Renu Deshpande Dhole

In all my years of living in Aundh, and complaining about its ever-growing concrete chaos, I had never known that a spot of wilderness thrived right in my backyard.

I now see the irony of passing over the ‘bridge’ on Aundh-Baner Link Road without acknowledging the river that flows under it. After all, like most Punekars, only a sense of resignation comes to mind when we think of Pune’s rivers and all the sewage and stink they’ve come to represent. The dusty signboard on the bridge marking the Ram-Mula confluence, dwarfed by the high-rise aspirations around it, was invisible to me. Until my eyes were opened.

Thanks to the passionate insistence of a friend belonging to citizens’ action group Pune River Revival, I finally stepped off the bridge and entered the riparian area of the confluence. It felt almost like stepping through a looking glass (a la Alice) and discovering a fantastical, hidden world.

The piles of garbage and debris next to the bridge were like a smokescreen for the treasure that I was to discover. As my eyes took in the sheer surprise of this richly wooded riverside, my ears could almost hear the words of the wonderful mentors at Ecological Society, where I am a student.

Their lectures had primed me to notice the indicators of healthy ecosystems and so I spotted lianas – those beautiful hanging woody creepers that speak of old growth forests. They reminded me of the sacred groves I’d visited in Tamhini and Phansad, where the dense foliage, aerial roots, gnarled branches, thick trunks and long-stemmed vines seemed to merge into one ancient green organism that one could only bow down to.

I also noticed the unfortunate waters of our urban river but took heart in the almost poetic definition of a river I’d heard from a river management expert – A river, she said, is more than just its water. A river is its riparian area, its sediment flow, its boulders, its biodiversity, the corridor it creates for avian life, the fish migration it enables and so much more.

A river attains full meaning because of its dynamic and unique interaction with the trees, the grasses, the birds and many other forms of life on its banks. Stripped of this mutually nourishing relationship, the river is a mere canal.

I kept returning to the river I had only felt pity for and was introduced to its beauty. It was an education. I learnt, over many river walks with experts, that the river has its own self-cleaning mechanism that actually reduces the load of filth we throw into it, that a clean river is possible if only existing rules are enforced, that the old trees along its bank (like the Indian willow tree) hold soil and withstand flooding, that the river supports almost a hundred species of birds within a small 7km stretch, that there’s a canopied spot in the green patch from where the city seems a universe away… and that there’s a ‘development’ plan that threatens to kill the river as we know it in the name of ‘beautification’.

In connecting intimately with the river, through tree mapping, cleaning its bank, helping rejuvenate its natural springs, and so on, I came to care about the consequences of the grand infrastructure project that seeks to transform our rivers. And they aren’t pretty.

Several experts have weighed in on this exorbitant, ecologically unsound infrastructure project, when bioengineering solutions can restore the health of our rivers at half the cost. Far from being the sentimental outpourings of bleeding-heart green champions, their arguments ring alarm bells for a city that has seen rising temperatures, heat islands and extreme weather events in the last few years.

Politics and policy aside, how does replacing a forested riverside with concrete promenades, straitjacketing the natural flow of the river by pinching and channelizing it, and turning a vibrant community space into a tourist spot amount to beautification?

We, the citizens, deserve to know. Let there be open discussions, public hearings and transparent dialogue between the government and the people, for it is a question of ‘our’ rivers, our future. Meanwhile, we hold on to the ephemeral ideal in the present, which could soon be a thing of the past.

The Ram-Mula confluence recently hosted the Pune Kabir Festival and the woods were alive with music, dance, dappled morning sunshine and a community basking in the riverside bounty. ‘Pal me parlay hovegi.. bahuri karega kab’ – Sant Kabir’s words could well be a call for citizens action in the face of riverfront destruction.

(Please join the citizens Chipko march to protect Ram-Mula sacred grove on Feb 9, 3.30 pm near Kalmadi high school, Baner)

About the Author: Renu Deshpande Dhole is a Pune-based special educator and a freelance writer. When not at her desk, she is outdoors watching birds and wildlife.

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