A woman in a remote hamlet in Kashmir, India, migrates to a safer location with her child as floodwater inundates her hometown. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR & NEW DELHI, Feb 9 2026 (IPS)

When the rain begins in Kashmir’s capital Srinagar, Ghulam Nabi Bhat does not watch the clouds with relief anymore. He watches them with calculation. How much can the gutters take? How fast will the river rise? Which corner of the house will leak first? Where should the children sleep if the floor turns damp?

“Earlier, rain meant comfort,” said Bhat, a resident of a low-lying neighbourhood close to the city’s waterways. “Now it feels like a warning.”

On many days, the rain does not need to become a flood to change life. Streets fill up within hours. Shops shut early. The school van turns back. A phone call spreads across families, asking the same question, “How is your area?”

For millions across India and the wider region of emerging Asia (a group of rapidly developing countries in the region, including China, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Thailand, and Vietnam), this is the new normal. Disasters no longer arrive as rare, once-in-a-generation ruptures. They come as repeated shocks, each one leaving behind repair bills, lost wages, and a deeper sense that recovery has become a permanent routine.

A recent analysis from the OECD Development Centre shows that emerging Asia has been facing an average of around 100 disasters a year over the past decade, affecting roughly 80 million people annually. The rising trend is powered by floods, storms, and droughts. The report estimates that natural disasters have cost India an average of 0.4 percent of GDP every year between 1990 and 2024.

Behind the national figure lies a quieter, more poignant story. It is the story of how repeated climate and weather shocks get absorbed by households and not just spreadsheets. By the savings a family built for a daughter’s education. By a shopkeeper’s stock bought on credit. By a farmer’s seed money saved from the last season.

In the north Indian state of Bihar’s flood-prone belt, Sunita Devi, a mother of three, says she has stopped storing anything valuable on the floor. Clothes sit on higher shelves. The grain container has moved to a safer corner. The family’s documents stay wrapped in plastic.

Local residents in Kashmir’s capital, Srinagar, stack sandbags to safeguard their homes from floods in 2025. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

“When water comes, you run with children,” she said. “The rest is left to fate. You can rebuild a wall. You cannot bring back the days you lost.”

Her village has lived with floods for decades, but she says what has changed is frequency, uncertainty, and cost. It is not only about big river floods that make headlines. It is also about sudden waterlogging, damaged roads, broken embankments, and illnesses that rise after the water recedes.

“Earlier we could predict. Now we cannot. Sometimes the water comes fast. Sometimes it stays. Sometimes it leaves and then comes again,” Devi told IPS.

Professor Kaveh Madani, director of the United Nations University’s Institute for Water, Environment, and Health, told IPS that water bankruptcy in Asia should be treated as a national security issue, not a sector issue.

“The priority is shifting from crisis response to bankruptcy management: honest accounting, enforceable limits, protection of natural capital, and a just transition that protects farmers and vulnerable communities,” said Madani.

Across emerging Asia, floods have emerged as one of the strongest rising trends since the early 2000s, the OECD Development Centre report notes. The reasons vary from place to place, but the result looks familiar: disrupted lives, damaged homes, and a cycle of repair that drains communities.

In Kashmir’s capital Srinagar, small shop owner Bashir Ahmad keeps an old wooden rack near the entrance. It is not for display. It is for emergencies. When rain intensifies, he quickly moves cartons of goods off the floor.

“My shop is small; my margin is smaller. One day of water is enough to destroy many things. Customers do not come. Deliveries stop. You just wait and watch,” Ahmad said.

He says the biggest loss is not always the damaged stock. It is the days without work. For families that live week to week, even a short shutdown becomes a long crisis. Rent does not pause. School fees do not pause. Loans do not pause.

The OECD analysis, while regional in scope, points to a hard truth that communities already know. It claims that disasters have economic aftershocks that last long after television cameras leave. When repeated losses occur every year, they reduce growth and reshape choices. Families postpone building stronger houses. They avoid investing in small businesses. They spend more time recovering than progressing.

“Disasters are no longer exceptional events. They have become recurring economic shocks. The problem is not only the immediate damage. It is the repetition. Repetition breaks household resilience,” Dr Ritu Sharma, a climate risk researcher based in Delhi, said.

Sharma says India’s disaster losses should not be viewed as a headline percentage alone.

They should be viewed as accumulated pressure on ordinary life.

“A flood does not only damage a bridge. It delays healthcare visits. It interrupts immunisation drives. It breaks supply chains for food and medicines. It can push vulnerable families into debt traps. What looks like a climate event becomes a social event. It becomes a health event. It becomes an education event.”

In the report’s regional comparisons, the burden is uneven. Some countries face higher average annual losses as a share of GDP, especially those exposed to cyclones and floods. India’s size allows it to absorb shocks on paper, but that size also means more people remain exposed. From Himalayan slopes vulnerable to landslides to coastal districts bracing for cyclones to plains dealing with floods and heat, risk is spread across geography and across livelihoods.

Prof. Nasar Ali, an economist who studies climate impacts, says the real damage is often hidden in the informal economy.

“A formal sector company can claim insurance, borrow on better terms, and restart faster. A vegetable vendor cannot. A small grocery shop cannot. A family with a single daily wage earner cannot. Their loss is immediate and personal. They also take the longest to recover,” Ali said.

He believes disaster impacts also deepen inequality because the poorest households lose what they cannot replace.

“A damaged roof for a rich family is a renovation problem. A damaged roof for a poor family can mean sleeping in damp rooms for weeks, infections, missed work and children dropping out temporarily.”

The report also turns attention toward a policy question that has become urgent across Asia: how should governments pay for disasters in a way that does not repeatedly divert development funds?

The analysis highlights disaster risk finance, tools that help governments prepare money in advance rather than relying mainly on post-disaster relief. This includes dedicated disaster funds, insurance mechanisms, and rapid financing that can be triggered quickly after a shock.

For communities, the debate may sound distant. But the outcomes are visible in the speed of recovery and the dignity of response.

“When a disaster happens, help should come fast,” said Meena Devi, who runs a small grocery shop in Jammu’s RS Pura area and has seen repeated waterlogging during intense rains. “We close our shop. Milk spoils. People cannot buy things. Then we borrow money to restart. If support is slow, we fall behind.”

She said her biggest fear is not a single disaster but the feeling that another one is always near.

“If it happens once, you survive. If it happens again and again, you get tired from inside,” she said.

For Sharma, preparedness must be more than emergency drills. It must include planning that reduces exposure in the first place.

“Some risks are unavoidable, but many are amplified by where and how we build,” she said. “If cities expand without drainage capacity, or if construction spreads into floodplains, then disasters become predictable. That is not nature alone. That is policy.”

In Srinagar, Bhat says residents often feel they fight the same battle every year. Cleaning drains. Stacking sandbags. Moving belongings. Calling relatives. Watching the river level updates. The work looks small, but it is exhausting because it never ends.

He pointed to marks on a wall that show where water once reached.

“We always think, maybe this year it will be better,” he said. “Then rain comes, and your heart starts beating faster.”

Asked what would make him feel safe, he did not talk about big promises. He spoke about basics. A drain that works. A road that does not collapse. A warning that comes early. Help that comes on time.

For Sunita Devi in Bihar, the dream is even simpler: a season where the family can plan without fear.

“We want to live like normal people. We want to save money, not spend it on repairing what the water broke,” she said.

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Children and youth engaging at COP. Credit: UN Climate Change/Zô Guimarães

By Cheena Kapoor
BELÉM, Brazil, Nov 21 2025 (IPS)

Jyoti Kumari missed her online classes again today. Her father, a vegetable seller in West Delhi’s vegetable market, had to go to work, taking with him the only smartphone the family uses. Kumari has been taking online classes since November 11, when the state government declared a shutdown of all elementary schools due to air pollution hitting the “severe” category.

A class five student in a government school, she relies on her father’s mobile phone to attend her classes. But her class timings coincide with her father’s work time, and due to this clash, the 10-year-old has been missing her lessons.

She represents what has become a common story in India—children missing school due to extreme weather events caused by climate change.

“Their schools shut down several times during peak summer months due to heatwaves, and the closing of schools due to air pollution in October/November has become a regular thing over the last few years. Now that the winters are starting, they will close again when the mercury drops to a freezing point,” said her father, Devendra Kumar.

In a country that has seen remarkable progress in girls’ education only in the last decade, these regular disruptions due to climatic events are threatening the progress. The school closures, compounded with poverty and loss of income due to extreme weather, threaten to push girls like Kumari into child marriage.

In Delhi, the Air Quality Index has been hovering between the “very poor” (300-400) and “severe” (over 400) categories since last week. Since November 11, when Kumari’s school shut, the government imposed stage three of the Graded Response Action Plan, or GRAP, under which nonessential construction and industrial activities are banned in the city. Civil rights groups and college students have been staging protests demanding immediate action to improve the national capital’s air quality.

But Kumari, who wants to become a scientist when she grows up, does not understand the government’s imposition and worries about her classes, which she has been missing.

As per a UNICEF report from earlier this year, climate-related extreme events disrupted education for 54.7 million students in India in 2024 alone. “April saw the highest global climate-related school disruptions, with heatwaves as the leading hazard affecting at least 118 million children in Bangladesh, Cambodia, India, the Philippines, and Thailand,” stated the report. It also added that fast-onset hazards like cyclones and landslides cause destruction of schools, while environmental stressors like air pollution and extreme heat are hindering school attendance.

Against this backdrop, world leaders have gathered in Belém for the 30th Conference of the Parties, in what is called the world’s largest climate negotiation platform. Decisions taken here will directly affect the future of children like Kumari. But by the 10th day of the summit, it is clear that non-economic loss and damage, or NELD, a term coined for all losses that are not directly related to finance, including mental health effects, loss of biodiversity, education, displacement, and culture, are not a priority.

While negotiators, packed in closed rooms, engage in high-level discussions around climate finance, adaptation targets, and fossil fuels, NELD waits to be noticed through the back door despite its growing relevance. It featured in only one side event where some experts highlighted its urgency, but it remains largely absent from the agenda.

“Social impacts of climate change are already worsening, and long-term impacts can lead to stunted education,” said Saqib Huq, Managing Director at the International Centre for Climate Change and Development (ICCCAD). “Within the Warsaw International Mechanism for Loss and Damage, experts are collating data and knowledge regarding NELD, but we keep hearing that we need more data and more policy. Meanwhile, impacts are escalating.”

Part of the challenge, researchers say, is that NELD does not fit into a straightforward financial evaluation. While economic losses like collapsed infrastructure and destroyed crops are easier to quantify and thus draw funding, non-economic harms require more subtle accounting. Lost childhoods and interrupted learning do not fit into traditional finance frameworks.

But for Jyoti, the next few days do not depend on the negotiations and draft text in Belém, but rather on whether the pollution in Delhi falls enough for her to go to school again.

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Belém—30th Conference of the Parties (COP30). Credit: Antônio Scorza/COP30

By Erik Solheim
OSLO, Norway, Nov 11 2025 (IPS)

When world leaders now gather in Belém, Brazil for the UN climate conference, expectations will be modest. Few believe the meeting will produce any breakthroughs. The United States is retreating from climate engagement. Europe is distracted. The UN is struggling to keep relevant in the 21st century.

But step outside the negotiation tents, and a different story unfolds—one of quiet revolutions, technological leaps, and a new geography of leadership. The green transformation of the world is no longer being designed in Western capitals. It is being built, at scale, in the Global South.

Ten years ago, anyone seeking inspiration on climate policy went to Brussels, Berlin or Paris. Today, you go to Beijing, Delhi or Jakarta. The center of gravity has shifted. China and India are now the twin engines of the global green economy, with Brazil, Vietnam and Indonesia closely behind.

Erik Solheim

China has made the green transition its biggest business opportunity, turning green action into jobs, prosperity and global leadership. China is now making more money from exporting green technology than America makes from exporting fossil fuels.

India, too, is reshaping what green development looks like. I was in Andhra Pradesh last month, when I visited a wonderful six-gigawatt integrated energy park—solar, wind, and pumped storage. It delivers round-the-clock clean power. There is nothing like that in the West. In another state, Tamil Nadu, an ecotourism circuit is protecting mangroves and marine ecosystems while creating local jobs in tourism. The western state of Gujarat, long a laboratory for industrial innovation, has committed to 100 gigawatts of renewables by 2030, with the captains of Indian business – Adani and Reliance – driving large-scale solar and wind investments with the state government.

These are not pilot projects. They are national strategies. And they are succeeding because the economics have flipped.

The cost of solar power has fallen by over 90 percent in the last decade, largely thanks to the intense competition between Chinese solar companies. Battery storage is now competitive with fossil fuels. What was once an environmental aspiration has become a financial inevitability. In Indian Gujarat, solar-plus-storage projects are already cheaper than coal. Switching to clean energy is no longer a cost—it is a saving.

That is why climate action today is driven not by diplomacy, but by economics. The question is no longer if countries will go green, but who will own the technologies and industries that make it possible.

Europe, long the moral voice of the climate agenda, now risks losing the industrial race. After years of blocking imports from developing countries on grounds of “inferior” green quality, it now complains that Chinese electric vehicles are too good— too cheap and too efficient. Europe cannot have it both ways. The world cannot build a green transition behind protectionist walls. The markets must open to the best technologies, wherever they are made.

President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva of Brazil understands this new reality. That is why he chose Belém, deep in the Amazon, as the site for climate talks. The location itself is a statement: the future of climate policy lies in protecting the rainforests and empowering the people who live within them.

Forests are not just carbon sinks; they are living economies. When I was Norway’s environment minister, we partnered with Brazil and Indonesia to reward them for reducing deforestation. Later, Guyana joined our effort—a small South American nation where nearly the entire population is of Indian or African origin.

Guyana has since turned conservation into currency. Under its jurisdictional REDD+ programme, the country now sells verified carbon credits through the global aviation market known as CORSIA. In the third quarter of this year, these credits traded at USD 22.55 per tonne of CO₂ equivalent, with around one million credits sold through a procurement event led by IATA and Mercuria.

The proceeds go directly to forest communities—building schools, improving digital access, and funding small enterprises. It is proof that the carbon market can deliver real value when tied to real lives. You cannot protect nature against the will of local people. You can only protect it with them. Last year in Guyana, I watched children play soccer and cricket beneath the jungle canopy—a glimpse of life thriving in harmony with the forest, not at its expense.

That, ultimately, is what Belém should represent: not another round of procedural debates, but a vision for linking markets, nature and livelihoods.

The Global South has also sidestepped one of the West’s greatest political failures: climate denial. In India, there is no major political party—or public figure, cricket star or Bollywood artist—questioning the reality of climate change. Leaders may differ on ideology, but not on this. Across Asia, from China to Indonesia, climate action unites rather than divides. Because here, ecology and economy move together.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi of India puts it simply: by going green, we also go prosperous. President Xi Jinping of China and President Lula of Brazil share that same message—a vision that draws people in, instead of lecturing them. It is this integration of growth and sustainability that explains why the Global South is moving faster than most of the developed world.

None of this means diplomacy is irrelevant. The UN still matters. But its institutions must evolve to reflect the realities of the 21st century. The Security Council, frozen in 1945, still excludes India and Africa from permanent membership. Without reform, multilateralism risks losing its meaning.

Yet, while negotiations stall, transformation continues. From solar parks in Gujarat to high-speed rail across China, from mangrove tourism in Tamil Nadu to carbon markets in Guyana—climate leadership is happening in real economies, not in press releases.

Belém will not deliver a grand agreement. But it doesn’t need to. The world is already moving—faster than our diplomats.

The story of Belem will not be written in communiqués, but in kilowatts, credits, and communities.

The real climate leaders are no longer in Washington or Brussels.

They are in Beijing, Delhi, São Paulo, and Georgetown.

The future of climate action is already here.

It just speaks with a southern accent.

The author is the former Executive Director of the United Nations Environment Programme and Norway’s Minister for Environment and International Development.

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Excerpt:

Rakhi Matan holds bottles of cough syrup in her palm. This is what she gave to her kids two weeks back when they were feeling ill. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

By Zofeen Ebrahim
KARACHI, Pakistan, Nov 11 2025 (IPS)

When 23 children died in India’s Madhya Pradesh after consuming contaminated cough syrup in early September, the news barely registered across the border. In Pakistan—where self-medication is rampant and syrup bottles are household staples—the tragedy strikes dangerously close to home.

Many in Pakistan remain unaware that those sweet, over-the-counter syrups can be fatal. In the recent Indian case, the children—all under six—died of kidney failure after consuming syrup laced with diethylene glycol (DEG), a toxic solvent found at 500 times the permissible limit.

Investigations revealed the manufacturer, Sresan, had sourced industrial-grade propylene glycol from local chemical and paint dealers instead of certified pharmaceutical suppliers. With no qualified chemist overseeing production, the syrup went untested—and deadly.

This isn’t the first such incident. In 2022, Indian-made syrups caused the deaths of at least 70 children in The Gambia and 18 in Uzbekistan. Between December 2019 and January 2020, at least 12 children died in Indian-administered Kashmir after taking similarly contaminated syrup.

The prescribing doctor in India was the first to be arrested, followed by the suspension of the drug inspector and deputy director. The manufacturer, who had been absconding since September, has now been caught.

“It shows that even doctors can get caught in legal and ethical trouble, even when unaware of a drug’s quality issues,” said Professor Mishal Khan of the London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine. “The tragedy is a warning for Pakistan—weak regulation hurts everyone: doctors, pharma companies, and patients alike.”

A 2024 study by Khan found that approximately 40 percent of Karachi doctors accepted incentives in return for prescribing medicines from a fake pharmaceutical company without any checks on the company’s manufacturing standards or medicine quality. Antibiotics and cough syrups were among the medicines they agreed to promote.

As Pakistan enters its flu season, Karachi’s hospitals are filling up. “Between 50 to 70 percent of children who visit our clinics have respiratory tract infections,” said Dr. Wasim Jamalvi of Dr. Ruth K. M. Pfau, Civil Hospital Karachi.

And with the flu comes a predictable companion: cough syrup.

“If a child is brought for consultation for fever, cough and cold, parents feel a prescription is incomplete without a cough syrup,” said Dr. D.S. Akram, a senior pediatrician, who stopped prescribing them two decades ago. “Cough syrups don’t work—they just make the children drowsy or irritable,” she said.

Jamalvi agrees, “We don’t recommend syrups for under-fives, but parents still give them—they’re easily available over the counter.”

Self-Medication Culture

In Pakistan, cough syrups—often called sherbet—are viewed as harmless cures.

“I swear by this syrup a doctor gave me years ago,” said Mohammad Yusuf, a 31-year-old houseboy. “One spoon at night and I sleep better.”

Two weeks ago, when Rakhi Matan’s children, aged 10 and 13, came down with the flu, she reached for a bottle of leftover cough syrup from last year. “It saved me the doctor’s fee—he’d have prescribed the same thing,” she said.

Such casual self-medication is common—and hard to control.

Dr. Qaiser Sajjad, former secretary general of the Pakistan Medical Association, said regulating cough syrup sales is nearly impossible with thousands of quacks operating in the city. Medical store worker Majid Yusufzai agreed, admitting syrups are sold freely without prescriptions and “entire families share the same bottle.”

Health experts say Pakistan’s culture of self-prescription—reinforced by weak enforcement and cheap access to medicines—makes the system vulnerable to similar disasters.

