The woods 'were' lovely…

"…The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

—Robert Frost, 1923

In the headline, I have taken some editorial liberty and changed the tense in the famous last stanza from Robert Frost's iconic 1923 poem, 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening'. That's because I am again headed to the higher Himalayas, and the new, on-ground reality in this pristine region is making Mother Nature scream out for help and mercy. Less than a month after the opening of the engineering marvel that is the Atal Rohtang Tunnel, the epic high-altitude structure and the regions that it leads to, are already beginning to experience environmental and cultural degradation, even debauchery, at an alarming rate.

What did not happen in 100 years of existence in the Lahaul and Spiti valleys, given its remoteness and lack of access, and therefore lack of visitors and tourists, has suddenly raised its ugly face. In just the first three days of the opening of the tunnel on October 3, a spree of accidents took place inside the tunnel, as motorists drove at reckless speeds in new-found delight, or stopped their vehicles within the tunnel (which is strictly prohibited) to take selfies and make videos. Some 30 km on the other side, towards the tiny hamlets of Sissu and Jispa, piles of trash can now be found, as hordes of uncaring tourists are descending on the area daily, and all are seemingly hell-bent to behave like vandals.

400 more km to ruin

Scarier still is the fact that this narrative has so far been just about the first 30 km on the other side. The Atal Rohtang Tunnel will provide 12-month, all-weather connectivity to the region, and there's still another 400-plus km before our happy-go-lucky motorists and bikers get to Leh and Ladakh. And there's hundreds of stopping points and tourist spots on that journey, untouched over hundreds of years except by a few brave adventurers. But now, with this 9-odd-km tunnel up and running, the number of tourists crossing over to the Lahaul-Spiti region is already scaling frightening highs.

Consider the past… To get to the Lahaul and Spiti Valley from the Manali side, till barely a month ago, one had to get a special permit from the SDM's office in the hill town, pass through two-three police checkpoints and drive for 51 km up to the mighty Rohtang La (Pass). Mind you, this is easily one of the most dangerous roads in the world, barely wide enough for two vehicles to cross one-another, with over 15-20 km of roads so bad due to the heavy snowfall the area witnesses,, and the subsequent water-melts. Traffic jams and snarls are everyday affairs, often seeing travellers take 10-12 hours to reach the top. Once there, they face the descent to Sissu and Jispa, and subsequently Keylong and other valley towns; this takes another few hours on similarly non-existent roads.

A bane of sorts

The cutting down of distance and journey time is fantastic news for the area's accessibility and economic growth, especially so for our defense forces. But from the aspect of natural impact and devastation, it is a bane of sorts. Check this out. On a good day, the crossing past Rohtang Pass can take travelers 8-10 hours. On not-so-good ones, the journey can take 24 hours or more. And mind you, this is for six months in the year when the road is open, roughly from May to October-end. Come winters and snowfall, the Rohtang La road is shut to traffic as snow-walls on both sides reach heights of 30-40 feet, sometimes higher, and cannot be cleared fast enough for the road to be re-opened before the next heavy lot falls down from the skies.

In contrast, the Atal Tunnel has a road leading up to it from Manali, roughly 25-km-long and smooth as silk. The tunnel itself is just over 9-km-long, and one of the best examples of modern Indian engineering capabilities, working in gruelling conditions with an overseas partner for over a decade to make this possible. What this marvel does then, is to cut the distance to Sissu and Jispa by nearly 50 km, and the actual travel time in very safe conditions to under an hour. The brutal irony here is that many of those using the new road and tunnel for joyrides appear to want to complete the journey in 30 minutes or less. The result is already making itself very visible — there are accidents and road rage while these revelers are on the move, and trash once they get to the other side for their parties and picnics.

Not a new phenomenon

Such a situation is not new to us. Almost every hill station in our mighty Himalayan range has witnessed similar histories over the years and eventually paid the ultimate price. It has happened to Manali, Shimla, Mussoorie, Nainital, Garhwal; the list is long and growing. As an example, let's take my initiation to the mountains of North India. Shimla. I first visited the Summer Capital of the Englishmen when I was around 12, accompanying my parents. I was fascinated and awe-stricken. The all-encompassing greenery, the cool climes and scented air, the quaint little inns and dhabas — it was nirwana for a kid barely into his teens.

