THE DYNAMITED HILLS

From my childhood I always believed that god put hills and mountains on flat land so that children could climb them and look at a larger world. As I climbed hills over the last four and half decades I always carried the thought that I am climbing up GOD'S BELLY. There has always been a sense of protection about the hills that I have never felt on flat land. The thousands upon thousands of children who trekked and climbed with me have left memories that words cannot describe.



Now these very hills are being dynamited and piece by piece being removed to big cities for construction work. The last sancturies of `wild life' [whatever that is left] will vanish forever and it would be the final nail in the coffin of mankind. The scarred and bruised hills will no longer host vegetation or small trees - the water run-off will bring with it a layer of stone dust that would destroy agricultural lands forever. The sand lifting from the rivulets has already created barren stony deserts.



I am a silent spectator of this brutal murder of future generations' livelihood. Sometimes back Supreme Court of India had passed strictures against some soft drinks' companies for painting their advertisements on hillocks adjoining the highways. NOW THESE HILLOCKS ARE BEING TOTALLY REMOVED - and no one seems to be bothered.

Its' 6am and as I sit writing a deep `booming sound' comes from the very bowels of mother earth - my heart pounds and a `silent tear' trickles down my cheeks. Did I come to Betta Shambhunahalli for this?

JOURNIES OF COMFORT

I have travelled so many times from Bangalore to Tumkur and even today continue to do it. As I travel in my Scorpio today I cannot but help remembering when I used to travel on my Bajaj scooter. The giant Jamun {Nerele} trees on either side of the road worked as my ACs during my jouney. And so many dark purple patches throughout the road when the fruits fell off on the road. Monkies and small children [and sometimes me] always had belly-full of these fruits. These were the journies of comfort.

AND THEN I STARTED SEEING a strange sight! People carrying plastic pots to fetch water - and this scene is etched in my memory like a stab through the heart. The Nerele trees started disappearing and the number of people carrying these water pots kept increasing. They progressively used cycles, vans and then inevitably water tankers. Now these sights are replaced by fly-overs [villages have simply disappeared under them] and we have an international quality road linking Bangalore to Tumkur. Out of sight - out of mind. The journies are silent - monkies have disappeared - vast stretches of trees have simply been murdered.

I AND YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN BY THE COMING GENERATIONS!