Dr. Obaidullah Malik, heading the Drug Regulatory Authority of Pakistan (DRAP), told IPS that Pakistan imported the majority of the raw materials (for several drugs, including cough syrups) from India and China.

With over 100,000 drug manufacturing companies, India, referred to as the ‘pharmacy of the world,’ is known for affordable generic drugs. But recent deaths have cast a long shadow on its safety standards.

Tighter Drug Oversight

“It is of great concern,” said Malik, adding that scrutiny of domestic quality control was enhanced after it received a global alert from the WHO on October 13, of three substandard cough syrups manufactured in India.

“Thankfully, the contaminated syrups were never exported to Pakistan,” confirmed Malik. “There’s no evidence of illegal shipments either—but we’re staying vigilant to ensure a tragedy like India’s doesn’t happen here.”

“DRAP has made it mandatory for all pharmaceuticals, including herbal and nutraceutical manufacturers as well as importers, to pre-test additives such as glycerin, propylene glycol, and sorbitol—either in their own laboratories or through public sector facilities like the Central Drugs Laboratory (CDL) in Karachi or the 12 provincial drug testing,” said Malik. The authority is double-checking vendor credentials and certifications and instructed field teams to step up sampling and testing—both of raw materials coming in and the finished syrups.

Recently, it trained pharma company reps from Nepal, Gambia, Sierra Leone, Maldives, and Sri Lanka on a quick detection method called Thin Layer Chromatography (TLC), which helps spot contamination early—saving time, cutting costs, and improving safety checks nationwide.

There are between 700 and 800 pharmaceutical companies across Pakistan, but only about 300 are members of the Pakistan Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association—leaving much of the industry operating with little oversight. Yet, despite its fledgling state compared to India’s, Pakistan’s pharma sector is eager to expand into global markets. Khan cautioned that the recent scandal over unsafe medicines could jeopardize those ambitions before they even take off.

To avoid a similar crisis and protect its reputation abroad, Pakistan’s regulator has stepped up oversight at home. “Since November 2023, DRAP has recalled 63 finished products contaminated with diethylene glycol (DEG) and ethylene glycol (EG), identified 44 impurities, and issued 13 alerts about contaminated raw materials,” said DRAP’s CEO.

As Karachi’s clinics continue to fill up this flu season, syrup bottles are flying off shelves—often with no pharmacist in sight. “It’s just a syrup,” said Yusuf. He does not know, but for dozens of families across the border, that sweet bottle brought irreversible loss.

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A session titled Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

By Zofeen Ebrahim
BANGKOK, Nov 5 2025 (IPS)

The message is clear: today’s youth are not “wishy-washy.” They are not just the future—they are the present, full partners in shaping it, and “power-sharing” is the new mantra. The veterans of activism are being reminded not merely to listen but to hear and to leave their egos at the door.

These were among the many resonant takeaways from the five-day International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University.

Yet beneath the optimistic rhetoric, a different mood lingered. Many young participants seemed despondent, feeling short-changed by their elders—empowered in words, but excluded in practice.

At a session titled “Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia,” young voices from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, and Nepal shared their frustrations and fears for the future.

Student activist Ammad Talpur at the Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia session at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

In Pakistan, said student activist Ammad Talpur, nepotism runs deep, inequality is horrific and brutal, and the powerful break laws with impunity. “We long for change, but fear silences us, as those in power will not brook dissent.”

A similar sense of frustration echoes beyond Pakistan.

“Though sometimes its exercise may come at a cost, youth in India are free to say anything and freedom of speech does exist,” Adrian D’ruz, another panelist, told IPS after the session. And journalists, academics, students, and comedians who questioned those in power, he said, reportedly faced legal action, online harassment, or institutional pressure.

To curb dissent, legal provisions are misapplied, resulting in people “leaning towards self-censorship rather than risking consequences,” said D’Cruz, a member of a network of NGOs in India called Wada Na Todo Abhiyan, which promotes governance accountability and inclusion of marginalized communities.

While Pakistan and India illustrate the pressures youth face under entrenched power, in Nepal the response has taken a more visible, street-level form, riding a wave of unrest that began in Sri Lanka and Bangladesh.

In Kathmandu, “rising unemployment, corruption, nepotism, and broken promises” fueled the unrest, said Tikashwari Rai, a young Nepali mother of two daughters, worried for their future.

Tikashwari Rai, a Nepali mother of two daughters, at the Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia session at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

“We don’t want to work as domestic help in the Middle East; we want opportunities here, in our own country. But because there are none, many young people are forced to leave,” she explained.

Yet, she admitted, the protests came at a heavy cost—lives lost and infrastructure destroyed. “Our youth need guidance and stronger organization to lead social movements effectively,” she added.

Beyond the immediate triggers of street protests, some activists argue that deeper systemic issues fuel youth disenchantment.

Melani Gunathilaka, a climate and political activist from Sri Lanka, at the Youth Movements and Democratic Futures in South Asia session at International Civil Society Week, held at Bangkok’s Thammasat University. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

Melani Gunathilaka, a young climate and political activist from Sri Lanka, who was also on the panel, believed the roots of disenchantment ran deeper. “While these protests are often labeled as anti-government, at their core, they demand systemic change and true accountability from those in power.”

The immediate triggers seem to spread across corruption, authoritarian governments, repression, lack of access to basic needs and more,” she said.

A closer look at the situation in countries like Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and Kenya, however, exposed economic hardship, debt burdens, and deepening inequalities. And this trend is also observed globally, she pointed out.

Despite these frustrations, the conference also explored how young and older activists can work together, not just to protest, but to reshape movements constructively.

“Across civil society, there is growing recognition that youth must be meaningfully included in development and nation-building. While progress varies from group to group, the direction of change is unmistakably forward,” said D’cruz.

Talpur further fine-tuned D’Cruz’s sentiment. “It’s not about taking over; it’s about working together through collaboration.” He also found it “unfair for the boomers to create a mess and leave it to the millennials and Gen Z to fix it.”

Interestingly, the sentiment found an echo among the older generation itself. Founder of the Alternative ASEAN Network on Burma, Debbie Stothard, said it was unfair to leave the mess her generation had created to the young and then expect them to “fix it.”

Speaking at the closing plenary titled “Futures We’re Building: Youth, Climate and Intergenerational Justice, she noted that she had been talking about “intergenerational equity” for 40 years, yet many in her generation of activists still fail to “walk the talk” in how they live and lead. Still, she added, it is not too late: “We can still make space.”

That space, she explained, begins with a change in mindset. “It’s not our job to empower the youth; it’s recognizing that they have power,” she said—a reminder that true equity lies not in giving power away, but in acknowledging it already exists.

This shift in perspective is already reshaping how movements operate. Youth no longer need to “look up to” traditional authority figures for inspiration, said D’cruz. Many within their generation are already leading change.

Mihajlo Matkovic, a member of the Youth Action Team at CIVICUS, from Serbia, also at the closing, demonstrated how real change required innovation and persistence. “Because our generation did not have any great example of what a direct democracy looks like,” he said, adding, “We had to basically reinvent it.”

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Rajagopal P.V. at the International Civil Society Week (ICSW2025) in Bangkok. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

By Zofeen Ebrahim
BANGKOK, Nov 4 2025 (IPS)

“If nations can have defense ministries, why not peace ministries?” asks Rajagopal PV, the soft-spoken yet formidable founder of Ekta Parishad. “We are told to see issues through a gender lens—why not a peace lens? Why can’t we imagine a business model rooted in non-violence or an education system that teaches peace?”

Founded in 1989, Ekta Parishad—literally Forum for Unity—is a vast people’s movement of more than 250,000 landless poor, now recognized as one of India’s largest and most disciplined grassroots forces for justice.

To Rajagopal, these aren’t utopian dreams—they’re blueprints for a possible world.

Over the decades, Ekta Parishad has secured land rights for nearly half a million families, trained over 10,000 grassroots leaders, protected forests and water bodies, and helped shape key land reform laws and policies in India.

All this has been achieved not through anger, but through disciplined, nonviolent marches that stretch across hundreds of kilometers. Along the way, many leaders have walked beside him—among them, the current Prime Minister of Armenia.

In an age marked by deep disorder—where wealth concentrates in few hands, poverty spreads, and the planet itself trembles under human greed—the 77-year-old Gandhian remains unshaken in his belief that peace alone can redeem humanity.

“We must rescue peace from the clutches of poverty and all its evils,” he told IPS on the sidelines of the International Civil Society Week, standing on the football ground of Bangkok’s Thammasat University.

“And it can be done,” he insists—and his life is proof. In 1969, the centenary year of Mahatma Gandhi’s birth, the Government of India launched a unique exhibition on wheels, a ten-coach train carrying Gandhi’s life and message across the nation. Rajagopal was part of the team that curated and travelled with it.

“For an entire year, we journeyed from state to state. Thousands of schoolchildren would gather at railway platforms, their faces lit with curiosity, waiting to meet Gandhi through our displays,” he recalls.

Yet somewhere along those long railway tracks, Rajagopal began to feel that displaying Gandhi’s ideals wasn’t enough. “The exhibition was beautiful,” he says, “but what was the use of preaching non-violence if we couldn’t live it, breathe it, and bring it to life?”

That realization led him to one of the most daring experiments in peacebuilding India had ever seen—negotiating with the feared bandits of the Chambal valley. “It was 1970,” he recalls. “We moved cautiously, first meeting villagers on the periphery to build trust. Once we had their confidence, we sent word to the dacoits: we wanted to talk. With the government’s consent, we ventured into what we called a ‘peace zone’—often by night, walking for hours through deep ravines—to meet men the world only knew as outlaws.”

The dialogues continued for four years. Eventually, as many as 570 bandits laid down their arms before a photograph of Mahatma Gandhi—a sight India had never seen before. The government, in turn, promised they would not face the death penalty and would receive land and livestock to rebuild their lives. Rehabilitation took another four painstaking years, but it was a victory of conscience over fear.

“They didn’t just surrender their weapons—they surrendered their anger,” Rajagopal says quietly. “There was real repentance, and that takes time—but it lasts.” His commitment came at a cost. At his ashram—a spiritual retreat he had founded—he was threatened, beaten, and ordered to abandon his peace efforts. He talked them through to accepting his presence.

“Today that same region is heaven,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling with memory. “Fifty years ago, people trembled at sunset—terrified of the bandits. Today, you can travel at 2:00 pm in the night, where fear ruled once.”

The mass surrender may have looked like a triumph for the state, but Rajagopal urges people to look deeper. “It’s the invisible violence—poverty, injustice, and oppression—that breeds the visible one: dacoities, kidnappings, and killings,” he explains.

Though Rajagopal and his companions had ended one form of violence, the deeper, quieter kind—born of poverty and neglect—still festered. Until that was confronted, he knew, peace would remain incomplete.

Years of working alongside the poor had taught him one truth: non-violence needs structure. If India’s Indigenous and landless communities were to be heard, they had to be organized.

“We began training young people from dozens of villages,” he says. “They went door to door, teaching others not only about their rights—especially the right to land—but also how to claim them peacefully.”

With that foundation, a five-year plan took shape. Each village home chose one member to take part. Every day, the family set aside one rupee and a fistful of rice—a humble but powerful act of commitment.

They even created a “playbook” of possible scenarios—how to stay calm under provocation, how to respond to setbacks, and how to practice non-violence in thought and action. “In one of our marches, a truck ran over three of our people, killing them,” he recalls softly. “There was grief, but no retaliation. Instead, they sat in silence and meditated. That was our true test.”

In 2006, 500 marchers walked 350 kilometers from Gwalior to Delhi, demanding land rights. Nothing changed. But they didn’t stop.

A year later, in 2007, 25,000 people—many barefoot—set out again on the national highway. “Imagine that sight,” Rajagopal says, eyes gleaming. “Twenty-five thousand people walking for a month, powered only by hope.”

The march displayed not just India’s poverty but also its power—the quiet power of the poor united. It was among the most disciplined mobilizations the country had ever seen. “There was one leader for every hundred people,” Rajagopal explains. “We walked by day and slept on the highway by night. Those in charge of cooking went ahead each morning so that by sundown, a single meal was ready for all.”

In a later march, Rajagopal recalls, the government sent a large police force. “I was worried,” he admits. “I called the authorities to tell them this was a non-violent protest—we didn’t need protection. The officer replied, ‘They’re not there for you; they’re here to learn how disciplined movements should be.’”

Along the route, villages greeted them like family—offering bags of rice, water, and prayers. “There was never a shortage of food,” Rajagopal smiles. “When your cause is just, the world feeds you.”

By the time the march reached Delhi, the government announced a new land reform policy and housing rights and agreed to enact the Forest Rights Act.

The government dispersed the marchers with hollow promises and the reforms never happened.

So Ekta Parishad planned an even larger march—a Jan Satyagraha of 100,000 people in 2012.

“Halfway through, the government came running.”

Rajagopal’s face lights up as he recalls the event. “They agreed to our ten-point agenda and signed it in front of the people. That moment was historic—governments almost never do that; the Indian government certainly never does it!”

The agreement included land and housing rights, a national task force on land reform, the prime minister’s oversight of policy implementation, and fast-track courts to resolve land disputes.

Today, because of these long, barefoot marches, more than three million Indigenous people in India now have legal rights to land and housing. The struggle also gave birth to India’s Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation, and Resettlement Act—a landmark in people’s movements.

“The Act also safeguards fertile land,” Rajagopal explains. “Before the government can acquire any area, a social impact study must be done. And if farmland is taken, the owners receive four times its value in compensation.”

“The purpose of our marches,” Rajagopal says, “is not to fight the government, but to win it over. The government is not the enemy; injustice is. We must stand on the same side of the problem.”

For Rajagopal, peace is not a sentiment but a system—something that must be built, brick by brick, through dialogue and respect. “Non-violence,” he says, “isn’t passive. It’s active patience—listening, accepting differences, never policing thought.” The same principle, he believes, can heal families, neighborhoods, nations—and the world itself.

His next mission is to create a Youth Peace Force, ready to enter conflict zones and resolve disputes through dialogue. He has also launched the Peace Builders Forum, or Peace7, uniting seven countries—South Africa, Japan, Costa Rica, Switzerland, Canada, India, and Armenia. His dream is to expand it to Peace20, where, as he smiles, “wealth will never be a criterion for membership.”

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Bhuwan Ribhu, founder of Just Rights for Children. Credit: Just Rights for Children

By Naureen Hossain
UNITED NATIONS, Sep 26 2025 (IPS)

Global leaders came together at the sidelines of this year’s UN General Assembly to commit to ending child marriage, calling on all world leaders to make concerted efforts to ensure accountability and enforce the laws that prohibit it.

Just Rights for Children is committed to the eradication of child-related abuses, including child trafficking, online abuse and child marriage. This NGO, first founded in India by lawyer and activist Bhuwan Ribhu, has worked to prevent nearly 400,000 child marriages in India over the last three years and rescued over 75,000 children from trafficking.

After successful, ongoing campaigns in India and Nepal, Just Rights for Children launched their global campaign to bring about a ‘Child Marriage-Free World by 2030’ on the sidelines of UNGA on September 25. This campaign is set to create the largest global civil society network to end child marriage.

“Child marriage, abuse, and violence are not just injustices: they are crimes,” said Bhuwan Ribhu, founder of Just Rights for Children. “The end of child marriage is not only possible but eminent. By coming together as a global community, we can help ensure that child marriage and abuse are fully prosecuted and prevented, not only by legal systems but by society as a whole.”

When asked about the significance of hosting this event during UNGA, Ribhu told IPS: “This is where all the world leaders are uniting, and they discussing issues that are plaguing the world today. It becomes all the more important that the world leaders sit up and take notice. That there is a pervasive crime, the crime of child rape in the name of marriage.”

“We believe that the world leaders need to unite and come together to support the enforcement of laws in their countries. They need to unite, to support the children and the youth that are coming out and demanding the end of child rape and child marriage by taking pledges.”

Nearly one in five young women aged 20-49 are married before turning 18 years old. Data from UNICEF shows that in 2023, South Asia and Sub-Saharan Africa accounted for 45 percent and 20 percent respectively of the number of girls married before age 18. In India, the prevalence of child marriage was at 24 percent in 2021. Since then, this rate has dropped to less than 10 percent through the joint efforts of legal enforcement through the courts and government and through the advocacy work of civil society groups.

H.E. Dr. Fatima Maada Bio, First Lady of the Republic of Sierra Leone (middle) accepts a Champion for Children award from Just Rights for Children. Credit; Just Rights for Children

Child marriage is also associated with other negative outcomes such as the increased risk of domestic abuse, early pregnancy and maternal mortality. Lack of access to education is also at risk with girls being forced to drop out once they’ve entered a union. There is the need, therefore, to not just help these girls return to school, but also educate them on their rights and the laws meant to protect them.

Ribhu and Just Rights for Children emphasize the rule of law as the path toward ending child marriage. Other legal and human rights experts agree that at least three key steps are required: the prevention of the crime, the protection of the victims, and the prosecution of the perpetrators in order to deter future crimes. Reparations for the victims are also critical for justice and for trauma recovery.

Ribhu explained to IPS that they target the adults that aid and abet child marriages. In addition to the “groom” and family members, they also believe other members of the community should be held accountable. This includes community leaders and councils, priests that officiate the union, and even the wedding vendors that knowingly cater at weddings where the bride is underage.

“At the end of the day, we have to see that enforcement of law creates that culture of accountability, that culture of responsibility, that culture of respect, culture of consciousness, where people believe that they cannot get away with it, and so that entire impunity collapses. So child marriage is one such crime where it is happening in the open because nobody is actually stopping it,” he said.

“Today, I ask you to turn your influence towards ensuring that the law works, not just as an institution, as an ideal, but as a living and concrete instrument for the protection of children,” said Kerry Kennedy, President of RFK Human Rights. “Impunity is the oxygen in which these crimes survive. Prosecution is the antidote.”

Even though child marriage is considered morally unconscionable and is illegal across regional, national and international law, it continues to persist due to failures in the legal systems. There are other loopholes in the system that are exploited. Najat Maalla M’jid, UN Special Representative to the Secretary General on Violence Against Children, explained that some laws set the age of consent to lower than 18 years, or make it permissible through parental permission, or those marriages are not legally registered, therefore making it harder to track.

As Kennedy later told IPS, there has been “no history of accountability”. When law enforcement play their part to hold all parties accountable, this must also include police departments that fail to investigate the cases and therefore. “Nobody wants to go to jail. Everybody’s fearful of it. This is what works.”

Ribhu noted that the prevention of crime could only happen when there is respect for the rule of law. It is supposed to be this certainty of punishment that deters bad actors, and then lead to growing awareness on the evils of child marriage and prevent future cases. Deterrence must work in tandem with awareness.

The speakers at the event all emphasized that tackling child marriage and protecting the girls made vulnerable by it required cooperation across multiple groups, from legal experts to government leaders to survivors to members of the private sector such as philanthropists.

Other countries have recently taken steps to pass laws prohibiting child marriage. The Kenyan government passed the Kenya Children Act 2022 which criminalized abuses against children, including child marriage.

“Child marriage is a grave violation of girls’ human rights that threatens the future of millions of girls worldwide. Our youthful demographic in Kenya, highlights the need of sustained a national and county investments, especially in programs targeting children, youth and women,” said Carren Ageng’o, Principal Secretary, Children Services, Ministry for Gender, Culture and Children Services, Government of Kenya. In a country where nearly 51 percent of population are between the ages of 0-17, legal and social protections for the youth population are critical for its development.