I visited again a few times with the parents. And once I had my own transportation, me and my friends (and girl-friends) would repeatedly end up in Shimla and its suburbs (Mashobra, Naldehra, Narkanda, Tattapani and so on). So much so, in fact, that I once visited the then pristine hill station, just a few hours from Delhi, 17 times in a single year. What an irony, then, that I have not visited Shimla for over 17 years now. Sure, I have driven through, to get to more palatable places in Himachal and beyond, but Shimla, for me is a strict no-no. All you have now are snaking traffic jams and no parking spaces, carcasses of towering resorts and hotels shutting out the view of all that is growing and green, and prices that are so inflated that you wonder whether you are in Europe, without the cleanliness and etiquette.

Over time, growth and development have destroyed a once-beautiful, archaic little town. And many others like it. In context of this narrative, one just hopes that the writers of tomorrow do not say the same thing about the Lahaul and Spiti valleys, given recent happenings and past trends.

It happens everytime

The phenomenon of infrastructural growth and development, from the perspective of roads in India, began over two decades ago with the likes of the Delhi-Noida-Delhi Flyway in the Delhi-NCR region. The Mumbai-Pune Expressway also joins the list. As do the Noida-Greater Noida Expressway, Jaypee Group's Delhi-Agra Expressway, and the Himalayan Expressway which links Zirakpur in Punjab with Parwanoo in the foothills of Himachal Pradesh. These roads have revolutionised the way India travels, cut down on travel time and fuel consumption, and saved people a lot of hassle.

But each time, these roads also have also seen a massive uptick in accidents and related casualties. The allure of an open road seems to bring out the animal in drivers and riders in India; and accelerators are either rotated in a new-found frenzy or gas pedals ruthlessly grounded into car floors as the need for speed gets the better of us. Naturally enough, these lead to accidents or near-misses, with the latter leading to altercations, fisticuffs and incidents of road rage. We have all seen them on our highways during our travels.

And we mostly look the other way, pretending we haven't noticed. We also try to protect our children from noticing, if possible and move on to the next pit stop for a cola, cuppa, Maggi or whatever it is that takes our fancy. Yet quietly, this also-a-pandemic inscrutably moves along, damaging over time km after km of our serene mountain ranges and environment. As also our culture and brotherhood...

Ladakh was always fragile

Geographically and historically, Ladakh is a fragile region. It always has been, and always will. It barely has the resources to sustain its own inhabitants and populace, and increasing tourism and travelers over the years are stretching its natural resources like glacial water and atmosphere to the limit. Look at these statistics carried by key publications. Ladakh Tourism has reported that, over the years, the region has become increasingly dependent on tourism. In 1990, there were just 6,738 visitors (6,342 foreigners; 396 Indians); this rose to 18,055 (11,828 foreigners; 6,227 Indians) by 2000. In 2008, the figure climbed to 74,334 (35,311 foreigners; 39,023 Indians), with Indian tourists outnumbering foreigners for the first time. An astounding 3,27,366 tourists were registered in 2018. Last year saw 279,937 visitors despite the slowdown in the economy. The final possible nail — a new airport terminal, to be constructed by September 2021, will bring in even more visitors, thus adding to the strain on resources and the ecosystem.

This has seen several NGOs and other like-minded organisations, key among them being the Mahabodhi International Meditation Center (MIMC), Save the Himalayas Foundation (SHF) and Pathfinders, step in to raise awareness about the dire situation and highlight the need for urgent action to prevent a possible, even inevitable, catastrophe. Organisations like MIMS and SHF have for long been highlighting the detrimental impact of water scarcity, lack of adequate green protection and air pollution. They have been recognised and awarded for their efforts. But the battle is a steep, uphill one.

