Beyond the Dilli smog

With the National Capital Region’s air pollution dominating the news cycle every winter, it is hard for outsiders to think of it as a thriving hotspot for India’s biodiversity.

That’s where conservation biologist Neha Sinha’s new book Wild Capital comes in as an unexpected reminder, grounded in science and delivered in prose that is rich in memory and metaphor. She wears her expertise lightly, welcoming readers into a subject that can seem too technical and specialised.

“What do you see out of your window as you read this?” When a book opens with a sentence like this, it stands out because the author is not preaching from a podium, assuming that readers do not share her love of trees, animals, birds, forests, rivers and mountains. Her delight and discovery take centre stage, so her advocacy lands in a way that feels persuasive but never forced.

“I search for places that have meaning for both the human and the more-than-human,” notes Sinha, whose book is based on jaunts and expeditions across Delhi, Gurugram and Faridabad, which left her with observations, questions, and longings that found their way into her writing.

She recasts the capital in a warm, endearing light. Her curious eye and her ability to scoop joy out of the smallest of things push readers to see NCR as more than a seat of political power.

Sinha’s description of the semal, for instance, says more about her loving gaze than the tree itself. She writes, “It also lives unabashedly, with the soul of a Gauguin painting or an ikat handloom saree — splotching everything with colour, a little messy, a little out of bounds, almost too much to take in at once, always vivid.”

This is a lively example of how human interaction with other species does not have to be exploitative; it can be tender, poetic, and affectionate.

Childlike wonder

The author shows how to protect one’s childlike wonder and fertile imagination from being dulled by too much information. Green sandpipers, with their white bellies, remind her of vanilla ice cream.

Hornbills, with their agile moves, appear like ballerinas with beaks. Sinha watches, transfixed, as bats “pause their snacking to fan themselves” and butterflies bask in the sun. These descriptions create a more lasting impression than the photographs and illustrations in the book.

It urges readers to explore beyond popular spots like Sunder Nursery and Lodi Gardens. It takes them to Sarojini Nagar, Tughlaqabad, Chanakyapuri, Hauz Khas, Bhondsi, Wazirabad, Sanjay Van, Mangar, Aravalli Biodiversity Park, and the Delhi Ridge, among other places. The focus here is not on identifying trees by their “formal names” but on falling in love with them.

“What matters is that you notice the tree, and that you allow it to tunnel into your life, to open new neural pathways,” remarks Sinha. While reading these words thick with empathy, one wishes that Wild Capital would miraculously fall into the hands of officials who make hasty decisions about decimating entire ecosystems to build shiny infrastructure for humans.

While the overall mood of the book is celebratory, even bathed in nostalgia, Sinha does not make the mistake of portraying nature as inherently or perennially benevolent.

She refers, for instance, to ‘vilayati kikar’ (Neltuma juliflora) as “the vermin of the plant world” because these “deadly invasives from Mexico…over-compete with other trees, eventually killing them”. These trees are likened to colonisers who steal nutrition and sunlight from native trees that need space to flourish.

This observation lays bare the anthropocentrism ingrained in human beings that makes it difficult to step back and refrain from projecting value judgements onto how nature operates.

If animals, birds and trees had the sort of agency and voice that humans do, would they really want humans to be voyeurs and study their mating habits, dietary preferences and migratory patterns? It is rare for humans to reflect on whether their thirst for exploration benefits or harms other species.

The metaphor of colonisation opens a door that Sinha is reluctant to walk through. Anti-colonial as well as eco-feminist scholars have written at length about the links between the oppression of women, indigenous people and animals.

Contemporary work in critical animal studies looks at the consumption of dairy and meat as a continuation of colonial ideologies that exploit the less powerful. Sinha does not venture into this controversial terrain, reserving her energy for topics that feel safer to talk about, like the dumping of rubble on riversides, which, of course, needs to stop.

That said, Wild Capital is a book worth reading, as it encourages both the expert and the novice to put aside their limited worldview and notice what has always been there waiting to be seen.

The reviewer is a writer and literary critic.