Last year Sierra Leone passed the Child Marriage Prohibition Bill 2024 through efforts led by First Lady Dr. Fatima Maada Bio.

Maada said that this law “was a bold and historic step” for the country but made it clear that the “law is just the beginning.”

“Real change happens in families, in schools, in villages, and in places of worship. Real change happens when communities stand up and say, ‘not our daughter, not anymore,’” said Maada. “I do not dream of a Sierra Leone free of child marriage; I dream of a world free of child marriage. That dream is within reach if only we act now.”

Remarking on the UN General Assembly meetings hosted in UN headquarters, she went on to add: “If governments have courage, if international partners stand with us, if communities take ownership, if the leaders [behind those guarded doors] in this city of New York today…decided that the time to protect children is now.”

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Excerpt:

Elephants at the Kappukadu elephant rehabilitation center in Kottoor.

By Bharath Thampi
NEW DELHI, Sep 5 2025 (IPS)

In the early part of this year, two deaths in Kerala garnered major media attention. A farmer in Wayanad and a female plantation worker in Idukki were killed in two separate events, within a matter of a few days, by wild elephants.

Arikomban, another wild elephant, has become a media favorite recently due to his brushes with human settlements near his habitat. Named so because of his love for ari (rice), the elephant had been relocated from Kerala to Tamil Nadu in 2023 following constant protests from people who also claimed him to be ‘life-threatening.’ Kerala’s news outlets widely covered Arikomban’s relocation.

These aren’t one-off cases in Kerala, which has seen a spike in human–wildlife conflict, especially involving elephants.

According to a news report, 451 people have been killed in wildlife conflicts in the past five years alone in the state, with 102 of them caused by elephants.

However, wildlife biologists and environmentalists have been at odds with the narratives promoted by the media and society regarding what constitutes conflict.

“I think we shouldn’t be using the terminology ‘wildlife conflict’ itself. I would prefer addressing it as ‘negative wildlife interaction,’” says Dr. P.S. Easa, who holds a PhD on Elephant Ecology and Behavior and is a member of the National Board for Wildlife and the IUCN, Asian Elephant Specialist Group.

The conflict between wild animals and humans has been going on for centuries, and what we witness in the current era has been influenced by the transformation in the behavior of both these groups, as well as humans’ perception towards wildlife in general, he adds.

In Kerala’s social framework, the rising phenomenon of human–elephant conflict takes on a much deeper and more complex meaning than the broader topic of conflict with wildlife. Elephants have been an integral part of Kerala’s culture and tradition for centuries—domesticated not just for heavy labor but also as part of temple festivals. In the last few decades, machines have replaced elephants in much of the labor environment in the state, yet the land giants continue to be a part of the festival parades. Animal behavioral experts and activists have been consistently raising their voices against this practice in this century, citing the need to treat elephants as solely wild animals.

Easa refuses to even use the term “domesticated” for them.

“Captive elephants are the only right way to address them in this age and time,” he says.

In 2024 alone, there had been nine reported deaths in Kerala by such captive elephants. The Hindu reported six such deaths, including an elephant mahout, within the first two months of this year. Although there have been stricter rules and regulations in recent years on using captive elephants for temple festivals, they have mostly been restricted to paper. The religious nature of the festivals that these elephants are made to be a part of makes the topic even more sensitive, and political parties tend to stay away from addressing the issue.

Kerala’s elephant reserves have been categorized mainly into four regions, namely Wayanad, Nilambur, Anamudi, and Periyar. Periyar Reserve had the highest count of elephants, followed by the Anamudi Reserve. According to the Kerala Government’s Forest Statistics and the report of the ‘Wild Elephants Census of Kerala,’ the four reserves have a combined total extent of 11,199.049 sq. km., out of which only 1,576.339 sq. km. is assessed to be devoid of elephant population. According to a 2024 official assessment, Kerala had an elephant population of just under 1800, a decline of more than 100 from the previous year.

As Kerala’s elephant reserves border the neighboring states of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, natural factors that affect the elephant population, like extreme drought and heavy, abrupt rainfall, influence the elephants’ migration across the states during the year.

In Kerala, particularly, shrinking forest habitats caused by deforestation and the increasing presence of human settlements in regions historically occupied by elephant populations, coupled with climate change and the invasive plant species erasing the elephants’ natural food sources, are some of the factors causing unnatural elephant migration, according to experts, and as a consequence, resulting in frequent interactions with humans.

The phrase “descent of wildlife into human settlements” itself is a misnomer, Eesa says.

“In almost all such cases, human settlements had crossed over to those places where the wildlife had existed peacefully before. Wayanad and Idukki are classic examples of this.”

“There was a report that I had come across a while ago—of an ‘elephant attack’ that happened in Sholayar Forest Reserve. Look at the irony of that news. It’s a forest reserve—the habitat belongs to the elephant, not the people who were driving through it. What I’m saying is, every time an elephant conflict is reported, you need to dissect all the circumstances surrounding it. Where—was it within the jungle or outside it? When was it, during the daytime or at night? And how? What were the circumstances leading up to the interaction?” he explains.

The drastic increase in food waste owing to tourism in Kerala has been another factor for wild animals encroaching into human spaces lately. Elephants, wild boars, and monkeys have been observed to have come to human settlements to feed on the food waste.

There is no one, foolproof method to resolve the human–elephant conflict, scientists opine. Easa points out that several techniques that had been fruitful in African countries proved ineffective when used in countries like Sri Lanka and Indonesia.

A mahout is seen riding a captive elephant. Kerala continues to make use of elephants for temple festivals and parades.

Wildlife biologist Sreedhar Vijayakrishnan, in an interview given to Mongabay in 2023, suggests five main long-term measures that will help mitigate human-elephant conflict. This includes initiating long-term studies to understand elephant movements and spatiotemporal patterns of conflict, which will help ascertain where and how interventions are required; tracking areas of elephant movement and identifying regions of intense use while installing alert lights at vantage points that can be triggered in case of elephant sightings; raising awareness among local populations to discourage feeding elephants or unwanted interactions; training local rapid response teams to prevent negative interactions and indiscriminate drives; and fitting satellite collars on elephants that frequently cause issues.

Kerala also has an elephant rehabilitation center established in Kottoor, Thiruvananthapuram, for rescuing, rehabilitating, and protecting both captive and wild elephants. The state, like other forest reserves in India, has historically chosen to turn many of the captured conflict-making elephants into ‘Kumkis’ (a Kumki elephant is a specially trained and domesticated elephant used in rescue operations and to train other wild elephants and manage wildlife conflict).

Apart from the above, one of the most effective measures that has been implemented in Kerala is through the Wayanad Elephant Conflict Mitigation Project by the Wildlife Trust of India (WTI). The project, first initiated in 2002–2003 by WTI, has evolved into a successful model for tackling human–elephant conflict in Kerala. The model has focused on relocating human settlements from places identified as ‘elephant corridors’ in the Wayanad district of Kerala. Wayanad, spanning a total of 2,131 sq. km., has an elephant reserve spread over 1,200 sq. km., with an elephant density of 0.25 elephants/sq. km.

Shajan M.A., a Senior Field Officer with WTI who handles the project currently, tells me, “Our method is to buy such sensitive land from the people, including both tribal and other communities, and relocate them to safer regions, away from wildlife conflict.” Ultimately, WTI hands over the purchased land to the Kerala Forest Department.

In regions like the Tirunelli–Kudrakote elephant corridor, the human–elephant conflict had escalated so much that it had resulted in several human deaths. For the communities, leaving a land they had occupied for decades and considered home is never easy, Shajan acknowledges. But of all the tried and tested methods to deal with the human–wildlife conflict, this approach has been the most effective in the long run, he points out.

Shajan also muses on the question of what exactly comprises a ‘conflict.’

“Conflict can hold different meanings. From a monkey stealing food from the house to a tiger or an elephant attack on a human, even leading to deaths, it’s all considered a human–wildlife conflict. Sadly, we, as a society, tend to be reactive once it transforms into a conflict and place the blame wholly on the wildlife.”

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The Kishtwar cloudburst on August 26 buried Chesoti village beneath a torrent of mud and boulders, killing at least 65 people, with several still missing. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR & KISTIWAR, India, Sep 4 2025 (IPS)

The relentless rain that battered the mountains and valleys of Jammu and Kashmir this August shattered lives and records.

In the span of just 31 days, more than 100 lives were lost, scores of families were displaced, and entire communities devastated, not just by the sheer force of nature but by the uncertainty and chaos that followed.

August 2025 will be remembered for the sheer scale and frequency of the natural disasters it experienced. According to the India Meteorological Department (IMD), Jammu and Kashmir saw its sixth wettest August in 125 years, with 319.3 mm of rainfall; this was 73 percent above the norm.

“We recorded over 30 extreme weather events this month, including flash floods, cloudbursts, landslides, gusty winds, and thunderstorms. At least 14 of these led to fatalities,” confirmed Dr. Mukhtar Ahmad, Director of the Meteorological Department, to Inter Press Service.

The destruction was widespread. Among the most devastating incidents was the Kishtwar cloudburst on August 26, which buried Chesoti village beneath a torrent of mud and boulders, killing at least 65 people, with several still missing. Just days later, a landslide along the Vaishno Devi route in the Jammu division claimed 35 more lives, many of them Hindu pilgrims.

Inside a makeshift shelter near Chesoti, 45-year-old Ghulam Nabi recounted the horror of that night.

“We heard a roar like a thousand waterfalls. There wasn’t even time to scream. The earth shook, and then everything was dark and wet.”

He lost his wife and two children—their bodies found days later by rescue teams sifting through the debris.

“I never thought the mountain would come for us. We always feared the river, but it was the hillside that swallowed my family,” Nabi told IPS News.

In Reasi, 13-year-old Manisha Devi stands at the edge of her ruined home, clutching a photograph of her elder brother, who had traveled to the Vaishno Devi shrine to work as a porter.

“He sent me money so I could buy books. Now, he is gone, and so is our house,” she said.

Experts say the frequency and intensity of these disasters cannot be dismissed as mere chance.

“There is clear evidence that climate change is making rainfall events more erratic and intense, especially in mountainous terrain,” explained Faizan Arif Keng, an independent weather forecaster. “Doda received 290 percent more rainfall than normal. Udhampur, Ramban, and Samba were also hit with more than double their usual rain.”

“The weather patterns are changing. We’re seeing more cloudbursts, intense rainfall in a very short time, triggering flash floods and landslides. These are not isolated events but symptoms of a larger problem,” said Ahmed.

In Ladakh, the story was even more dramatic. “Kargil recorded a 1,530 percent surplus, and Leh almost 900 percent above average. These numbers are unprecedented and should be a wake-up call,” said Keng.

If the rain brought tragedy for some, it spelled economic ruin for others. The closure of the Srinagar–Jammu National Highway, the only road link connecting the landlocked Kashmir valley with the outer world, left thousands of trucks loaded with apples, pears, and plums stranded for days. The result: rotting fruit and plummeting prices.

At north Kashmir’s Sopore Fruit market [Mandi], Asia’s second-largest trading hub, the atmosphere was grim.

“We are staring at losses of around Rs 200 crore (about USD 22 million). If the trucks can’t reach the markets on time, growers lose everything. Last year, we survived a similar crisis, but how many more can we take?” Fayaz Ahmed Malik, president of the Mandi, told IPS.

Grower Abdul Rashid, standing beside his damaged Gala apple boxes, shared his frustration. “I spent all year in the orchard. Now, the apples are ruined. The buyers pay half the rate, sometimes less. How do I feed my family or pay my debts?”

The Kashmir region has endured its deadliest month in living memory. In 31 days, more than 100 lives were lost, scores of families were displaced, and entire communities were left shattered due to rain and landslides. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

The mandi chairman, Bashir Ahmad Basheer, called for urgent government intervention: “Partial traffic movement is not enough. We need priority passage for all fruit trucks. The growers’ livelihoods depend on timely delivery. Every day’s delay is a disaster.”

With the crisis mounting, India’s Ministry of Home Affairs announced the formation of Inter-Ministerial Central Teams (IMCTs) to assess the damage not just in Jammu and Kashmir but across the northern states battered by extreme weather. Teams, comprising senior officials from various ministries, are expected to tour affected districts, evaluate relief efforts, and recommend further aid.

An official from the administration, who asked not to be named, told IPS that the process is now faster than before. The center releases funds quickly after the assessment, without waiting for lengthy paperwork from the states. But the ground reality is that search and rescue operations are still ongoing in several districts.

Official figures show that, in the current financial year alone, Rs 2,090 million (about USD 11.9 million) was released to Jammu and Kashmir under the State Disaster Response Fund, with more sanctioned under the National Disaster Relief Fund.

Despite these efforts, experts warn that more must be done. “We have to move beyond just relief and compensation. There needs to be investment in community-level disaster preparedness, early warning systems, and stricter regulation of construction in vulnerable zones. The people living in these mountains are tough, but they need help adapting to new realities,” says Mudasir Ahmad Mir, a researcher from the University of Kashmir who is working on his thesis on Kashmir’s natural disasters and their impact on livelihoods in the region.

In Chesoti, Ghulam Nabi’s voice carries a plea: “We are simple people. We don’t ask for much. But we want to live without fear every time it rains. Can someone tell us when the next storm will come?”

Not all is lost. Community solidarity has served as a source of hope. Volunteers from neighboring villages, religious organizations, and NGOs have distributed food, clothes, and medicines.

“It’s the people who save each other when the government is stretched thin,” said Manzoor Ahmad, a teacher from Ramban who has been helping coordinate aid efforts.

But the scars run deep. For children like Manisha, every thunderstorm brings back memories of loss. For farmers like Abdul Rashid, the fear of financial collapse shadows the joy of harvest.

“August will end,” said Fayaz Malik at Sopore mandi, “but its wounds will take much longer to heal. We need help, yes, but also understanding and empathy from those in power.”

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Scientists warn that water risk threatens iconic heritage sites such as the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. Credit: Busani Bafana/IPS

By Busani Bafana
BULAWAYO, Sep 3 2025 (IPS)

From Zimbabwe’s ‘The Smoke that thunders,’ Victoria Falls, to the awe-inspiring Pyramids in Egypt and the romantic Taj Mahal in India, these iconic sites are facing a growing threat – water risk.

Several World Heritage sites could be lost forever without urgent action to protect nature, for instance, through the restoration of vital landscapes like wetlands, warns a new report by the World Resources Institute (WRI) following an analysis indicating that droughts and flooding are threatening these sites.

World Heritage sites are places of outstanding universal cultural, historical, scientific, or natural significance, recognized and preserved for future generations through inscription on the World Heritage List of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO).

About 73 percent of the 1,172 non-marine World Heritage sites are exposed to at least one severe water risk, such as drought, flooding, or river or coastal flooding. About 21 percent of the sites face dual problems of too much and too little water, according to an analysis using WRI’s Aqueduct data.

While the global share of World Heritage Sites exposed to high-to-extremely high levels of water stress is projected to rise from 40 percent to 44 percent by 2050, impacts will be far more severe in regions like the Middle East and North Africa, parts of South Asia, and northern China, the report found.

The report highlighted that water risks were threatening many of the more than 1,200 UNESCO World Heritage Sites. The Taj Mahal, for example, faces water scarcity that is increasing pollution and depleting groundwater, both of which are damaging the mausoleum. In 2022, a massive flood closed down all of Yellowstone National Park and cost over USD 20 million in infrastructure repairs to reopen.

River Flooding is affecting the desert city of Chan Chan in Peru. According to WRI’s Aqueduct platform, the UNESCO site and its surrounding region in La Libertad face an extremely high risk of river flooding. By 2050, the population affected by floods each year in an average, non-El Niño year in La Libertad is expected to double from 16,000 to 34,000 due to a combination of human activity and climate change. In an El Niño year, that increase may be much higher.

In addition, the biodiversity-rich Serengeti National Park in Tanzania, the sacred city of Chichén Itzá in Mexico, and Morocco’s Medina of Fez are facing growing water risks that are not just endangering the sites but also the millions of people who depend on them for food, livelihoods, or a connection to their culture or who just enjoy traveling to these destinations, the report said.

Straddling the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe, the Victoria Falls was inscribed on the World Heritage site in 1989 for its vital ecosystem and essential source of livelihoods for thousands of people, and a major tourism drawcard.

Despite its reputation for massive cascading water, Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls has faced recurring drought over the past decade and at times dried up to barely a trickle. The report stated that the rainforest surrounding Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls is home to a rich diversity of wildlife and plants.

According to WRI, Victoria Falls experienced droughts as recently as 2016, 2019, and 2024. Research on rainfall patterns near Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls shows that the onset of the rainy season, normally in October, is arriving later in the year. That means in a drought year, it takes longer for relief to arrive, and the longer the drought continues, the more it affects the people, crops, and economy around it.

An Aqueduct analysis found that Victoria Falls ranks as a medium drought risk, below the more than 430 UNESCO World Heritage Sites that rank as a high drought risk. This is primarily because relatively low population density and limited human development immediately surrounding the site reduce overall exposure.

“However, the site faces increasing pressure from tourism-related infrastructure development, and data shows the probability of drought occurrence ranks high—a finding reinforced by the many recent droughts that have plagued the region,” said the report. “Climate change is not only expected to make these droughts more frequent, but recovery is expected to last longer, especially in places that aren’t prepared.

“The time between droughts may not be long enough for the ecosystem to recover, which is particularly concerning for Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls.”

Restoring nature, a solution to plugging water risks

The report recommends swift action to restore vital landscapes locally that support healthy, stable water and investment in nature-based solutions like planting trees to restore headwater forests or revitalize wetlands to capture floodwaters and recharge aquifers. Political commitment is key to making this happen.

Besides, countries have been urged to enact national conservation policies to protect vital landscapes from unsustainable development globally, and water’s status as a global common good needs to be elevated while equitable transboundary agreements on sharing water across borders are established.

Zimbabwe hosted the 15th meeting of the Conference of the Parties (COP15) to the Ramsar Convention in Victoria Falls under the theme ‘Protecting Wetlands for our Common Future.’ The protection of global water resources is now more urgent.

“You will find the political will to invest in nature exists all over the world,” Samantha Kuzma, Aqueduct Data Lead at the World Resources Institute, told IPS. “Dedicated communities are finding ways to protect and restore vital landscapes like wetlands. The problem is that these efforts are piecemeal. Globally, we are not seeing the political will at the scale needed to achieve real, lasting change.”

The world needs to mobilize up to $7 trillion by 2030 for global water infrastructure to meet water-related SDG commitments and address decades of underinvestment, according to the World Bank. Currently, nearly 91 percent of annual spending on water comes from the public sector, including governments and state-owned enterprises, with less than 2 percent contributed by the private sector, the World Bank says, pointing out the importance of firm commitment to reforming the water sector through progressive policies, institutions, and regulations, and better planning and management of existing capital allocated to the sector.

“We are at the point where inaction is more costly than action,” Kuzma told IPS, emphasizing that the world must do a better job of understanding water’s fundamental role in sustaining economies because its value is everywhere and invisible until it’s at risk.

“Take UNESCO World Heritage Sites, for example. Their ecological and cultural worth is priceless, and in purely pragmatic terms, they’re often the linchpin of local economies,” said Kuzma. “Any closure or damage will send immediate ripple effects through communities. It is safe to say that globally, we are falling short when it comes to protecting nature. But to change course, we must first understand why.”

