rs 65.36 lakh and Rs 110.63 lakh has also been provided to Maharashtra and Rajasthan in the current financial year for conservation of the species, he said. - PTI

Not changed much has it?

AirBnB in Jordan

AirBnB in Jordan: Cave Edition - The Gazelle

AIRBNB IN JORDAN: CAVE EDITION

It was late in the evening, and none of us had a working phone. Because we were traveling in Jordan, phone credit that normally lasted three months was eaten up in 32 seconds. The weather was getting cold, and we had no idea where we were and what we were going to do.

“Guys, I think I am out of balance,” said Miha as we exited a highway somewhere on our way to Petra.

“Just ask somebody where Little Petra is,” said Abhi.

Little Petra was where our AirBnB host had directed us over the phone, before our call was interrupted by the silence of deficient phone credit. 

When we stopped the car and started questioning random pedestrians, everyone told us something different. Most agreed that Little Petra was a hotel. This did not square with our original plan, however, because our host was supposed to be a man living in a cave.

Two weeks earlier, I had walked in on my friend Miha looking at an AirBnB listing for a cave. We had been swayed by the novel idea of living in the mountains of Jordan, as well as the host’s claims to have decent Wi-Fi, so we booked it.

Now that we were driving down a highway in Jordan, however, we were beginning to doubt our plan.

So we did what most people would do: We continued on straight, hoping to see a miraculous sign pointing us to the right place. And there it was — a board showing the directions to Little Petra.

From the expression on Max’s face, I could read the following words: “Guys, I have no idea where we are, but I am not willing to sleep in one car with the three of you, and I also don’t want to die tonight.” So we continued. It was 11 p.m. when we arrived at a dead end of only mountains and desert. I think all of us, at that moment, had lost hope.

Suddenly, a sharp light illuminated our side windows, and we looked over to see an old, pink SUV rolling to a stop next to us. Max put his window down, and a stranger with a big smile on his face repeated the phrase that we had been hearing at least 50 times a day:

“Welcome to Jordan!”

A few minutes later, we were in our host’s car somewhere in the mountains. In addition to the four of us, there were two strangers sitting in the back.

“Sprichts du Deutsch?” Ghassab, our host, addressed Max.

Though Max had been working on a project that required him to take a pledge of silence for the day, Ghassab did not give up. For 15 minutes, he continued his monologue in German as Max occasionally nodded or smiled.

“You know, my friends, you did not call me. I was waiting for you the whole day,” Ghassab explained.

“We are sorry, Ghassab, but we could not reach you on the phone and then we ran out of balance,” Miha tried to excuse us.

“Don’t worry, my friends. It’s OK. You can come anytime, in the evening or in the morning. Doesn’t matter,” Ghassab was trying to cheer us up a little bit, since he probably sensed that things had not gone according to plan for us.

At this moment, however, a strange noise came from the back of the car and we suddenly stopped.

“Oh, what is it now?” I thought. When we got out of the car, my fear materialized — a flat tire. “Great, we’re in the middle of mountains surrounded by desert without water or food.”

That thought suddenly made my other fears, including my future major declaration and recent midterms, seem much less relevant.

“How far is the cave?” I asked Ghassab.

Ghassab pointed at the big rock next to us. “It is right here, my friend.” 

Ghassab opened the door and let us in. Though it looked like a big mushroom from the outside, the cave’s interior was really welcoming and appealing.

“This cave is thousands of years old. We built only the fourth wall,” said Ghassab proudly.

The two other strangers, a French woman and a Jordanian man, came out of the car and introduced themselves while Ghassab lit a gas lamp and began making us tea. 

We spoke a bit as we got comfortable, listening to Ghassab explain how he inherited the cave from his Bedouin family. He pointed out the lights across the border with Israel, which we could see due to our cave’s proximity. 

The atmosphere was perfect. After six hours of traveling, we felt we deserved the most beautiful view in the world.

“You know, I studied in Germany when I was younger,” he told us. “I had to learn the language perfectly in one year, otherwise I would not be able to stay there.”

Later, I went for a short walk and climbed a nearby peak. Sitting on the edge of the cliff, surrounded by darkness, I could only see Israel in the distance. There was something about the atmosphere that made me uncomfortable, and it took me a while to realize that it was the silence. 

As I was listening to it, I was struck by the realization that I had not heard real silence for a very long time. There was nothing. No air-conditioning blowing in my room, no people chatting in the library or in the quiet rooms. It was real silence.

Since it was warm outside, we decided to sleep outside the cave that night. I remember waking up at 4 a.m. to the most beautiful sky I have ever seen — pink-blue and with a spread of stars. 

When I entered the cave in the morning, Ghassab looked at me and said something in surprised Arabic. I suddenly got scared that I had inadvertently done something inappropriate.

“You have a round face and you are blonde,” he explained. “You look exactly like my daughter’s friend from Europe. Are you him?”

“No, I don’t think I am him. And I don’t think I am blond,” I said.

“No, no, my friend, you are blond. Jordanians girls will really like you. You go to Amman and you will get a lot of girls,” Ghassab insisted.

Miha, Abhi and Max joined us in the cave for breakfast. Ghassab offered us some hummus, bread, donkey milk and what he called camel eggs.

“I brought camel eggs only for you — look how big they are. I also had to milk a donkey this morning!” he said.

“So, is donkey milk healthy?” I asked.

“Very healthy, my friend. Look at me. You will be strong like me,” Ghassab reassured us. “You know my friend, I am a psychic. I can tell you about your future.” 

“Ok, go ahead. Try me.” 

“Take an egg. I will tell you based on the inside of an egg,” he said.

I did not hesitate and started peeling the egg, sprinkling some salt on the top and digging at the soft white surface with a small spoon. As soon as the yolk appeared, Ghassab sighed. He then glanced at me with a pitying expression that made him look like he had just swallowed something very sour. My heart started to pound.

“Well? What does it mean?” I asked impatiently.

“Oh no, my friend.” He sighed again.

“Ok, what is it?” I joked. “Am I going to die soon?” 

“No, my friend. You know. You and ladies, it is not that positive. You are friends, but no more,” he predicted.

Meanwhile, Abhi was opening his egg. Ghassab looked at him and said: “But you, my friend, you are going to have many girls!”

I didn’t like my prediction, so I attempted to open another egg. However, Ghassab stopped me and said, “Only one egg a day my friend — no more.”

After the breakfast we started discussing our origins. Miha said he was from Slovenia. I followed by saying that I come from Slovakia.

“Oh, Slovakia! You know this word Slovak – it is where everybody comes from,” he said to us.

Miha tried correcting him. “Ghassab, the word is Slavic, not Slovak — ” 

“Yes, Slovak. Slovenians come from Slovakia. Everybody from Europe comes from Slovakia,” he insisted. While Miha helplessly struggled to accept his new origin, I was suddenly very proud of my country.

We packed to leave, but there remained one problem – the flat tire. After saying goodbye to the cave, we had to wait 20 minutes for another SUV to pick us up. Then we sat in the back of the trunk for the most wild and dangerous ride of our lives since Ferrari World opened. 

Staying in a cave with Ghassab had been an extraordinary experience. I would definitely do it again for the silence in the mountains — trust me, you haven’t heard such silence before — the view and, last but not least, Ghassab himself.

All photos courtesy of Peter Hadvab. Peter Hadvab is a contributing writing. Email him at feedback@thegazelle.org.