Others like Pathfinders have seen their approach in the Ladakh region metamorphose significantly — even as they continue to provide schools and youngsters with study, sports equipment and other supplies. They have now taken to educating the children on the extent of environmental damage in the region, and the need and means to arrest it before it reaches a tipping point. They work with school teachers, school-children, the district administration and gram panchayats, now providing to them metal trash bins and raising awareness on optimal usage techniques. Because littering continues and is getting worse.

Is policing an option too?

Perhaps. A hard-nosed way to prevent this situation from worsening could be an iron-hands approach, with strict policing. For somehow, a majority of Indians do not seem to see merit in following the laws of the land, even smaller ones like those related to motor vehicles infringements and littering, unless there is a heavy cost attached to it. Look at our Motor Vehicles Act amendments, once announced way back in 1989, and the one finally being implemented by our states now, through last week. In both cases, dramatic increases in fine monies saw a dramatic fall in traffic and related violations.

I wrote this way back in 1989. I will repeat myself today. Somehow, sadly, it is typically evident that only sledgehammer blows seem to have the capacity to root out excesses that have been permitted on Indian roads and mountains for decades.

And maybe there is the answer, coupled with other measures, to stop development from ironically leading to destruction in our towns and mountains. Those that travel on holidays to India's mountains for leisure and pleasure have a simple and very basic moral responsibility of carrying their trash back with them and disposing of them in designated places, like trash cans and dust bins. We should make an example of those who don't. Impose on them crippling fines… Get opinion-makers like some of our intelligentsia and newspapers such as this one to file regular reports highlighting the misdemeanors and the related fines. When they understand fear and fines, they will fall into line. They always do.

The lockdown(s) will help

What the lockdown(s) and the subsequent reverse-migration did was force crores upon crores of Indians to walk back to their villages and homes, as our shiny metropolises shunned and disowned them. Today, many of these migrants continue to sit in their villages, waiting for any sustenance that may come their way. Empowering even a few thousands of these people to police our countryside and book those that break the most basic of laws (littering and else) will carry a dual bludgeon-blow — that of employing the former, while getting the latter to fall into line. Or else. The fines collected would more than pay the salaries of this new 'moral police', while the dent in personal prestige and pockets may just get a number of our vandal violators to recant, change.

We live in a beautiful country. Ask anyone who has been to our beaches, religious destinations like cities and towns with temples, mosques, churches, gurudwaras, monasteries and synagogues, hill stations and misty valleys, orchards and tea gardens — few parallels can be found anywhere in the world. Somehow, we don't seem to appreciate and respect our own land, except for our own little lives and belongings. Clean the house and dump the waste in the back lane; clean your car and leave the street riddled with chemicals and cleaning effluents; drink your beer or whisky and chuck the bottle by the riverside… It is high time that this silent, but deadly malaise is tackled. Head-on.

I am guilty of this myself. During one of my many travels some decades ago, I finished my smoke and threw the empty packet out of the window of my shiny, speedy car. My fellow travelers looked at me rather distastefully and said a few words. It left me somewhat sheepish, and rather ashamed. I have never done it again. We can appeal to consciences and sensibilities. Or we can impose fines. Create and share examples. Educate. Clearly, something has to be done, something that works.

Lahaul and Spiti are the latest ones calling out to us today for help. And we better move, before our next generations write another column some few decades on. On how two idiots travelled to Leh in a shiny-red Volvo SUV to meet a third. And how, whilst making a wonderful and thoroughly enjoyable Hindi movie, these '3 Idiots' unwittingly created a trend that saw thousands and lakhs of newer idiots descend on those same serene Himalayan trails and plunder them.

Our first two original idiots in the movie didn't even have the fantastic Atal Rohtang Tunnel to speed them along. The newer ones do, especially the party-hoppers who don't possess the necessary driving skills or the required body parts or patience to go up the mighty Rohtang La and then down the other side. But today, they don't have to. Et tu, development?

The writer is a communications consultant and a clinical analyst.

narayanrajeev2006@gmail.com