Ephemeral memories of a continuous drought

Bengaluru is reeling under a water crisis, and the newspapers and television screens are full of conversations about how we got here. The blame game is on, fast and furious. Each political party holds the others responsible -- citizens name the government, the government points to the rains -- and everyone demands more water from the Cauvery. No one, it seems, is willing to turn the lens on themselves and ask what each of us can do.

By now, the seasons of the news cycle ought to be familiar to us. In the spring, we marvel at the gorgeous pink Tabebuias and scarlet Gulmohars, and then cut down all the trees on the roads for ‘development’. We enjoy the ‘did-you-do-it, why-did-you-do-it’ call of the lapwing as it flies over the lakes, and then pour concrete into wetlands and lakes to build apartments. Then comes the summer, when we complain about the heat and the lack of water, vowing to implement rainwater harvesting. The promises are quickly forgotten once the first rains hit the cement, and families rush to the swimming pools and water theme parks, eager to make the most of the school holidays.

We complain again when the rains don’t stop. Where can the water go, when we have filled every inch of the surface with tiles, paved stones, asphalt, tar, and concrete? It flows into our homes, offices and apartments, filling the roads, sweeping away the cars, and bringing the city to a standstill. That’s when we remember the lakes each year, demanding that the authorities do something about lake restoration. They oblige, visiting affected sites, taking photographs with impacted communities, making many promises.

And then the rain stops, and we forget everything else but the imperative to keep moving, running in the mad race of the city.

Bengaluru’s environmental stress is permanent, although its manifestations are different from season to season. But our memories are ephemeral, fleeting. We don’t really care about the city, to think of what each one of us can do to make our own homes, let alone the city, more resilient to the changing climate.

It’s not enough to pay our taxes. How many apartments, malls, companies and other large land-owners have fully functional rainwater harvesting systems that allow them to collect and use every drop of water that falls on their land, or to recharge it into the ground? How many have invested in treatment systems that allow them to reuse grey water for their gardens and lawns, and for their plumbing? This kind of investment is far more profitable than investing even in solar energy – it can often be recouped in a couple of years. And it pays for itself in terms of the mental stress it saves us, by reducing our dependence on public water supply by at least 50%. But yet, many buildings in the city have only partially functional water harvesting systems, if that.

And what can one say about our urban planners, whose job it is to think about the city as a system, and plan for its resilience into the long future? Climate change is only going to get worse over time. It will get far, far worse before things get better, if at all they get better. We may be preserving and restoring some of our lakes, but the city’s wetlands have all but disappeared. Open wells are not getting the public support they deserve. And where is the thought that needs to be put into innovative efforts such as thinking of how we can harvest water from our roads, flyovers, and metros, which turn into rivers during a spell of rain?

None of this is rocket science, but it all requires application of thought. And that requires focused attention. Cauvery Phase 5 will not save us – we need to save ourselves. And for that, we need a better, more sustained memory of the past -- which can translate into long-term planning for the future.