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A patient being checked for BP at Mann PHC. Credit: Rina Mukherji/IPS

By Rina Mukherji
MANN, India, Aug 26 2025 (IPS)

Generally thought to be diseases of the wealthier classes, non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension and diabetes are on the rise among India’s underprivileged working classes in semi-urban and rural sprawls.

Take the case of Mohan Ahire. A middle-aged gardener in Pune, Mohan never realized that the heaviness in his head was a symptom of hypertension. Last summer, a mid-morning visit to the market saw him fall unconscious on return. Upon regaining consciousness, his wife and sons discovered the paralysis on the right side of his body, leading doctors to diagnose it as a stroke.

Bahinabai Gaekwad, a 56-year-old sweeper in Mann village, was at work when she suddenly collapsed and died. Doctors from the Primary Health Centre (PHC) next door found that she had been suffering from undiagnosed hypertension for a long time. The ailment ultimately led to a fatal cardiac arrest.

The worst problem is that most patients from underprivileged sections are not aware of their health condition.

Praful Mahato, a migrant laborer from Balasore in Odisha, who is currently employed in a dhaba (roadside eatery) in Mann, a fast-industrializing rural outpost of Pune city, had been suffering from heaviness and dizzy spells for some time. But he attributed his symptons to long hours at work and resulting fatigue. A chance visit to a medical camp confirmed high blood pressure and diabetes. Since the last four months, medication has controlled his blood pressure and brought down his sugar level.

Jagdish Mondol, in his 50s, did not realize he had hypertension and diabetes until he needed to undergo a hernia operation at a government hospital in Bhadrak, Odisha. This was despite blurred vision and difficulty in walking. Thankfully, the operation got him to wake up to his health condition. Regular medication has now improved his blood pressure and sugar level.

Fortunately, some patients may seek help on their own. Lalita Parshuram Jadhav, a 40-year-old migrant construction worker from Yavatmal, is one such. “Since the last two years, I have been experiencing pain in my legs; it became quite acute over the past year,” she tells IPS. A medical check-up confirmed hypertension and high sugar levels.

India’s Hypertension and Diabetes Epidemic

The cases cited above exemplify the rising burden of India’s non-communicable disease (NCD) of Hypertension and Diabetes. Ranked among the top ten NCDs responsible for untimely deaths worldwide, these two diseases are interlinked. This means those with hypertension are also vulnerable to developing prediabetes and diabetes.

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), an estimated 1.28 billion adults in the 30-79 age group suffer from hypertension, with two-thirds of them living in low- and middle-income countries. Yet, only 21 percent of those affected have their hypertension under control, while around 46 percent of these remain unaware of their condition and remain undiagnosed and untreated.

Diabetes, notably, can be of two varieties. Type 1 Diabetes is a congenital condition, while Type 2 diabetes is a lifestyle disease that develops later in life. South Asians, Pacific Islanders, and Native Americans have a significantly higher risk of developing the disorder.

The International Diabetes Federation (IDF) recorded a dramatic increase in the number of people affected by Type 2 Diabetes globally since the 1990s, and since 2000, the rise has been dramatic. In India, there are an estimated 77 million people above the age of 18 years suffering from diabetes (type 2), while nearly 25 million are prediabetic (at a higher risk of developing diabetes in the future). Yet, more than 50 percent of these are unaware of their diabetic status.

In India, the prevalence of Diabetes rose from 7.1 percent in 2009 to 8.9 percent in 2019. Meanwhile, 25.2 million adults are estimated to have Impaired Glucose Tolerance (IGT), a prediabetic condition that is estimated to increase to 35.7 million in the year 2045. It is also estimated that approximately 43.9 million people suffering from diabetes remain undiagnosed and untreated in India, posing a major public health risk.

It is a matter of concern that most deaths from these diseases occur in the 30- to 70-year-old age group, posing a major economic loss.

In Mann, doctors at primary health centers (PHCs) are battling this scourge, with hypertension affecting around 28 percent of the population and 12 percent being diabetic. The scenario is similar to that at Mullaheera, in rural Haryana, located just outside the national capital region of Delhi.

Dr. Sona Deshmukh, from the People-to-People Foundation, which is collaborating with the Government of India on its Viksit Bharat @2047 initiative and the in-charge for the Pranaa Project, tells me, “Diabetes is common among the older population, but hypertension is rising among the youth.”

Dangers Posed by Hypertension and Diabetes

The problem with both Hypertension and Diabetes is socio-cultural, with most people viewing these diseases as benign. Yet, ignoring them can lead to paralytic strokes and ultimately, death.

Characterized by headaches, blurred vision, nosebleeds, buzzing in the ears, and chest pain,  uncontrolled and untreated hypertension can lead to—

• chest pain (also termed angina);
• heart attack, which occurs when the blood supply to the heart is blocked and heart muscle cells die from lack of oxygen.
• heart failure, which occurs when the heart cannot pump enough blood and oxygen to other vital body organs; and
• sudden death due to irregular heartbeat.

This is because excessive blood pressure can harden arteries, decreasing the flow of blood and oxygen to the heart. This elevated pressure and reduced blood flow can result in the complications listed above, besides bursting or blocking arteries that supply blood and oxygen to the brain, causing a stroke. It can also cause kidney damage, resulting in kidney failure.

In the case of Diabetes, the body is unable to either produce or use insulin effectively. While individuals with Type I diabetes have a congenital condition wherein the insulin-producing cells in the pancreas are attacked and destroyed, patients with Type II diabetes—which is a preventable lifestyle-related disease—either do not produce enough insulin or are unable to use insulin effectively for the body’s needs. Uncontrolled diabetes can lead to blindness and organ failures that affect the kidneys, heart, and nerves, ultimately leading to diabetic strokes and death.

Reasons Behind the Spurt

So, what are the reasons behind the spurt? Government Medical Officers Dr. Mayadevi Gujar and Dr. Vaishali Patil say, “The transition of many rural outposts into semi-urban industrialized zones has brought in lifestyle changes. Locals, who once partook of healthy home-cooked millets or cereals, now eat cheap, oily snacks from wayside kiosks cooked in reused palm oil. With more disposable income, workers lean towards sugary soft drinks and fast food, making them prone to diabetes. Addictions like tobacco and alcohol are on the rise. Tobacco-chewing remains common to both men and women in rural India.”

Additionally, with climate change affecting agricultural incomes in rural India, the younger generation is stressed with employment issues. These make a potent recipe for hypertension and diabetes.

Dr. Sundeep Salvi, a noted specialist in cardiovascular diseases, who heads the Pulmocare Research and Education (PURE) Foundation and has chaired the respiratory group for the Global Burden of Disease Study, adds, “Unlike in the past, people eat and sleep late, watch late-night television, drink endless cups of tea and coffee, and work late hours. Skipping meals is common, with little time for exercise. Sleep deprivation is a fallout of this. Stress and inadequate sleep are a deadly combination, feeding hypertension and diabetes.”

Salvi calls for hydration and good nutrition to stave off hypertension and diabetes. “Excess tea and coffee are harmful. Caffeine-present in tea and coffee-is a diuretic; it prevents hydration. A dehydrated constitution results in hypertension and diabetes, which, in turn, cause heart disease, stroke, kidney diseases, and eventually, death.”

He also views air pollution as a major risk.

“By air pollution, I am referring to both indoor and outdoor pollution. In rural areas, the burning of crop waste causes outdoor pollution. But indoor pollution in rural homes and urban slums is 5–10 times greater than outdoor pollution. High levels of particulate matter contribute to 20 percent of the global burden of diabetes, as well as hypertension.

Diabetologist and Director of the Diabetes Unit at Pune’s KEM Hospital Prof. Chittaranjan Yajnik, who has been working on this issue for over two decades, has an interesting take on the matter based on his findings.

Yajnik sees a direct correlation between vulnerability to diabetes and poor intrauterine growth.

“Poor intrauterine growth reflects in poor organ growth, especially of the infra-diaphragmatic organs (liver, pancreas, kidneys, and legs), reducing their capacity to perform adequately in later years. Such individuals, when faced with overnutrition and calories later in life, end up with prediabetes and diabetes.”

Yajnik’s research found that two-thirds of prediabetic girls and a third of the prediabetic boys were underweight at birth.

“These findings are suggestive of a ‘dual teratogenesis’ concept, which envisages a combination of undernutrition and overnutrition over a life course due to rapid socio-economic and nutritional transition…” This means intrauterine programming of diabetes needs to be supported in growth-retarded babies since metabolic abnormalities develop very early in life.

Yajnik certainly has a point, since anemia in expectant mothers and low birthweight babies is a major problem all over India. The National Family Health Surveys conducted over the years by the Government have shown a persistently high prevalence of fetal growth restriction in Indian babies. This phenomenon is linked to low birth weight in newborns, which is as high as 18.24 percent, according to the latest data.

The Solution

Recently, the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare (MOHFW) of the Government of India has implemented several schemes nationwide at the primary health level, starting with nutrition, medical care, and immunization for pregnant mothers while ensuring institutional delivery. Offspring are also extended comprehensive help for the 4 D’s (defects at birth, diseases, deficiencies, and developmental delays), immunization, supplementary nutrition, and WASH interventions. These continue through adolescence to prepare a healthy population for reproductive age.

Meanwhile, weekly wellness sessions have been introduced all over India. Deshmukh adds, “Regular screenings for hypertension and diabetes are done every few months for early detection and follow-up. Counselling sessions encourage people to adopt healthier lifestyles, while Yoga is being popularized through events like the International Yoga Day.”

These initiatives, one hopes, will arrest the epidemic.

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Vizhinjam Port—Inaugurated by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 2 May 2025, as India’s first deep-water container transshipment hub—has been criticized for displacing fishers and disrupting the sensitive ocean biodiversity. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

By Aishwarya Bajpai
THIRUVANANTHAPURAM, India, Jun 8 2025 (IPS)

As the UN Ocean Conference (UNOC) approaches, bringing renewed attention to SDG 14 (Life Below Water) and the rights of ocean-dependent communities, India’s Vizhinjam coast highlights the environmental injustice and human cost of unchecked coastal development.

Kerala’s traditional fishworkers—communities historically rooted to the sea—are now facing irreversible disruption due to the controversial Vizhinjam Port project.

Despite repeated rejections by multiple expert appraisal committees over severe environmental concerns, the Vizhinjam Port—Inaugurated by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 2 May 2025, as India’s first deep-water container transshipment hub—was approved under questionable circumstances.

Experts have raised serious concerns about the compromised Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) process for the Vizhinjam Port, calling it a “cut-copy-paste” job lifted from unrelated projects. The port’s viability studies were manipulated to overlook ecological threats and suppress dissenting community voices.

According to Vijayan M.J., Director of the Participatory Action Research Coalition—India, “The first viability study by Ernst & Young clearly said the port was not feasible—environmentally or economically. So did the second. But both were dismissed, and a third study was commissioned with the clear expectation that it would declare the project viable. They didn’t even put the E&Y logo on the final report—just the names of the two researchers. That tells you something.”

Breaking the Coast: Ecological Damage and Fisher Exclusion

In spite of these warnings, the Vizhinjam Port project moved forward in a coastal region already burdened by extensive human intervention. As of 2022, Kerala’s 590-kilometer coastline hosted a major port at Kochi and intermediate ports in Thiruvananthapuram, Alappuzha, Kozhikode, and Thalassery. The shoreline was further segmented by 25 fishing harbors, multiple breakwaters, and 106 groynes. Nearly 310 kilometers of this coastline had already been transformed into artificial stretches.

These cumulative constructions had already disrupted the natural rhythms of the coast, causing severe erosion in some areas and sediment build-up in others—ultimately leading to the loss of accessible beaches. To mitigate these impacts, the state installed additional seawalls and groynes, which only further interfered with the marine ecosystem and traditional fishing practices.

For Kerala’s fishworkers, this pattern of exclusion and ecological damage is not new.

The situation intensified with the onset of Vizhinjam Port’s construction, when hundreds of local fishers were abruptly informed that they could no longer fish near their home shores due to the imposition of shipping lanes and designated no-fishing zones.

This pattern of exclusion deepened when the state government handed over large portions of the Thiruvananthapuram coast, including Vizhinjam, to the Adani Group.

Amid rising protests in places like Perumathura and Muthalappozhi—where heavy siltation and repeated fisher deaths had triggered alarm—the government assured that Adani’s involvement would provide solutions, including constructing embankments and regularly dredging the estuary to keep it navigable. However, these promises quickly fell apart.

As Vipin Das, a fishworker from Kerala, recalls, “Adani took over the entire beach and built an office complex. Now, even stepping onto the shore requires his office’s permission.”

According to local accounts, the company’s first move was to dismantle the southern embankment to allow barge access to the port. This action disrupted natural sediment flows and caused a severe blockage of the estuary. “When floodwaters began threatening nearby homes, a JCB was rushed in to reopen the embankment—but it was already too late,” Vipin adds. “Adani’s entry didn’t solve anything—it only worsened the crisis and destroyed our coastline.”

From Biodiversity Hotspot to Danger Zone

Once a biodiversity hotspot, Vizhinjam’s marine ecosystem boasted 12 reef systems and one of the world’s 20 rare ‘wedge banks’—a critical oceanic zone near Kanyakumari where hundreds of fish species fed and reproduced. Fishers remember it as a “harbor of procreation,” teeming with over 200 varieties of fish and more than 60 aquatic species.

However, intense dredging, altered wave patterns, and ongoing port operations have severely damaged this fragile marine ecosystem. In 2020, Kerala recorded a 15 percent decline in fish catch, and the numbers have continued to fall in the years since—threatening both biodiversity and the livelihoods that depend on it.

The state’s response has been displacement disguised as compensation, offering ₹10 lakh (USD 12,000) as a one-time payment to those willing to leave their homes instead of addressing systemic erosion and disaster risks, said Vijayan.

The situation further took a catastrophic turn on May 24, 2025, when a massive shipwreck occurred off the Vizhinjam coast.

While authorities framed it as an isolated incident, environmentalists and coastal communities argue it was a disaster waiting to happen—fueled by years of unregulated dredging and reckless port expansion.

“The sea is poisoned; people are saying not to eat fish,” shared Vipin. “But it’s not just rumors—there are chemicals, plastics, and fuel. And we, who had nothing to do with this, are the first to suffer.”

With livelihoods already battered by monsoon storms and port restrictions, fishers now face public panic, polluted waters, and a poisoned food chain. “This isn’t just an accident—it’s a man-made disaster,” Vipin added. “The state must act swiftly to hold the company accountable and compensate the coastal communities who are paying the highest price.”

However, earlier this year Vizhinjam International Seaport Ltd. told the Business and Human Rights Resource Centre that  “Environment Clearance accorded to Vizhinjam Port has stood the test of legal scrutiny, having gone through litigation before the National Green Tribunal, New Delhi.”

It continued, “The Port operations and fishing/ancillary activities coexist all over the world and both activities are continuing as per the rules and regulations prevailing in the democratic country of India. It may also be noted that Vizhinjam port construction has been carried out with best practices, including stakeholder engagement, taking the community into confidence.”

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Houses damaged during Pakistani shelling in India's Jammu region. Credit: Handout

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR, India, Jun 3 2025 (IPS)

In the war-worn borderlands of Jammu and Kashmir, the silence that followed the May 10 ceasefire between India and Pakistan is not the comforting kind—It is uneasy.

After a week of heavy cross-border firing that left at least 16 civilians dead and thousands homeless, the ceasefire brokered by U.S. President Donald Trump brought a fragile halt to the violence. But for people living along the Line of Control (LoC)—in villages like Uri, Kupwara, Rajouri, and Poonch—the damage goes far beyond broken homes.

The official statement, calling for an “immediate and full cessation of hostilities,” might have quieted the guns, but the psychological and material scars remain deep and fresh. Funeral fires still burn. Children refuse to sleep. Schools remain shut. The trauma lingers like smoke in the air.

‘We Buried her Before the Ceasefire’

Twenty-four-year-old Ruqaya Bano from Uri was meant to be married this week. Instead, she stood over her mother’s grave, clutching the embroidered dupatta of her bridal dress. Her mother, Haseena Begum, was killed by a mortar shell that landed in their courtyard.

“She was helping me pack my wedding clothes,” Ruqaya says, her voice thin. “She smiled that morning and said, ‘Soon this house will be full of music.’ Hours later, we were digging her grave.”

Four others died in the same barrage in Uri, all civilians. Many more were wounded—some critically. As the schools remain shuttered, the young are left to process trauma with no support.

For some, words have vanished entirely.

Eight-year-old Mahir sits on a thin mattress at a relief camp in Baramulla, his eyes fixed on a blank wall. He hasn’t spoken since the shelling began.

“He watched his cousin, Daniyal, die when a shell landed near their cowshed,” says Abdul Rasheed, Mahir’s uncle and a farmer from Kupwara. “Now, if a dog barks or a door slams, he hides under the bed.”

His reaction is not unique. Dozens of children along the LoC have reported symptoms of acute stress: sleeplessness, mutism, bedwetting, and panic attacks. Trauma is not just for soldiers. In Kashmir, it enters homes with shrapnel.

The region’s chief minister, Omar Abdullah, consoles the family of a government official who was killed due to Pakistani shelling on May 10 in Kashmir.

The violence began in the wake of the April 22 terror attack in Pahalgam that killed 26 people, including 13 soldiers. In retaliation, the Indian Air Force carried out strikes on militant camps across the LoC. Pakistan responded with heavy artillery fire, forcing an exodus from border villages.

In towns like Rajouri and Samba, panic set in quickly. Families packed into cars in the dead of night. Long queues formed outside fuel stations. ATMs were emptied. Grocery shelves went bare. Government schools and public buildings turned into temporary shelters overnight.

Relief workers describe chaotic scenes. “There were mothers with babies and nothing to feed them,” said Aamir Dar, a volunteer from a Srinagar-based relief NGO. “The fear was absolute.”

After two days of frantic diplomacy by Washington, President Trump announced on Truth Social that India and Pakistan had agreed to halt the fighting.  “Statesmanship has prevailed,” he wrote.

Within hours, the rumble of artillery ceased. Indian fighter jets returned to base. A tense quiet settled along the LoC. But for those who had lost homes, limbs, or loved ones, it was too little, too late.

Government officials, including Jammu and Kashmir’s Lieutenant Governor Manoj Sinha, toured the worst-hit districts. Relief operations began slowly, and criticism mounted over the sluggish response. “We haven’t received even tarpaulin sheets,” said Rahmat Ali from Mendhar. “The help is not matching the need.”

Grief Among the Ruins

In Poonch’s Salotri village, 70-year-old Naseema Khatoon stands before the blackened remains of her two-room home. Her husband died in 2019 during a similar flare-up.

“Now the house is gone,” she says, barefoot on scorched earth. “How many times do we begin again?”

Despite their grief, villagers are trying to help one another. Young men form lines to pass down sacks of rice. Medical volunteers have set up makeshift clinics. University students from Srinagar have launched online campaigns to crowdsource food and medicine.
Hope, though faint, endures.

The Night Fear Took Over Jammu

Even Jammu city, far from the immediate border, was not spared the anxiety. On the night of May 9, alarms blared about an alleged missile threat to the Jammu airport. Panic swept the city. Mobile networks briefly collapsed. Families crowded into bunkers.

“It reminded me of the Kargil War,” said Rajesh Mehra, a retired teacher. “We slept in our clothes with bags packed, ready to leave.”

