It is said that when a pebble is thrown into a pond, the whole universe is disturbed.
Imagine the magnitude of the disturbance when mountains after mountains are flattened, and that debris is used to fill wetlands after wetlands teeming with birdlife.
That's precisely what has happened in Mumbai's own backyard: in an exotic expanse of wetlands called Uran.
In a matter of weeks, an array of mountains between Panvel and Uran has made way for monstrous container yards. Its voracious appetite unsatiated, gigantic earth-moving equipment continue to gnaw at the insides of the mountains. And dumpers stand in endless queues, waiting to transport the carcass, and dump it into the home of over a 100 species of wetland birds.
Yes, I realized you can kill two birds with one stone. Flatten the mountains and use the debris to destroy their habitat. In one single sweep of wanton destruction.
The official reason given for this ecological mayhem is that Uran is now an SEZ. It's wonderful to call Uran SEZ. But only if SEZ means Special Ecological Zone instead of Special Economic Zone. But tragically, economy has always taken precedence over ecology, especially in the policies of hungry politicians.
Billy Arjan Singh, the late conservationist who fought tooth and nail for the protection of tigers for decades once said, 'If tigers could vote, they wouldn't have been on the verge of extinction.' How I wished the homeless birds of Uran could speak for themselves, and sue us for snatching away the food and shelter that Mother Nature had so generously provided for them.
Some days ago, as the tide rose steadily, thousands of flamingos in the mangroves of Sewri used to take off into the skies forming gigantic pink clouds and land in the inviting wetlands of Uran. Imagine the trauma they must have gone through when they looked down from the skies and discovered to their dismay that what was once their homeland has been conquered by the greed of man.
It is believed that the mangroves that once protected the entire coastal length of Mumbai, as well as its marshy backwaters, are now under serious threat. Particularly the areas not yet notified as protected forests. Rich in bird life and marine life, these fragile forests were once an extension of the land forests, connected to each other by sea-grass. By filling these marshlands where the sea-grass grows, under the pretext that these are not 'forests', we have cut off the umbilical cord that existed between the forests and the mangroves. Rendering these bio-rich mangroves into islands of solitude, fighting their lone battle for survival.
There is a tiny bit of this exotic wetland in Uran that still remains intact. With a handful of migratory birds foraging for food, blissfully unaware of the happenings around them.
But the dumpers in the distance, filled with what was once a mountain, is a grim reminder that this too will disappear in a matter of days. Leaving no trace whatsoever of what was once a paradise for birds.
A minute's silence was observed at the recently concluded Mumbai Bird Race to mourn the death of Uran.
Was it a one-off mourning? Or was it a sad precursor of many mournings to come, preceding every Bird Race? And more importantly, will the rat race of the politicians win against the bird race of nature lovers? Only time will tell.
Looking at the young birdwatchers who formed a large section of the audience, I asked myself. What are we going to pass on to our next generation from whom we have borrowed this fragile earth?
Habitats where the miracles of nature surprise you every living moment or a vast wasteland of memories turned brown?
As an ancient Chinese saying goes, 'It's only when the last tree is cut, the last river poisoned, and the last wild animal killed, that man will realize he can't eat money.'
