Few cities on Earth are blessed with a forest within their borders, some even went on to build one; so why don’t we appreciate what we have?
Aarey forest is now a crowded short-cut for most of us, our vehicles cutting through it with absolute disregard and disinterest
The people fighting to save Aarey don’t matter to a majority of us. We don’t know their names or think of them on days when they aren’t mentioned in newspapers or on television. When they are arrested for frivolous reasons, we don’t bat our eyelids. We treat them as a distraction, a small part of the daily news cycle, undermining the massive role they play in making sure we have access to something beautiful and bigger than all of us.
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Aarey forest occupies around 600 acres, at least according to Wikipedia which presumably doesn’t track the illegal activity of Bombay’s real estate barons. It is home to many tribes, a few hundred species of flora and fauna, and endangered animals that one simply doesn’t encounter in most of the world’s cities. That it is right in our backyard is something that ought to be celebrated but, given the apathy we are long accustomed to, this wondrous piece of Bombay is dismissed with callousness that borders on the criminal. We don’t care about whether it exists or not, because we believe it doesn’t affect us.
It is only when we lose something that we wake up to how precious it was. Archaeologists have found artefacts dating back to 765 AD in Aarey—a sign not just of how ancient this land is, but of how quickly our city has managed to consume so much of it. It is now a crowded short-cut for most of us, our vehicles cutting through it with absolute disregard and disinterest. It’s why we don’t react to repeated attempts by criminals masquerading as politicians to hack away at this ecological marvel.
Let’s put aside the issue of whether a Metro car shed belongs within the Aarey premises. Let’s ignore what environmentalists say and ignore arguments about how connectivity and development for all citizens inadvertently comes at a price. Let’s focus simply on what we are prepared to do to try and save the very nature of our city’s soul. We have spent the last quarter of a century dismantling and destroying much of what Bombay looked like. The mangroves that protect us are being eradicated by night, and heritage structures are being demolished to make way for some of the ugliest buildings ever to deface our skylines. We are now adding insult to injury by destroying the little that is left to us, and by believing con artists who tell us this is for our own good.
Two proposed projects for Aarey reportedly include a 32-story residence and a heliport. If this doesn’t smack of arrogance and stupidity, what does? Our city struggles with flooding every year, like clockwork, because the government of Maharashtra doesn’t care. What it does instead of finding a solution is pour more concrete into our urban jungle.
I am often reminded of Central Park in Manhattan whenever I think of Aarey. It was constructed by two architects over a century and a half ago, and settlements were erased to make way for it. It now houses a zoo, amusement attractions, even a reservoir, and serves the city’s residents and tourists in innumerable ways right through the year. New Yorkers can’t imagine life without it, even if they don’t visit it as often as they would like to. I think about that green, man-made oasis with awe and sadness because it gives me a glimpse of what could have been.
We didn’t have to create an Aarey; it was gifted to us, and all we did was ignore it. We could have turned it into something special, a place of recreation for millions in our city who have no space to breathe fresh air in. All we did was lock it away and put much of it out of bounds, treating it as an obstacle instead of a blessing. We could have had a transformative space that would improve the lives of everyone living here, while attracting the envy and attention of everyone outside our borders. Successive governments have done nothing to make this happen.
The forests will disappear at some point, just like so much of Bombay has been swallowed. Our grandchildren may read about it in textbooks a few decades from now, their mouths open in wonder at the thought of human beings living alongside leopards and deer. And when they ask us why we let go of something so magical, we can point to the nearest Metro line, and explain to them why we thought it was worth the loss.
When he isn’t ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper
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