Though the threat turned out to be a false alarm, public confidence was badly shaken.
The Indian Air Force flew in emergency supplies. Special trains were arranged for those stranded. As the dust began to settle, some families returned home—only to find them in rubble.

In Tangdhar, a school functions now under a torn army tent. The air smells of diesel and fear. Thirteen-year-old Laiba, a student, holds a pencil but stares at the floor. “I want to be a child again,” she murmurs. “Not someone who remembers bombs.”

The shelling left behind more than memories. Fields are littered with unexploded ordnance. Houses have cracks from shockwaves. Local hospitals are stretched to the brink.

The army has cordoned off danger zones. But until the shells are cleared, a casual step can mean disaster.

Back in Uri, Ruqaya Bano lays a garland on her mother’s grave, freshly dug beside their walnut tree. “She always said peace would return. Ruqaya whispers, “No guns, no fear. Maybe that day is still far off. But I hope it comes. For everyone.”

She wipes her tears, then picks up a hammer to help rebuild their shattered home.

The ceasefire, while welcome, is merely the first step toward lasting peace. In these villages, peace is not just the absence of war. It’s the presence of dignity, safety, and memory. This is the kind of peace in which children can laugh again. Where weddings are celebrated, not postponed by gunfire. Where people sleep without fear and wake without sorrow.

A Long Shadow

Kashmir has remained a flashpoint between India and Pakistan since 1947, with both nations claiming it in full. The region has seen at least three wars and countless skirmishes. Since the start of the insurgency in the late 1980s, over 100,000 people have been killed.

In August 2019, the Indian government revoked the region’s special constitutional status and bifurcated it into two union territories. Since then, Delhi has claimed a return to normalcy, but local voices tell another story—one of militarized quiet, silenced dissent, and growing fear.

Last October, for the first time in over five years, local municipal elections were held. It was a step toward restoration, but a small one.

For now, the ceasefire is holding. But like the mortar scars on the walls of these villages, the emotional damage remains etched deep. The silence that follows war is never just silence—it carries the weight of every scream, every loss.

Note: Names of survivors have been changed at their request to protect their privacy.
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Waste pickers in New Delhi are marginalized yet provide essential services, often in extreme heat. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

By Aishwarya Bajpai
NEW DELHI, Jun 2 2025 (IPS)

Every day, Delhi’s waste pickers walk three to four kilometers under the blazing sun, collecting and sorting the garbage that keeps India’s capital functioning. Their work is essential—yet largely invisible.

There are an estimated 200,000 waste pickers in Delhi, many of whom are migrants from landless, rural families in northern and eastern India. Pushed out of agriculture and informal rural economies, they arrive in the city with little more than the hope of survival, often ending up in the informal recycling sector. Labeled as “unskilled” or “semi-skilled” labor, they perform some of the city’s most crucial work—without contracts, protection, or recognition.

Sheikh Akbar Ali, a waste picker from Seemapuri who has worked with the community for over 15 years, paints a grim picture.

“We’re often denied access to public buses because people say we smell,” he says. With a daily income of ₹300 (roughly USD 3.60), even a single auto ride costing ₹150 (USD 1.80) one way is unaffordable. For women waste pickers, things are worse—no access to toilets, no place to change, and no shelter from the searing heat.

“Since COVID-19, we’ve been pushed off shaded footpaths and society corners to work under the open sky,” he adds.

The Smart Cities Mission, aimed at modernizing urban infrastructure, has only shrunk their access to public spaces, replacing common corners with beautified zones and surveillance.

Sumit Chaddha, another waste picker in Kamla Nagar, recalls how there once was a rule to stop work by 10am during peak summer hours. “Now, the heat is unbearable, but we have to keep going. One man collapsed while working—he started vomiting and died,” Sumit says. “There’s no medical card or health service for us through the MCD. We handle waste for the whole city but don’t even get gloves, let alone health insurance.”

In 2024, Delhi recorded a temperature of 52.3°C during what the World Meteorological Organization declared the hottest year in 175 years. The city also continues to rank among the world’s most polluted, with 74 of the 100 most polluted cities in the world located in India, according to the 2024 World Air Quality Report.

Though public perception often blames stubble burning or fireworks for Delhi’s toxic air, a Centre for Science and Environment (CSE) analysis confirms that vehicular pollution is the leading contributor among combustion sources.

Pollution in Delhi is Not Seasonal.

Delhi breathes hazardous air nearly all year round—99 percent of the time. PM2.5 levels, which measure the concentration of fine particles that can penetrate deep into the lungs, regularly exceed the World Health Organization’s safe limit by 30 times. Even short-term exposure to PM2.5 has been linked to heart attacks, strokes, and severe respiratory illnesses.

Yet, the poorest—those already battling extreme heat, living in cramped settlements, and working with hazardous waste—remain stranded. Public buses, their main mode of mobility, are in a state of collapse. Over 100,000 bus breakdowns were reported in just nine months of 2024 alone.

Transport-related emissions, while relatively easier to reduce, are still not a priority in most countries. Globally, the transport sector accounts for 15 percent of greenhouse gas emissions, with road transport alone responsible for 71 percent of that figure in 2019. India, now the third-largest emitter of CO₂ in the world, released 2.69 billion tons of fossil CO₂ in 2022—up by 6.5% from the previous year.

Increase in the CO₂ Emissions by the Transport Sector in India from 2000 to 2022.

In this context, public transport could be the most direct and transformative intervention—not just for the climate, but for the lives of the working poor.

As Sumana Narayanan, ecologist and environmental researcher, puts it, “We treat public transport like charity—something to be handed down to the poor. But mobility isn’t a favor; it’s a right, just like access to water, health, and clean air.”

She points to the success of Delhi’s fare-free bus scheme for women, introduced in 2019, which allowed women to save money, travel longer distances, and even gain greater say in household decisions. “Public transport doesn’t just move people—it carries dignity, opportunity, and the right to be part of public life,” she adds.

Other Countries are Showing What’s Possible

Germany’s €49 climate ticket has made low-emission travel more affordable. Luxembourg now offers free public transport to all its citizens. Bogotá’s TransMilenio system connects informal workers to opportunity while reducing emissions, and Paris is reducing car dependency with better metros and cycling infrastructure. These models demonstrate that transport, when reimagined, can be a cornerstone of both climate resilience and social justice.

But in India, such possibilities remain out of reach for communities like Delhi’s waste pickers. While programs like the National Electric Bus Programme (NEBP) aim to roll out 50,000 electric buses by 2030, implementation is slow and piecemeal. Without systemic reforms, vulnerable communities are left walking miles in dangerous heat, inhaling the city’s poison air, and risking their lives for the cleanliness everyone else takes for granted.

Nishant, Coordinator of the Public Transport Forum in Delhi, argues that existing schemes often serve short-term electoral agendas.

“What we really need is consistent investment in the quality and coverage of public buses. Public transport is a great equalizer in any society. And in terms of emissions and energy use, it’s at least ten times more efficient than private vehicles. It’s not just people-friendly—it’s climate-friendly too,” he says.

For Delhi’s waste pickers, a working bus route is not a luxury. It is a pathway to dignity, safety, and survival. In a city battling extreme heat, toxic air, and rising inequality, climate justice might just begin with a seat on a functioning, inclusive bus.

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Deportee from the U.S., Aasis Subedi, with his father, Narayan Kumar Subedi. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

By Diwash Gahatraj
JHAPA, Nepal, May 16 2025 (IPS)

Sitting in his small hut in the Beldangi refugee camp in Jhapa district, Nepal, Narayan Kumar Subedi feels relieved that his son, Aasis Subedi, is safe.

Aasis is one of four United States deportees who were the subject of Nepal’s Supreme Court landmark ruling on April 24, which directed the government not to deport four Bhutanese refugees who entered Nepal in March of this year after being disowned by Bhutan. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) deported the four after they had lived in various parts of the United States for nearly a decade.

The Apex body ordered that “Aasis Subedi, Santosh Darji, Roshan Tamang, and Ashok Gurung should not remain in police custody. Instead, they should be housed in the Bhutanese refugee camps in eastern Nepal, where they lived before moving to the United States.” The ruling came in response to a habeas corpus petition filed by Narayan, father of Aasis.

“It was a mixed feeling that night when my son and two other deported men—Santosh and Roshan—came to my house. I was thrilled to see my son after ten years but was equally sad that he was escaping like a stateless homeless person,” says the 55-year-old.

On March 27, the morning after their deportation, Nepali immigration authorities arrested the three men for entering the country without visas. The fourth refugee, Ashok Gurung, was detained separately in Bahundangi, a village on the Indo-Nepal border, two days later.

The Department of Immigration investigated their case for nearly a month while they remained in police custody until the country’s highest court granted them a second chance to live in Nepal. However, this decision will be reviewed after 60 days. Until then, the four men must remain within the camp premises and report to the local police station once a week, adds Narayan.

The four men have found themselves in legal and diplomatic limbo after Bhutan refused to accept them back. Now sheltered in Nepal’s refugee camps under a temporary court order, their case highlights the ongoing crisis of statelessness among the Lhotshampa community and exposes the fragile nature of third-country resettlement solutions.

Cruel Connection

Aasis Subedi photographed with his wife while in the United States.

The four men in their mid-thirties—Aasis, Santosh, Roshan, and Ashok—share a bitter connection of multiple displacements and statelessness.

They belong to the Bhutanese Lhotshampa community, a Nepali-speaking ethnic group that settled in southern Bhutan. The Lhotshampas (“southerners” in Bhutan’s Dzongkha language) migrated to Bhutan in the late 19th and early 20th centuries during the reign of King Ugyen Wangchuck, encouraged to develop the sparsely populated southern lowlands.

Initially granted citizenship in the 1950s and 1970s, the status of Lhotshampas changed when Bhutan introduced the “One Nation, One People” policy in the late 1980s. The policy promoted Drukpa cultural norms, which included mandatory dress codes and language use, resulting in protests from Lhotshampas who felt marginalized.

The government subsequently revoked citizenship for many Lhotshampas, labeling them “illegal immigrants.” Between 1990 and 1993, persecution and mass arrests forced over 100,000 Lhotshampas to flee—a situation many consider ethnic cleansing. Most ended up in refugee camps in eastern Nepal.

A few decades ago, the families of the four deported individuals also came to Nepal as expelled citizens of Bhutan, and they lived as refugees in the camps until a decade ago, when they became part of a third-country resettlement program.

After years of unsuccessful attempts to return to Bhutan through numerous petitions to the king and internal organizations, as well as appeals for help from nations like India and Nepal, the refugees’ hopes for repatriation dimmed.

A turning point came in 2007 when the UN refugee agency (UNHCR) launched a third-country resettlement program, offering the displaced Bhutanese both a ray of hope and a path to citizenship elsewhere. By 2019, more than 113,500 refugees had relocated to eight different countries, with the majority settling in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. Approximately 96,000 Bhutanese resettled in the United States.

Following the resettlement program, only two of the original seven refugee camps—Beldangi and Pathri in Jhapa district—remain operational, housing around 6,300 residents. These individuals either declined third-country resettlement in the hope of returning to their homeland, Bhutan, or missed the opportunity due to a lack of valid documentation.

Now, the four men have rejoined camp life. All four had U.S. Green Cards—despite this, the Trump administration deported them. Officials suspected them of criminal acts. Some had finished long jail terms. Then ICE took them for deportation. After days in custody, they were taken to Paro, Bhutan, via New Delhi.

At Paro Airport, Bhutanese officials interrogated them but refused to recognize them as citizens. Authorities escorted them out through the Phuentsholing-Jaigaon border. Each received INR 30,000 (about USD 350).

“With nowhere to go, my son and the others decided to come to Nepal. They had no documents to show at the border, so they had to cross illegally with help from an Indian fixer,” explains Narayan.

Bhutan’s refusal to recognize the deportees as citizens has resulted in a diplomatic impasse between the two Himalayan countries. 

“The order from the Supreme Court of Nepal to stop deportation gives these men temporary relief but doesn’t solve the bigger problem,” said Dr. Gopal Krishna Siwakoti, President of INHURED International, a human rights organization. “The court only directed the government to finish its investigation within 60 days, leaving their future uncertain after that period.”

“Nobody seems to have clear answers in this complex situation,” Siwakoti noted, describing it as a “bureaucratic black hole.”

“We had hoped the Supreme Court would direct the government to start diplomatic talks with Bhutan, India, and the USA at the same time, considering these men were essentially made stateless and moved between countries against their will. Unfortunately, the issue wasn’t mentioned in the ruling,” Siwakoti added.

So far, America has deported 24 Bhutanese refugees. Besides the four men in Nepal, there are no official records on the whereabouts of the others.

United States Travel Ban

Bhutan, known for promoting the Gross National Happiness Index, has traditionally maintained favorable diplomatic relations with the United States. However, since early this year,  Bhutan has been included in a draft “Red List” proposed by the United States government.

This list suggested a complete travel ban for citizens of certain countries, including Bhutan, due to concerns over national security and irregular migration patterns. The U.S. Department of Homeland Security reported a 37 percent increase in visa violations. Reportedly, over 200 Bhutanese nationals were found to be residing illegally in the United States between 2013 and 2022.

This policy shift appears to have been influenced in part by the unresolved issue of Bhutanese refugees. Sivakoti, a long-time advocate for resolving the Bhutanese refugee crisis, stated, “We understand that the United States administration had discussions with the Bhutanese government prior to the deportations. The United States presented documentation showing that while these individuals had refugee status in Nepal, their country of origin was Bhutan.”

On this basis, the United States contended that Bhutan should assume responsibility for these people. Bhutan, however, remained reluctant.

“The U.S. administration then took strict action and placed Bhutan in the ‘red zone.’ After such a move by the United States, Bhutan hesitated and was forced to evacuate these refugees,” Siwakoti said in an interview with Sethopathi, a Nepali news outlet.

Meanwhile, the Bhutanese government has reportedly requested a review of this decision, asserting that their citizens do not pose a significant security threat. As of now, the draft travel ban has not been officially implemented.

Meanwhile, the future looks uncertain for the four men stuck in the Beldangi camp and others who may face deportation in the coming days. Sivakoti says, “The complex legal and immigration challenges surrounding their cases make it unlikely that any country would accept them.”

“Today, resettlement opportunities have shrunk worldwide. There might be a small chance through family or institutional sponsorship in another country, but even that requires proper documents—like a refugee registration card or a travel document—which are nearly impossible to get now or anytime soon.”

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This village is half in India and half in Pakistan. In Pakistan it is called Chilhana; on the Indian side, it's called Teetwal. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

By Zofeen Ebrahim
KARACHI, Pakistan, May 8 2025 (IPS)

Just after the young couple arrived at Al-Sayyed Shabistan, a quaint guesthouse in Taobat, on April 30, soldiers showed up, urging them to leave—war, they warned, could break out any moment.

Yahya Shah, guest-house owner and head of Taobat’s hotel association, told IPS over the phone, “Tourist season just began, but for two weeks the village feels like a ghost town—everyone’s hit: shopkeepers, eateries, drivers.”

Just 2 km from the tense Line of Control (not a legally recognized international border, but a de facto border under control of the military on both sides between the Indian- and Pakistani-controlled parts of the former princely state of Jammu and Kashmir), Taobat sits where India’s Kishenganga river crosses into Pakistan—reborn as the Neelum.

Tensions spiked after a deadly April 22 attack in the Indian-administered Pahalgam by The Resistance Front, killing 26 people—25 Indians and one Nepali.

India blamed Pakistan for backing TRF, calling it a Lashkar-e-Taiba front. Pakistan denied involvement, urging an independent probe. Meanwhile, pressure mounted on the Indian prime minister, Narendra Modi, to respond forcefully, as the attackers remained at large two weeks later.

The question on everyone’s mind — including Michael Kugelman, a Washington, DC-based South Asia analyst — is, “How could such a horrific attack have been carried out on soft targets in one of the most heavily militarized regions in the world?”

Taobat is the last village of Neelum Valley and the place where the Kishenganga River enters Pakistani territory and is called the Neelum river. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

When India crossed the line

On May 7, early morning, the intensity of the animosity between the two since the Pahalgam attack took on a serious turn when India launched a full-fledged series of attacks on Pakistan and Pakistan-administered Kashmir.

India claimed it targeted “terrorist camps” in Pakistan, stating, “No Pakistani military facilities have been targeted.”

Pakistan’s armed forces have been authorized to take “corresponding actions” following the strikes, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif’s office said following the attack.

The Indian attack killed 26 civilians, injuring 46. In addition, the Pakistani army reported downing five Indian jets. In retaliatory attacks by Pakistani forces, at least 10 people have been killed in Indian-administered Kashmir.

Reuters, quoting the local government on the Indian side, admitted that three fighter jets crashed in Jammu and Kashmir hours after India announced it had struck “nine Pakistani terrorist infrastructure sites across the border.”

The international community has called for restraint, with the United States urging the two sides to “keep lines of communication open and avoid escalation” the United Kingdom offering “in dialogue, in de-escalation and anything we can do to support that, we are here and willing to do…” United Nations’ Secretary-General Antonio Guterres said the international community could not “afford a military confrontation” between the nuclear-armed nations.

Tensions between India and Pakistan ripple across South Asia.

“A tense situation between Pakistan and India is always a cause for worry for others in the region,” said Reaz Ahmad, Dhaka Tribune’s editor, with over 30 years of writing about South Asian politics. Bangladeshis only “want both nations to stop the blame game and tit-for-tat actions that only worsen life for ordinary people.” These unfortunate events, said Ahmed, referring to the war-like situation, show the “people deserve far better from their leaders.”

Daily life in Taobat Bala, about 1.5 km from Taobat. The area isn’t populated; people may work in the area but live in Taobat. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

Closed gates, broken pacts

Following the Pahalgam attack, India and Pakistan shut borders, halted visas, expelled visitors, and downgraded missions—familiar moves in past standoffs. But this time, India suspended the 1960 water treaty, prompting Pakistan to threaten withdrawal from the 1972 Simla Agreement.

Dr. Moonis Ahmar, former chairman of the department of international relations at Karachi University, blamed leaders of both countries for “misguiding their people” and polarizing them by spewing so much vitriol. “What was the point of bringing in the unnecessary “jugular vein” conversation out of the blue?

 The ‘jugular vein’ debate

Recently, Pakistan’s army chief of staff, General Asim Munir’s characterization of Kashmir as Pakistan’s jugular vein at a diaspora event held just days before the Pahalgam tragedy, was considered provocative and a “trigger” for the massacre.

“But that is what it is, and the general only reiterated the stand taken by the Quaid,” defended Khawaja Muhammad Asif, the country’s defense minister, referring to the country’s founder, Muhammad Ali Jinnah.

Defining the jugular vein, Asif said Kashmir stirred both deep emotions and economic concerns. Recalling the lesser-known massacre of the partition, he said, “Thousands of Muslims were massacred in the Jammu region by mobs and paramilitaries led by the army of Dogra ruler Hari Singh,” adding that Muslim villagers from Jammu province were forced to evacuate to West Pakistan and were then accommodated in refugee camps in the districts of Sialkot, Jhelum, Gujrat, and Rawalpindi.

Asif, a native of Sialkot, emphasized that the economic significance of Kashmir cannot be overstated. “Kashmir is our lifeline—all our rivers, including the Jhelum, Sutlej, and even the smaller tributaries flowing through my own hometown, originate there,” he said, acknowledging that India’s recent announcement to withdraw from the pact posed a “real threat.”

Village life in Taobat Bala before the escalation of violence. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

What is the root of conflict?

Over the years many historians from both sides have unraveled the historical, political, and emotional fault lines dividing India and Pakistan since 1947. But Kashmir remains the stumbling block, 78 years later.

“At the time of British India’s partition in August 1947, the 565 princely states were given the option to join India, Pakistan, or remain independent—provided their people had the right to decide.” Jammu and Kashmir, a Muslim-majority state ruled by a Hindu king, Maharaja Hari Singh, initially chose to remain independent.

After tribal militias from Pakistan invaded parts of Jammu and Kashmir in October 1947—reportedly with covert support from Pakistani forces and encouragement from some local Muslims—the situation quickly descended into chaos and violence. Facing the threat, Maharaja Hari Singh signed the Instrument of Accession, ceding the state’s sovereignty to India in exchange for military assistance.

The Indian government, led by then Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, agreed to extend help but asked Hari Singh to sign an Instrument of Accession first. The Raja agreed. The documents conferred a special status on Jammu and Kashmir and allowed it to have its constitution, a flag, and control over internal administration, except in matters of defense, foreign affairs, finance, and communications, and were subsequently enshrined under Articles 370 and 35A of the Indian Constitution.

“These rules were not just legal provisions; they were a vital protection that ensured that no non-resident could purchase immovable property in the region, and this was done to safeguard the distinct identity, local ownership, and indigenous rights of the Kashmiri people,” explained Naila Altaf Kayani, an expert in Kashmir affairs, speaking to IPS from Muzaffarabad in Pakistan-administered Kashmir.

But even before 2019, especially between 1952 and 1986, and through 47 presidential orders, the historical guarantees under the Maharaja’s Instrument of Accession had slowly been diluted and J&K’s special status steadily diminished. “India effectively dismantled the State Subject Rules that had long been in place in Jammu and Kashmir,” said Kayani.

In 2019, India finally scrapped these articles completely, and J&K became a union territory (governed directly by the central government, unlike states, which have their own elected governments with significant autonomy).

Can India and Pakistan ever make peace?

Both Asif and Ahmar doubt the Kashmir dispute will be resolved in their lifetime. And till that doesn’t happen, the thorn in their side will keep pricking. But what the latter finds befuddling is the “unstable and unpredictable” Pakistan-India relationship. “The two countries swing between total silence and sudden warmth, with no steady, consistent engagement like most nations maintain,” he said.

Ironically, it’s during the lowest points in their relationship that both Indian and Pakistani leaders stand to gain the most politically, said Kugelman. “Delhi can bolster its tough-on-terror stand and reputation as a strong and defiant administration by responding with muscle, and in Pakistan, the civilian and military leaderships, which are not terribly popular, can shore up public support by rallying the country around it in the face of an Indian threat.”

Forgotten formula or a new peace plan?

Ahmar said this is the lowest point in India-Pakistan relations he has ever witnessed.

However, “if by some miracle General Pervez Musharraf’s out-of-the-box four-point formula gets a shot in the arm,” perhaps we can begin anew, on a friendlier note,” he said, referring to the July 2001 Agra summit, hosted by Indian Prime Minister Vajpayee.

The four fixes included a gradual demilitarization of troops from both sides; no change in borders but allowing the people of Jammu and Kashmir to move freely across the LoC; self-governance without independence; and a joint supervision mechanism in the region involving India, Pakistan, and Kashmir.

But until that happens, Ahmar said, it would be best to let the territory be put under international supervision until its fate is decided. “I would say, place the region under the Trusteeship Council of the United Nations for at least 10 years,” he said.

Comprising the five permanent UN Security Council members—China, France, Russia, the UK, and the US—the Trusteeship Council aims to guide territories toward self-government or independence, either as separate states or by joining neighboring countries. The last trust territory, Palau, gained independence in October 1994. “The Trusteeship Council may have completed its mission in Palau but continues to exist on paper, under the UN Charter, chapter XII,” added Ahmar.

Columnist Munazza Siddiqui, also executive producer at Geo News, a private TV channel, advocated for yet another option: “Turn the LoC into a Working Boundary (a temporary, informally demarcated line used to separate areas, often in disputed regions or during a ceasefire, but different from the LoC, which is a military control line; something in-between the LoC and an international border), similar to the one that exists between Pakistan’s Punjab and Indian-administered J&K, as recognized under UN arrangements.

“The idea is to then shift focus towards bilateral cooperation in other areas,” she pointed out, adding, “This approach can hopefully help de-escalate the violence historically associated with the Kashmir issue.”

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Dominican Republic’s Minister of Labor Eddy Olivares Ortega and Javier Cremades, President of the World Jurist Association, hand the Medal of Honor award to Just Rights for Children founder Bhuwan Ribhu.

By Stella Paul
NEW DELHI, May 6 2025 (IPS)

Bhuwan Ribhu didn’t plan to become a child rights activist. But when he saw how many children in India were being trafficked, abused, and forced into marriage, he knew he couldn’t stay silent.

“It all started with failure,” Ribhu says. “We tried to help, but we weren’t stopping the problem. That’s when I realized—no one group can do this alone. Calling the problem for what it truly is—a criminal justice issue rather than a social justice issue—I knew the solution needed holistic scale.”

Today, Bhuwan Ribhu leads Just Rights for Children—one of the world’s largest networks dedicated to protecting children. In recognition of his relentless efforts to combat child marriage and trafficking, he has just been awarded the prestigious Medal of Honor by the World Jurist Association. The award was presented at the recently concluded World Law Congress in the Dominican Republic.

But for Ribhu, the honor isn’t about recognition. “This is a reminder that the world is watching—and that children are counting on us,” he tells IPS in his first interview after receiving the award.

Looking Back: One Meeting Changed Everything

For Ribhu, a lawyer by profession, it has been a long, arduous, and illustrious journey to getting justice for children. But this long journey began during a meeting of small nonprofits in eastern India’s Jharkhand state, where someone spoke up: “Girls from my village are being taken far away, to Kashmir, and sold into marriage.”

That moment hit Ribhu hard.

“That’s when it struck me—one person or one group can’t solve a problem that crosses state borders,” he says. He then started building a nationwide network.

And just like that, the Child Marriage-Free India (CMFI) campaign was born. Dozens of organizations joined, and the number grew steadily until it reached 262.

So far, more than 260 million people have joined in the campaign, with the Indian government launching Bal Vivah Mukt Bharat—a national mission towards ending child marriage in India.

Across villages, towns, and cities, people are speaking up for a child marriage-free India.

“What used to feel impossible is now within reach,” Ribhu says.

Taking the Fight to Courtrooms

Ribhu is a trained lawyer, and for him, the law is a powerful weapon.

Since 2005, he’s fought—and won—dozens of important cases in Indian courts. These have helped define child trafficking in Indian law; make it mandatory for police to act when children go missing; criminalize child labor; set up support systems for abuse survivors; and remove harmful child sexual abuse content from the internet.

One big success came when the courts accepted that if a child is missing, police should assume they might have been trafficked. This changed everything. Reported missing cases dropped from 117,480 to  67,638 a year.

“That’s what justice in action looks like,” said Ribhu.

Taking Along Religious Leaders

One of the most powerful moves of CMFI was reaching out to religious leaders.

The reason was simple: whatever the religion is, it is the religious leader who conducts a marriage.

“If religious leaders refuse to marry children, the practice will stop,” says Ribhu.

The movement began visiting thousands of villages. They met Hindu priests, Muslim clerics, Christian pastors, and others. They asked them to take a simple pledge: “I will not marry a child, and I will report child marriage if I see it.”

The results have been astonishing: on festivals like Akshaya Tritiya—considered auspicious for weddings—many child marriages used to happen until recently. But temples now refuse to perform them.

“Faith can be a big force for justice,” Ribhu says. “And religious texts support education and protection for children.”

Going Global with a Universal Goal

But the campaign is no longer just India’s story. In January of this year, Nepal, inspired by the campaign, launched its own Child Marriage-Free Nepal initiative with the support of Prime Minister K. P. Sharma Oli. All the seven provinces of the country have joined it, vowing to take steps to stop child marriage

The campaign has also spread to 39 other countries, including Kenya and the Democratic Republic of Congo, where calls for a global child protection legal network are gaining momentum.

“The legal systems of different countries and regions may differ, but justice should be the same everywhere,” says Ribhu, who has also authored two books—Just Rights and When Children Have Children—where he has laid out a legal, institutional, and moral framework to end child exploitation called PICKET. “It’s not just about shouting for change. It’s about building systems that protect children every day,” Ribhu says.

Sacrifices and Hope

Ribhu gave up a promising career in law practice. Many people didn’t understand why.

“People said I was wasting my time,” he remembers. “But one day my son said, ‘Even if you save just one child, it’s worth it.’ That meant everything to me.”

A believer in the idea of Gandhian trusteeship—the belief that we should use our talents and privileges to serve others, especially those who need help the most.

“I may not be the one to fight child marriage in Iraq or Congo. But someone will. And we’ll stand beside them.”

A Powerful Award and a Bigger Mission

The World Jurist Association Medal isn’t just a trophy. For Ribhu, it’s a platform. “It tells the world: This is possible. Change is happening. Let’s join in.”

He also hopes that the award will help his team connect with new partners and expand their work to new regions.

“In 2024 alone, over 2.6 lakhs Child Marriages were prevented and stopped and over 56,000 children were rescued from trafficking and exploitation in India. These numbers show that change is not just a dream—it’s real,” he says.

By 2030, Ribhu hopes to see the number of child marriages in India falling below 5 percent.

But there’s more to do. In some countries, like Iraq, girls can still be married as young as 10, and in the United States, 35 states still allow child marriage under certain conditions.

“Justice can’t be occasional,” Ribhu says. “It must be a part of the system everywhere. We must make sure justice isn’t just a word—it’s a way of life.”

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India's Home Minister Amit Shah interacting with the families of those injured in the terror attack. Credit: Supplied

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR, Apr 25 2025 (IPS)

Abdul Majeed Mir strolls leisurely among the purple crocus flower rows in Pampore’s saffron fields as the morning mist hovers low over them. His family has been growing this valuable spice, called “red gold,” for many generations, but now his hands go through the harvest mechanically. There is a noticeable lack of the typical commotion of tourists haggling over saffron packets.

Mir rubs a pinch of the fragrant stigma between his fingers and sighs, “This should be our best season in years.

“Who will buy it now, even though the yield is great? Most tourists left within hours of the attack.” His gaze moves over the deserted roadside stands where merchants would typically vie for customers’ attention.

While the Pahalgam terror attack on April 22 lasted less than 30 minutes, its effects will be felt for years to come. Twenty-six people were killed and numerous others were injured when four gunmen opened fire at one of Kashmir’s most visited tourist spots. Local employees like Adil Shah, a 32-old pony-wala who was the only provider for his elderly parents, as well as honeymooners and vacationing families, were among the victims.

The attack ratcheted up tensions between India and Pakistan, with New Delhi’s response being to revoke visas, close a border crossing and suspend the Indus Water Treaty. The region has been in dispute between the two countries and China since, and in 2019 India revoked the self-governing special status for Jammu and Kashmir. Islamabad closed its airspace to India and warned that interference in the water supply will be considered an act of war.

Locals in Kashmir protesting against the Pahalgam terror attack. This is the first attack on tourists in the region’s recent history. Credit: Supplied

The exodus started as word got out about the massacre. Dal Lake houseboats filled up in a matter of hours. As houseboat owner Tariq Ahmed remembers, “Guests were packing one minute and photographing the sunset the next. All twelve of my boats were empty by midnight.

His voice cracks as he adds, “They didn’t even wait for breakfast. Just left in whatever transport they could find.”

The statistics present a bleak picture. Within 48 hours, 90 percent of scheduled tourist reservations were cancelled. More than 2,000 tour packages were cancelled. The immediate losses are estimated by the hospitality industry to be more than fifteen million dollars. However, there are innumerable human tragedies playing out in slow motion behind these figures.

Arif Khan, owner of a souvenir shop in Srinagar’s Lal Chowk market, puts unsold walnut wood carvings back in their boxes. Wiping dust from an elaborately carved jewelry box, he explains, “April to September is when we earn our entire year’s income.”

“I’ll have to pull my kids out of school if tourists don’t come back.” As he puts another unsold item back on the shelf, his hands shake.

Tourism is just one aspect of the crisis. Shopian apple grower Ghulam Mohi-ud-din Khan strolls through his orchard. He looks at a young flower on one of his apple trees and remarks, “Nearly a third of our direct sales come from tourists.

“They purchase boxes to take home after visiting the orchards. Without them…” he ponders as he gazes down the endless rows of trees that symbolize his family’s livelihood.

Indian army cordoning off the tourist spot where the attack happened that claimed the lives of more than 27 civilians. Credit: Supplied

The timing of the attack couldn’t have been worse for the farmers of Kashmir. This was meant to be a recovery season following years of droughts and erratic weather patterns brought on by climate change. Pampore has the highest saffron yield in recent memory. There were lots of apple blossoms in Shopian. Farmers now have to deal with the possibility of their harvests rotting in warehouses as the tourism industry collapses.

Master carpet weaver Mohammad Yusuf works alone in his quiet workshop in downtown Srinagar’s handicraft district. Usually, a dozen craftspeople would be working, and the sound of looms would fill the air. Only Yusuf is left today. He runs his fingers across a partially completed carpet and says, “I had to let everyone go.

“No orders if there are no tourists. Since my showroom hasn’t seen any customers in three days, how can I pay wages?”

The psychological toll is equally devastating. In Pahalgam, where the attack occurred, hotelier Imtiyaz Ahmad sits in his empty lobby.

“We had just finished renovations,” he says, staring at the vacant reception desk. “New furniture, new linen, everything ready for peak season.” His investment of nearly USD 50,000 now seems like a cruel joke. “The banks won’t care that there was an attack. The loans still need to be paid.”

Mass Exodus of tourists being witnessed from Kashmir. A view of jam-packed Kashmir airport. Credit: Supplied

For pony-walas and shikara operators, the situation is even more dire. These daily wage workers have no savings to fall back on. “I used to earn eight hundred rupees a day [10 USD] taking tourists on rides,” says pony-wala Bashir Ahmad. “Now I’m lucky if I make fifty rupees carrying firewood.”

He gestures to his two ponies standing listlessly in the shade. “How do I feed them? How do I feed my family?”

The human cost extends beyond economics.  The image of a young bride sitting beside her husband’s lifeless body has become seared into the national consciousness. Their honeymoon, meant to be the beginning of a life together, ended in a hail of bullets. Similar stories echo across India as families mourn loved ones who went to Kashmir seeking beauty and found only tragedy.

Yet amid the despair, there are glimmers of hope and humanity. Local residents opened their homes to stranded tourists, offering food and shelter free of charge. Doctors tirelessly worked around the clock to treat the wounded. “This is not who we are,” says college student Aisha Malik, who helped coordinate relief efforts. “We want the world to know the real Kashmir—the one of hospitality and peace.”

As the sun sets over Dal Lake, the silence is deafening. Where there should be laughter and the splash of oars, there is only stillness. The houseboats sit empty. The shikaras remain tied to their docks. The souvenir shops have turned off their lights.

Abdul Majeed Mir walks home through his saffron fields, the day’s harvest in his basket.

“We survived the worst of the conflict in the 1990s,” he says. “We’ll survive this too.”

But the uncertainty in his eyes betrays his words. For Kashmir’s tourism-dependent economy and for the thousands of families who rely on it, the coming months will be a test of resilience unlike any they’ve faced before.

“The terrorists may have only pulled their triggers for minutes, but the echoes of those gunshots will reverberate through Kashmir’s valleys for years to come. In the empty hotels, the silent markets, and the untrodden paths of what was once a paradise for travelers, the true cost of violence becomes painfully clear. It’s measured not just in lives lost, but in dreams deferred, livelihoods destroyed, and a people’s faith in the future shaken to its core,” Showkat Ahmad Malik, a fruit grower from Kashmir’s Anantnag, told Inter Press Service.

Tourism accounts for 6.98 percent of the state’s GDP and is  considered a key sector of Kashmir’s economy; 80 percent of Kashmir’s population, which is 12.5 million, is directly or indirectly dependent on it.

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Jayasimhan Praveenraj looks at a specimen of the recently rediscovered Chel Snakehead fish. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

By Diwash Gahatraj
NEW DELHI, Apr 23 2025 (IPS)

The Chel Snakehead fish, thought to be extinct, has made a dramatic comeback to the eastern Himalayan ecosystem after more than 85 years of absence near its source river in India.

Scientifically known as Channa amphibeus, its reemergence has delighted scientists and conservationists. The fish was found near its source river in Gorubathan, a tiny hamlet in the Kalimpong district of West Bengal. River Chel is a tributary of the Teesta River.

Two zoologists, Shaw and Shebbeare, collected the last specimens of Channa amphibeus in colonial India in 1938. Since then, despite numerous surveys, no one has found this mysterious fish until September 2024.

“I first learned about this species in 2007 during my bachelor’s in fisheries science,” says Dr. Praveenraj Jayasimhan, the 35-year-old scientist who led the rediscovery effort. “I considered it either to be a myth or simply an unusual variant of another species.”

Praveenraj, who works as a scientist at ICAR-CIARI in the Andamans and holds a PhD in Aquatic Animal Health Management, has previously rediscovered other lost fish species and discovered 19 new species. He has been working on Indian fishes since 2015, but the Chel Snakehead presented a unique challenge.

The breakthrough came in 2024 when Praveenraj received a video from a friend showing what appeared to be the lost fish. “Tracking down the location proved challenging,” he explains. “We initially suspected the video might be a morphed one.”

Through persistent effort and interviews with local communities, Praveenraj and his team—including Dr. Moulitharan Nallathambi, Tejas Thackeray, and Gourab Kumar Nanda—were ultimately able to pinpoint the fish’s location in the villages near the Chel River in northern Bengal.

In an interview with IPS, Praveenraj clarifies that the  fish didn’t actually vanish; rather, it’s an extremely elusive species with burrowing behavior so can only be observed during the monsoon season.

“No serious attempts had been made to locate it for decades,” he says.

Read the excerpts of the interview below.

IPS: What does the rediscovery of the Chel snakehead mean for biodiversity and conservation?

Praveenraj: A fish that was thought to be extinct for a long time has now been found. It reflects our limited understanding of our natural world. For example, the Himalayan region is still unknown. Just like we have the mysterious stories of the Himalayan Yeti, Channa amphibeus is also an animal that existed, but no one attempted the search operation because it required a lot of funding and local support. This highlights how limited our understanding of the natural world truly is.

It was a five-member team, including me. The team consisted of Nallathambi, assistant professor at Tamil Nadu fisheries university, N. Balaji, a fish hobbyist and taxonomist from Mumbai; Tejas Thackeray from the Thackeray Wildlife Foundation; and Nanda, a  zoology student from Odisha.

IPS: Tell me about your research process—like the methodology, timeline, and a little description of your team.

Praveenraj: It was very surprising for us. We collected the samples in September 2024 and initially I was stunned to see the fish for the first time. We photographed them alive using high-resolution cameras to note the color patterns, as these were the only specimens through which the general public and the scientific community could see them alive. We stabilized some in ethanol and formalin for further study. We counted the number of scales and fins to compare it with the older literature on Channa amphibeus of Shaw & Shebbeare in 1938. We studied the DNA of C. amphibeus. They were the first DNA sequences to be generated for amphibians. In addition, I used X-rays to note the count of vertebrae. The whole process usually takes very long; it takes months. We were extremely eager to complete the task. We were able to finish the process in one month.

IPS: River Teesta and its tributaries are home to several vulnerable species, like the Mahseer, Snow Trout, and Indian Catfish. How do you see the rediscovery of the Chel snakehead influencing the overall understanding of biodiversity in the region?

Praveenraj: The biodiversity of the Indian Himalayan regions is still underestimated. We can still meet new species if properly surveyed. Unfortunately, no agency or institution specifically provides funding for taxonomic research. The rediscovery of the Chel snakehead shows that ideal habitats still exist in these rivers for the species to survive, although there has been much habitat degradation in these areas over the years.

IPS: In your research, what were your findings about the state of our Himalayan rivers and their biodiversity? Kindly elaborate.

Praveenraj: I see a lot of potential in that region. The Himalayas stretch for about 2,400 km as an arc from west-northwest to east-southeast across the northern tip of the Indian subcontinent. These mountains are the source of some of the region’s major rivers, including the Ganges, Brahmaputra, and Indus, which help regulate the climate of much of the subcontinent and beyond. Unfortunately, there is no comprehensive checklist for the fish species found in these rivers, and there are no concrete studies discussing small and cryptic fish species. Of course, there are some checklists, but most of those tasks were based on the Fish Landing Center Survey. I believe that the number of fish species could be more than what we currently assume, a total of 600 species.

 IPS: In your research, have you found any impact on aquatic life due to the rapid increase in anthropogenic activities (like construction of dams and railway lines, highways, and buildings)?

Praveenraj: Yes, these anthropogenic activities are always happening because of development. We can see habitats being destroyed. But still such species can be found in small pockets in remote areas.

IPS: How do you see the role of local communities, like the one in Gorubathan or the nearby region, in the conservation of these species going forward?

Praveenraj: The species, locally known as Bura chung or Bora chang, is considered a special delicacy and is typically collected in small quantities for food. The local community possesses valuable indigenous knowledge regarding the collection of this fish. It’s traditionally kept as a secret diet, primarily reserved for pregnant women. While the local population may not be fully aware of the species’ conservation status, our interviews with locals suggest that the fish is found in significant numbers during the monsoon season. It hibernates in winter and burrows into deep horizontal holes during the summer when water is scarce. Since it is harvested in low numbers for food, I don’t feel there is a threat to this species.

IPS: How important do you think it is to raise public awareness about species like the Chel snakehead?

Praveenraj: Since the fish comes from a very remote location, we believe that some kind of local awareness is required for the local community to protect it. We managed to provide them with information about the fish for local conservation. For example, we asked them to provide us with its life history traits to fully understand its habitat and breeding nature. We have also advised them to do sustainable harvesting during their hibernation time.

IPS: There has been an increasing interest in ornamental fish varieties, including snakeheads, across Asia. How do you think this rising demand for ornamental fish could affect the conservation of native species in the Teesta River, especially if such fish are overharvested for trade?

Praveenraj: As of now, only a few fish species are collected from the Teesta for the aquarium trade; however, these fish are regularly fished by the local communities for food. It is their staple diet. Anthropogenic activities like sand mining, railway lines, pollution, and discharge from tea plantations have more impact than the collection attempts for the aquarium trade.

IPS: From a policy standpoint, how can the government of India, particularly in states like West Bengal and Sikkim, enhance conservation efforts for vulnerable species in the Teesta River?

Praveenraj: The government can establish a captive breeding program and habitat restoration programme  for the vulnerable or threatened fishes and do periodic ranching; that is how we can conserve species.

IPS: What are the gaps in existing policies that need to be addressed?

Praveenraj: Fishes need to be given priority like we give for higher vertebrates. Pollution and sand mining have to be prevented. Research institutions in each state must breed their own local indigenous fish species and do periodic ranching.

IPS: Looking ahead, what do you believe the rediscovery of the Chel snakehead signifies for future research and conservation in the region?

Praveenraj: Lots to be explored; however, we hardly have any taxonomists working on freshwater fishes in India, hardly any, about six or eight people. We need to strengthen biodiversity studies and focus more on our indigenous fishes. Rediscovery of the Chel snakehead signifies how ignorant we are to ignore a large snakehead fish for decades.

 IPS: What should be the next steps in ensuring the survival of this species and others in similar ecosystems?

Praveenraj: The next step is to breed these snakeheads, which will sustain the fish in captivity. Aquarium hobby has sustained many fishes in captivity despite local extinction of the same in the wild. We must breed and conserve our Indian megafauna rather than banning them or including them in the Wildlife Protection Act, which has no meaning at all. Research institutions must come forward and attempt captive breeding for this beautiful and elusive snakehead.

IPS: Lastly, How can local communities, scientists,  researchers, and the general public collaborate in preserving biodiversity?

Praveenraj: They must work together to preserve our local biodiversity. This is an era of digital technology; many are using social media to report new species and alien fish species, which are contributing to scientists and researchers. We hope that this understanding continues to grow.

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Conservationist Asad Rahmani alongside a wetland protection employee in Haigam wetland in north India. Credit: Athar Parvaiz/IPS

By Athar Parvaiz
NEW DELHI, Apr 16 2025 (IPS)

Late in February, India’s noted ornithologist and conservationist, Asad Rahmani, wrote a letter to a wildlife warden in north India expressing his satisfaction about the availability of water in four important wetlands in Kashmir, where migratory birds from central Asia and Europe arrive annually for wintering.

This letter was in sharp contrast to Rahmani’s earlier concerns about the “deteriorating health” of wetlands in Kashmir and elsewhere in India. Conservationists, activists, and newspaper editorials in India have long been expressing concerns about the “decline” and “neglect” of wetland ecosystems across India. A recent editorial in a prominent English newspaper in India emphasized the importance of action-oriented measures by the federal and state governments for protecting wetlands.

In its Living Planet Report 2024, the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) flagged the disappearing wetlands in the south Indian metropolitan city of Chennai (in the chapter “Tipping Point”) as a warning sign of rapid ecosystem destruction, which is not only resulting in acute water shortages but is also making Chennai more vulnerable to floods.

Wildlife enthusiasts such as Rahmani look at wetlands from the perspective of wetlands as wildlife habitats, particularly for birds.  “I reiterate that if we guarantee sufficient and timely supply of water, Kashmir wetlands will again support lakhs (hundreds of thousands) of birds in each wetland. They also have great potential to attract tourists and birdwatchers,” Rahmani, who has also served as the Director of the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS), wrote in the letter seen by IPS.

“Hokarsar [wetland] is important for both resident and migratory waterfowl. As many as 64 species in and around the wetland have been reported during bird ringing studies. The [wetland] is particularly important as a wintering area for migratory ducks and geese and as a breeding area for herons, egrets, and rails,” Rahmani noted.

In his earlier communications in the past few years, Rahmani has expressed serious concerns about the deteriorating health of wetlands and their shrinkage.

Vanishing wetlands in India

On the occasion of this year’s World Wetlands Day on February 2, India designated four new Ramsar sites in three different states, taking the tally of Ramsar sites wetlands to 89 in India.

However, despite adding more Ramsar sites almost every year and celebrating these conservation efforts, many wetlands across India are unraveling and disappearing at an alarming rate—the country has already lost nearly one-third of its wetlands to urbanization since 1940, according to the available data.

Quoting data from the written response of India’s environment ministry to a Right to Information (RTI) application, a report in one of India’s national newspapers on March 24 (this year) revealed that out of India’s estimated over 200,000 wetlands, only 102 have been notified and even these are concentrated in three states and one Union territory. When a wetland is notified by the government in India, it means the demarcation of the wetland’s boundary, its ecological importance, and the need for its conservation are officially recognized and are also made available for public knowledge.

Wetlands are the lifelines that provide freshwater, food, and building materials; regulate floods; recharge groundwater; and even help combat climate change through carbon sequestration, experts say, adding that expanding agriculture, pollution, and unchecked water extraction are pushing these fragile ecosystems—and the species that depend on them—toward crisis.

Rahmani told IPS that there are scores of laws and conservation policies introduced by the federal and state governments in India for the protection of wetlands across the country, but, he said, they “have failed” to ensure their protection.

“We have the Wetland Authority of India and state wetland authorities that have identified wetlands for conservation. But there is hardly anything significant these so-called authorities have done so far for wetland protection. Sometimes the officials of these authorities have no basic idea of the functioning of a healthy wetland,” Rahmani observed.

He said that the Government of India has started several good conservation schemes and projects, such as the Amrit Sarovar project, under which each district will protect 75 wetlands for which money was also given. “[But] this good scheme is mostly used to carry out unnecessary construction in wetlands, such as cemented works in the name of wetland management and tourism development,” he said.

Protecting wetlands

“No wetland should be ‘beautified.’ Nature is beautiful. Keeping local ecology and naturalness in mind, most wetlands can be revived very easily with little funds… no natural wetland lives in isolation… catchment area is extremely important for wetlands revival and conservation,” Rahmani said.

According to Rahmani, small wetlands, important for biodiversity and local people, “are neglected,” and larger wetlands (some of them man-made lakes and reservoirs) “are under threat of hedonistic” tourism.

Faiyaz Ahmad Khudsar, senior scientist, Biodiversity Parks Programme, University of Delhi, said that wetlands are unfortunately often seen as wastelands.

“If there are any specific places for dumping of solid or liquid waste, they are wetlands and streams… similarly, near cities you have wetlands getting encroached upon for construction of houses and other infrastructure,” Khudsar said.

He observed that there has to be a focus on restoration ecology if the degraded wetlands are to be protected. This, he said, can be done by supporting the degraded ecosystems to recover, which needs to be supported by communities, scientists, and the government together. “We have to understand how the restoration is carried out scientifically—looking at the ecological history of the site and reference ecosystems is very important to find out the reasons for degradation,” he said.

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Jacinta Maslai using her solar-powered spinning machine at her home in Warsawsaw village in Ri Bhoi district. Credit: Sanskrita Bharadwaj/IPS

By Sanskrita Bharadwaj
WARMAWSAW, Meghalaya, India, Apr 3 2025 (IPS)

As light enters through the small window of a modestly constructed tin-roofed house, Philim Makri sits on a chair deftly spinning cocoons of eri silk with the help of a solar-powered spinning machine in Warmawsaw village in Ri Bhoi district of Meghalaya in northeast India.

Makri belongs to the indigenous Khasi tribe of Meghalaya and is one of the several women from the region who has benefitted from solar-powered spinning machines.

In India’s northeastern states like Assam and Meghalaya, silkworm rearing and weaving are common among several rural and tribal communities. Ri-Bhoi district of Meghalaya, where Makri is from, is among the regions where eri culture is deeply rooted in tradition and is often passed on from one generation to the other.

The process of spinning and weaving eri is mainly carried out by women. Before switching to the solar-powered spinning machines in 2018, Makri used a traditional hand-held ‘takli’ or spindle. She would open the empty eri cocoons, draft the fibers by hand, and spin them onto the spindle to create yarn. This process was extremely laborious, 60-year-old Makri said. It would leave her feeling tired with constant pain in her hand, back, neck, and eyes.

Process of spinning eri yarn

Eri derives its name from castor leaves—locally known as ‘Rynda’ in the Khasi language. Castor leaves are the primary food source for the eri silkworms. As the production process is considered to be non-violent, eco-friendly, and sustainable, eri silk has earned itself the title of ‘peace silk.’

Thirty-eight-year-old Jacinta Maslai from Patharkhmah village in Ri Bhoi district, who has been spinning eri cocoons into yarn for years, explained how an eri moth lays hundreds of eggs and after 10 days or so, these eggs hatch, producing silkworms, which are then reared indoors and fed castor leaves until they mature over a period of 30 days.

When the silkworm matures to its full size, they are placed on cocoonage—devices that help silkworms spin their cocoons. The moth evolves, breaking out from the open end of the cocoon to start a new life cycle. Thus, in this process, no moths are killed. The empty cocoons are boiled to remove the gums left behind by the worms; they are then rinsed and left out in the sun to dry.

According to Maslai, the best season to carry out this process is from May till October. “When the weather is too cold or too hot, the worms don’t grow properly because they eat less. If they don’t eat well, they don’t make the cocoon well enough,” Maslai said.

Switching to solar-powered spinning machines

Women artisans have for years used their traditional spindles or ‘taklis,’ to spin eri cocoons into yarn. However, many of them, like Maslai and Makri, have now switched to the solar-powered spinning machines, which they claim have made their lives “easier.”

Since Maslai started using the solar-powered machines, she says she can weave up to 500 grams in a week. “Sometimes even a kilo is possible in a week but many of us have children and farms to look after so we can manage up to 500 grams in a week,” Maslai said, adding that before they wouldn’t get a kilo even if they spun for an entire month with the ‘takli.’

“The machines help a lot—with our hands, we couldn’t do much.”

In the nearby Patharkhmah market, Maslai sells one kilo of yarm for Rs 2500.

Makri, who is considered an expert at spinning eri yarn, said she has sold 1 kg of yarn for up to Rs 3000. “The lowest quality of one kilo of eri yarn is about Rs 1200-1500. The quality also differs in terms of the smoothness of the yarn sometimes,” Makri said.

The machines have also made our lives better because their villages are usually without electricity for an entire day, Maslai said. In the mornings they usually go out for farming; evenings are the time when they find adequate time to spin.

“The machines provide backup solar batteries so we can work at night. It is helpful during the rainy season too when it’s too cloudy for the solar panels to be used as a direct energy source,” Maslai said, adding, “I spin a lot in the evenings after cooking dinner. That’s when my kids are asleep.”

The machines have been distributed by MOSONiE Socio Economic Foundation, a not-for-profit led entirely by a group of women based in Pillangkata of Ri Bhoi district in Meghalaya.

“Our vision is to increase the productivity of eri silk spinners by providing solar-powered spinning machines to them. We also want to provide them financial options to afford a spinning machine by connecting them with rural banks. The idea is to give them training to use these machines and promote entrepreneurship among the women artisans,” said Salome Savitri, one of the co-founders of MOSONiE.

Many women in rural areas, Savitri said, cannot afford to buy the machines or do not have the money to pay direct cash; this is where she said MOSONiE steps in and bridges the gap between Meghalaya Rural Bank (MRB) and the women artisans. For instance, Maslai took a loan from MRB to buy the spinning machine, which she paid off after a year.

Maslai recalls how, with training from MOSONiE, it took her about three days to make the switch from a handheld spindle to the machine. “We use the machine now and no longer use the traditional method,” Maslai said.

Makri, who is one of the more experienced ones, also teaches others from her village to use the solar-powered spinning machines. Individually, people give her Rs 50-100 per day for the training they receive from her. She has won awards for her work from India’s ministry of textiles, central silk board, and the national handloom awards.

Upasna Jain, chief of staff at Resham Sutra, a Delhi-based social enterprise that has been manufacturing the solar-powered spinning machines, said not-for-profit organizations like MOSONiE, which is an on-ground partner of Resham Sutra in Meghalaya, help them establish rural experience centers. “We have our on-ground partners, who enable us to mobilize, create awareness, outreach, and demonstrations. In the rural experience centers, we have machines for spinning but we also have machines for quality certification. The on-ground partners impart 3 to 5 days of training, and we also have community champions because even after training, a lot of handholding is required,” Jain explained.

Out of 28 states, currently, Resham Sutra has managed to reach 16 states of India. “We work with eri, mulberry, tussar, and muga silk,” Jain said. Started in 2015, the Resham Sutra initiative has more than 25,000 installations across India.

“Our founder, Kunal Vaid, was an exporter of silk and home linen, and he would source his silk fabric from Jharkhand, where he saw the traditional thigh reeling process to make tussar yarn…he being a mechanical engineer who specialized in industrial design, out of a hobby innovated a spinning wheel, which has now become a full-time business enterprise.”

Jain added, “He also transitioned from being an exporter to a full-time social entrepreneur.” Apart from the spinning wheels, Resham Sutra also manufactures solar looms.

Through the use of solar, Jain said, their aim is to also take the silk industry towards carbon neutrality. She said, “As our machines are solar-powered, we save a lot of carbon dioxide, our machines run on low voltage and they are energy efficient. So, wherever there is ample sunlight, these machines are a great solution, especially in remote villages where electricity can be erratic.”

While both Makri and Maslai like using their machines, they said that an extra space to expand their spinning avenues would help them greatly. Makri wants to build another room where she can keep both her spinning machines and teach others too. Maslai, who lives in a two-room house, said there is barely any space for her to teach anyone else but she still tries to pass on the craft to young girls as well as boys who are interested in learning. “When I am teaching, they look after my kids as a token of goodwill.”

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Members of the Greater Kaziranga Land and Human Rights protection committee. Credit: Pranab Doyle

By Aishwarya Bajpai
NEW DELHI, Mar 21 2025 (IPS)

While a local community prides itself on caring for a sensitive biodiverse region, and despite centuries-long stewardship of the Kaziranga, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the authorities rebuff—sometimes aggressively—their attempts to remain involved.

Now the broader community, living close to tiger conservancies, has the threat of a wholesale eviction to contend with too.

“We take pride in the fact that the communities around Kaziranga have sacrificed so much to preserve this special biodiverse region. It is one of the areas where communities have sacrificed to protect one-horned rhinoceroses, tigers, and elephants and share a symbiotic relationship with them,” Pranab Doyle, convenor of Greater Kaziranga Land and Human Rights Committee and founder of All Kaziranga Affected Communities’ Rights Committee, says.

“But the forest department or the modern conservation industry is very antithetical to the way communities look at shared spaces.”

Kaziranga, a national park and a tiger project in Assam, India, is famous for the conservation of the Indian one-horned rhinoceros.

According to an article published in 2019, 102 one-horned rhinoceroses were killed in various parks in India between 2008 and 2018. There are also statistics for the number of poachers killed (40) and arrested (194). A more recent article says that in 2022 no rhinos were killed in the park. Rhinos in Asia and Africa are often poached for their horns, which are used in traditional medicine in some Asian countries.

Despite the success in combating poaching, the community faces conflict due to the wildlife authorities’ strong-arm tactics.

The community says there was a time when wildlife sanctuaries were used for grazing animals, as playgrounds, and for food baskets, and the community shared their crops with the animals living there.

However, because of the power vested in the forestry department, only wildlife or the department’s agenda is given consideration, the community says.

“This has led to a very militarized process in Kaziranga where multiple lines of military establishments are set in the name of protecting wildlife. There are special task forces, forest battalions, commando task forces, and the use of modern techniques of vigilance and armory in the name of poaching,” Doyle says.

Consequently, authorities often resort to victimizing people.

In 2010, a special power was given to the Indian Forest Service, where they were given immunity from prosecution when confronting poachers.

“In the year 2010, the Government conferred the power to use arms by forest officials and immunity to forest staff in the use of firearms under Section 197 (2) of the CrPC, 1973,” according to a press statement released in 2017.

Doyle disputes the official statistics and claims that since 2010, more than 100 people have died because of this law. He says that although there should be executive magistrate inquiries into it legally, there have been none.

According to the Oxpeckers Investigative Environmental Journalism website, investigations have included probes into poaching syndicates.

The strong-arm tactics used by the authorities result in a tense relationship.

“We have been constantly fighting against it, and as a result, the forest department treats us as their enemies. Instead of looking at us as people whose rights have been violated and giving us the opportunity to dialogue, they are treating us as criminals and have put multiple cases on us,” Doyle says. “We cannot go fishing in our own lakes, cultivate our own lands, and collect some basic minor forest products, which are traditionally a part of our culture, thereby annihilating everything that is our identity.”

According to the community, the authorities often cancel public meetings despite prior commitments and retaliate with legal action when pressured through mass agitation.

What is more concerning is the eviction of indigenous communities from around tiger protection reserves by the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA).

Doyle claims that they want to evict 64,000 families from 54 tiger reserves in the country. Since 1972, the Indian government has evicted 56,247 families from 751 villages across 50 tiger reserves, according to the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) data from 2019. The move has led to petitions and protests.

He says the law doesn’t give them the authority to pass an order of this magnitude.

“We as communities who live with tigers, elephants, and rhinos and have been living there for generations, strongly demand this order be revoked. It should be immediately taken into cognizance by all the bodies that claim to protect Indigenous rights and make the forest department accountable for it.”

Dr. Ashok Dhawale, President, of the All India Kisan Sabha and Polit Bureau Member of the Communist Party of India (Marxist), says the exclusionary forest conservation measures that began during British colonization continued after independence.

“The (colonialist) government took control of the forests, seizing them from our tribal people. Although the forests had always belonged to the tribes, who protected them for generations, independence brought little change.

People expected that the forest lands would be returned to the tribal communities, but what was enacted was the Forest Conservation Act of 1980.

This law focused on conserving forests, not on protecting the rights of the people who had safeguarded them for centuries.

“To address this historical injustice—explicitly acknowledged in the act’s preamble—the Forest Rights Act was passed by Parliament in 2006 after immense struggles across the country. This landmark legislation sought to ensure that Adivasis (tribals) were granted ownership of the lands they have tilled and nurtured for generations.”

But since then, India has introduced laws and amendments that undermine the rights of tribal and forest communities.  The Jan Vishwas—People’s Promise, (Amendment of Provisions) Act, 2023, aims to decriminalize and rationalize offenses to promote trust-based governance and facilitate ease of living and doing business. However, it also significantly enhances the powers of forest officers, raising concerns about its impact on the rights and livelihoods of these vulnerable communities.

Another major amendment, the Forest Conservation Act (FCA), 1980, now known as Van Sanrakshan Evam Samvardhan Adhiniyam, enforced from December 1, 2023, has emphasized national security in the guise of implementing projects of national importance leading to heavy militarization in the respective areas, Dhawale says.

Madhuri Krishnaswami from Jagrit Adivasi Dalit Sangathan (Awakened Tribal Dalit Community), Madhya Pradesh, says that all these legislative changes are designed to undermine the Forest Rights Act 2006.

Krishnaswami says that capital-driven business expansion harms the climate, yet ecologically sensitive communities are unfairly burdened with the blame.

Doyle adds that the relationship of indigenous communities with the land is deeply rooted.

“The survival and health of the land and environment depend on people acting as stewards to care for them—a fact proven throughout history. Instead of empowering communities to preserve and improve their environment, the state is evicting them under the pretext of climate degradation. This approach must be entirely rethought and redesigned to prioritize and support the very people who hold the solutions to combating climate change.”

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Women of Manipur, India, stage a hunger strike. There has been violence between ethnic groups in the region, exacerbated by a ruling to recognize one group, the Meiteis Scheduled Tribe (ST) status in 2023, which sparked violence. The status has since been withdrawn. Credit: Kumkum Chadha/IPS

By Kumkum Chadha
NEW DELHI, Mar 18 2025 (IPS)

For Kikim*, it was the ides of May, instead of March, that was, in one sense, her undoing. She was looking forward to welcoming her baby, her first. But life took an unexpected turn, and things changed within a split second.

That evening she was cooking soup when she saw hordes of men approach the village—some brandishing swords, others holding bottles of petrol and diesel. Kikim also smelled smoke.

Alarmed, she fled from the back door only to find her neighbors trying to escape. They helped her jump onto a truck that was heading out. Kikim did not know where, and she did not care. Her immediate concern—safety.

As the truck moved, she counted hours that seemed never-ending. The one question that stared everyone in the face was: Will we make it alive?

What added to the uncertainty was the arduous journey through a dense forest.

By way of food, there was very little. The women huddled in the truck and gave Kikim a portion of what they had managed to bring along. “You need it more than we do,” they told her.

Kikim feared that she might deliver in the middle of a forest with no medical help.

She actually did in the early hours of the morning. The men were told to move away; the truck was converted into a makeshift delivery ward, and pieces torn from the wraparound women were made into a curtain of sorts for Kikim. When she heard the first cry of her newborn, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Little did she know, that the women around her faced another challenge: there was not enough water except for a one-liter bottle. Their only option was to wipe the newborn, sprinkling a few drops all over the frail body.

Kikim’s is one of the many cases that have unfolded during the Manipur crisis that has engulfed the northeastern state of India for some two years.

The state has witnessed violent clashes between two communities, the Meiteis and the Kukis.

The present crisis stems from a recommendation from the state High Court to grant Scheduled Tribe, or ST, status, to the Meiteis. The controversial clause has since been modified. On February 24, 2025, the Manipur High Court changed the March 27, 2023 order. It ordered the removal of a paragraph that had instructed the Manipur government to consider the inclusion of Meiteis in the list of Scheduled Tribes. It was the March 23, 2023 direction that is believed to have triggered the ongoing ethnic conflict between the Meiteis and the tribal Kuki-Zo communities in the State.

The Kukis protested because they felt that the direction would give the Meiteis heft over the hilly areas.

“They would use money power to take away our land and grab our jobs too,” says Thangso (name changed). Since the conflict, he carries a shotgun for protection.

The Kuki-Zo tribes are protected under the ST status. It is through this mechanism that the Indian government recognizes historically marginalized tribal communities.

Roughly translated as “land of gems,” Manipur is largely isolated from the rest of India.

The majority population, the Meiteis, are Hindus. They live in Imphal, the state capital.

The Kukis and Nagas are in a minority. Mainly Christians, they live in the hills.

The Indian Constitution reserves land in Manipur’s hill districts. This special provision prohibits the Meiteis from purchasing land in the hills and also restricts the migration of Meiteis and other groups into the hill districts.

Meiteis feel that their exclusion from the ST status is unfair.

They also rue the influx of illegal migrants, especially from across the border in Myanmar.

Manipur has a porous international border. Since civil war broke out in Myanmar, its nationals fled to Manipur. The military seized power in that country on February 1, 2021.

There are reports of Kukis providing a safe haven to illegal Chin migrants.

In Myanmar, Kukis are known as Chins.

If the Meiteis are apprehensive about the “shifting demography,” the Kukis charge them with pushing a “majoritarian agenda.”

The fault lines are deep and the mistrust complete.

It would be incorrect to presume that the clashes between the two are a one-off. Far from it.

Since the 1960s, militant groups have fanned the grievances of the Kukis and the Nagas, who are fighting for a separate homeland. Pitch the fight against the Meiteis, who are determined to defend the state’s territorial integrity.

Had it not been for a graphic video of two tribal women being stripped naked, events in Manipur may have gone unnoticed. The video went viral, sparking outrage not only across India but also abroad.

Mary Beth Sanate of the Rural Women Upliftment Society, told IPS, “Women are being charred, treated like objects, mob-lynched, and sexually assaulted. There is a complete breakdown of the system, and what we are seeing is a mockery of their human rights.”

According to a document, “Crimes against Kuki-Zo Women by Meites,” there are harrowing accounts of violence against women.

The document catalogues instances of Meitei extremists targeting Kuki-Zo women: “Kill her, rape her, burn her. Do to her what her people did to our women” is what Meitei women reportedly told a mob who had barged into a nursing hostel in Imphal, soon after the pogrom began two years ago.

It would, therefore, not be incorrect to see this crisis as one where women have played multiple roles: both as victims and perpetrators of violence.

Consequently, what started as women helping women soon transformed into a women-versus-women kind of situation.

To elaborate on this, if women were saviors in the case of Kikim and helped her deliver, there are enough instances where community allegiance overtook gender affiliation.

“From women protecting women, it soon turned into women targeting women. The love for one’s community overtook gender. Instead of protecting each other, women became perpetrators of violence,” said Nonibala from WinG, or Women in Governance.

A teacher turned activist, Nonibala’s switch from academics to the social sector was in 2005. When she saw Irom Chanu Sharmila on an indefinite fast, a guilt pang seized her: “I can’t stay hungry even for a day,” she said. Her penance: “Empower women.” Since then, there has been no looking back.

The present conflict, she told IPS, has taken its toll on women.

Vacillating between charges of being a protector and instigator, women in Manipur are central to the theme of sexual violence and attacks.

There are allegations and counter-allegations, accusations and denials, but a constant is the widespread fear and trauma.

In the eye of a storm are the Meira Paibis.

Roughly translated as torchbearers, Meira Paibis are an ethnic women-led social movement, that rose to prominence during the protest against the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, or AFSPA, that grants the military unparalleled power.

If the Kukis version is anything to go by, Meira Paibis are instigating some of the rapes of women of the minority community.

A member of the Kuki Women Organization for Human Rights, who requested anonymity for fear of being targeted, said she knew a dozen women were raped after Meira Paibis handed them over to menfolk. “Women abetting public rape and urging men to rape women, is a nightmare,” she told IPS.

This was substantiated by Momoi (name changed), who confirmed that one of the women in the mob watched her being beaten up by Meitei men.

On their part, Meira Paibis members refute this, claiming that women’s organizations do not differentiate between a Kuki or a Meitei. “I have handed over four abandoned children, all Kukis, to the Police in Imphal,” Sujata Devi told IPS, adding that the “first offensive” is always from “the people in the hills,” meaning the Kukis.

Popular as “voluntary mothers,” Devi’s organization, IMAGI MEIRA, has been at the forefront since the crisis.

She has had several run-ins with the police, including being under house arrest.

Caught in the crossfire are the likes of Thoibi and Memcha, who have lost friends. “All our friends suddenly see us as a Meitei. They have stopped talking to us.”

This “transition” is a disturbing narrative that throws up the inherent tensions in the state. Worse still, women pitched against women as participants and perpetrators of violence is chilling.

Now, peace is a distant dream and the divide a reality.

Is there a way forward? Will the wounds be balmed? Will they ever heal? Or will they continue to fester?

There are no easy answers or obvious solutions. At least as of now.

*Names changed to protect the safety of the women IPS spoke to.

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Experts warn that a decline in precipitation in Kashmir will severely impact the region's water resources. This could reduce river flows, which are essential for irrigation, hydropower, and drinking water supply downstream. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR, India, Mar 4 2025 (IPS)

The picturesque Kashmir Valley is battling nature’s fury. This time of year, its majestic mountains would typically be capped with thick snow, and its emerald streams would gush with fresh waters. However, none of these scenes are visible this year.

In the first 50 days of 2025, Kashmir witnessed a rainfall deficit of 83 percent. Data from the government’s meteorological department, accessed by Inter Press Service (IPS News), reveals that from January 1 to February 19, 2025, Kashmir recorded only 29.8 mm of rainfall against the normal precipitation of 175.8 mm—just 17 percent of the usual amount.

The mountainous region of Kargil in Ladakh recorded zero precipitation in 2025, marking a shocking 100 percent deficit compared to the normal rainfall of 18.5 mm.

Kathua, a frontier district bordering Pakistan, witnessed a deficit of 98 percent, with only 3.6 mm of rainfall recorded against the normal of 152.4 mm.

Srinagar, the region’s capital, recorded an 85 percent rainfall deficit in the same period.

Streams and Rivers are Drying up

The Jhelum River, considered the lifeline of Kashmir for water supplies, continues to witness receding water levels. Its level has dropped to -1.01 feet, below the Reduced Level (RL) of zero on the gauge. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Then and now: Achabal, a 16th-century Mughal garden. Composite: IPS

Rainfall deficit. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Achabal, a 16th-century Mughal garden, is known for its gushing water stream that flows through its center, providing scenic beauty to the park nestled among majestic Chinar trees. This stream is a vital water source for about 20 adjoining hamlets. For the first time in centuries, the stream has dried up. The fountains are now rusty iron relics from the Middle Ages, and the park presents a frightening sight for residents. Terrified locals have gathered near the stream—some reciting verses from the Quran, others cursing themselves for what they believe are sins that caused the centuries-old stream to dry up.

Renowned earth scientist Professor Shakeel Romshoo told IPS that climate change is the reason for the ongoing crisis.

“The mountains from which the springs emerge and flow down to the habitations are hollow. Snow is the primary source of water for them. Over the past six years, Kashmir has seen little to no snowfall, and what we are witnessing today is the outcome of that snowlessness,” Romshoo explains.

He added that the Kashmir Valley has experienced a significant decline in snowfall, particularly during the peak winter season, leading to the current alarming situation.

“Snowfall is a major source of water for Kashmir’s population. With the pervasive lack of snow, rivers, tributaries, and streams are drying up. These conditions could severely impact the tourism sector, horticulture, and food security systems in Kashmir, with far-reaching economic implications,” Romshoo says.

The Jhelum River, considered the lifeline of Kashmir for water supplies, continues to witness receding water levels. Its level has dropped to -1.01 feet, below the Reduced Level (RL) of zero on the gauge.

A top government official responsible for supplying potable water to Kashmir’s inhabitants told IPS that the persistent rainfall deficit has affected the recharging of water reservoirs across the valley. He stated that the department is in a situation where it cannot guarantee sufficient drinking water for the people of Kashmir in the coming months.

Gulmarg, a northern ski resort known for its world-famous slopes and enchanting snow-covered hills during winter, was dry and barren, with no traces of snow—a first-time scenario for locals. A small amount of snow has since fallen, but far below the usual expectations. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Skiers in Gulmarg, Kashmir, in 2023. Credit: Firdous Parray/Unsplash.

Barren Slopes of Gulmarg

Gulmarg, a northern ski resort known for its world-famous slopes and enchanting snow-covered hills during winter, is currently dry and barren, with few traces of snow—a first-time scenario for locals. A small amount of snow fell at the beginning of February—a little to late, some say, as the popular resort area has already lost thousands of visitors and this has had a knock-on effect on the local businesses.

Abdul Rahim Bhat, 73, a local who owns a tea kiosk at the resort, told IPS that such a sight—where brown grass dominates the landscape with no snow in sight—was unimaginable in the past.

“I have spent my entire life here. I have always seen white snow everywhere during winters. Now, even the tourists have stopped coming, impacting my business and livelihood,” Bhat says.

The winter games at Gulmarg, which attract skiers from around the world, had to be postponed due to the lack of snow.

“The required amount of snowfall for competitive games is not there, which is why we have postponed the event. Unless there is fresh snowfall, it is not possible to conduct the games,” Rauf Tramboo, President of the Winter Games Association of Jammu and Kashmir (WGAJK), said in a statement last week. The Olympic committee this week announced that the Gulmarg leg of the Khelo India Winter Games would be held from March 9 to 12 after snowfall.

As per the government estimates, the revenue realized from the Gulmarg Gondola, celebrated as Asia’s highest and longest cable car project, was USD 1.35 million until December 2024. The ski resort welcomed more than 148,357 visitors. The postponement of winter games and the lack of tourists had come as a major economic blow for the locals of the area whose livelihood is dependent on both.

Sharing his predicament is Peer Irfan, a local restaurant owner who says tourists have almost stopped arriving. “They [tourists] would come for snow and not for exploring the barren lands. Here, you can see there is no rush, not many tourists. We fear that if the situation continues to remain the same, we may lose our livelihood,” Irfan says.

He adds that the government has not paid any serious attention to the ongoing climate crisis in Kashmir and that those affected due to it have not been provided any monetary compensation.

“We earlier had demanded to be insured so that we could safeguard our livelihoods. However, the government hasn’t paid the least attention to our demands,” Irfan says.

The tourism industry in Kashmir generates around USD 912 million, contributing to nearly 7 percent of the state’s GDP. Sectors like handicrafts, transport and hospitality are directly dependent on it.

Dilshada Bano, a 37-year-old carpet weaver from north Kashmir’s Kupwara, says that if climate change continues to wreak havoc as it is now, the major impact will be on Kashmir’s local populace.

“Tourists buy our products and if they aren’t visiting, who is here to provide us with a livelihood? This year, the sales have dipped due to snowlessness as a smaller number of tourists have visited Kashmir. Slowly and subtly, it is showing the impact on us,” Bano told IPS.

Nisar Ahmad, a fisherman, says the drastic reduction in the lake’s water levels has left the fishing community struggling, as they grapple with the loss of their primary means of sustenance.Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

‘We are not doing enough’

Omar Abdullah, the head of the Kashmir government, stated that Kashmir is facing a severe threat from climate change, particularly in the form of a water crisis. He stressed the need for greater awareness and action. “We are not doing enough to educate our people about the dangers of climate change. A lot of that responsibility lies with us as political leaders,” Abdullah says.

Abdullah, however, did not mention whether the current situation could be declared a state of disaster for Kashmir.

Naeem Akhtar, a senior political leader and former minister, told IPS that drastic climate change is wreaking havoc on Kashmir, with alarming trends such as continuous drought, lack of snow during peak winter months, and the drying up of water bodies and springs that have been vital for centuries. He described the situation as deeply alarming and disturbing.

Akhtar says the government must prioritize addressing the pervasive effects of climate change. He urged the government to consult experts and closely monitor the situation.

“Short- and long-term action plans must be devised, including climate adaptation and mitigation measures, alongside the creation of a loss and damage fund to tackle the severe impacts of climate change. There should be no quick-fix solutions to this apocalyptic situation. A well-considered government response is the need of the hour,” Akhtar says. He warned that if the situation is not handled with caution, the region faces the looming threat of severe drinking water scarcity and a lack of irrigation facilities for agriculture and horticulture.

This year, the government has issued a general advisory to the farming community, advising them to delay sowing crops due to bad weather and water scarcity. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Farmers Plunged Into Anxiety

Abdul Salam Mir, a saffron farmer from Pampore in South Kashmir, told IPS that the dry weather and shifting weather patterns have put farmers in a difficult situation.

“We have little hope this time. Farming in Kashmir is entirely dependent on water. The acute water shortage is turning crops into dry, dead twigs. We cannot blame the government for this crisis. The climate has turned cruel,” Mir says.

Farmers make up 80 percent of the state’s population, and agriculture and horticulture are the backbone of the state’s economy. The unique climate in the foothills of the Himalayas allows for the cultivation of exotic fruits and vegetables not typically found in India.

However, this year, the government has issued a general advisory to the farming community, advising them to delay sowing crops due to bad weather and water scarcity. A senior official from the agriculture department confirmed that the advisory was issued to prevent further hardships for farmers and to draft a well-planned mechanism to tackle the pervasive crisis.

Although an insurance scheme for the farmers, namely the Pradhan Mantri Fasal Bima Yojana (PMFBY), was introduced in Kashmir as of Kharif 2016-17, its actual implementation has been inconsistent.

As per the farmers, the crop insurance schemes, particularly for fruit crops, have not been effectively executed over the years. This has left them vulnerable to losses from unpredictable weather.

“Last year, because of heavy rains, fruit growers in our area incurred heavy losses. When we approached the government for mitigation of the damage, the response was dismal. The assessment teams are yet to finalize the reports, leaving aside providing us with any financial assistance,” says Noor Mohammad Khan, an orchardist from South Kashmir’s Shopian.

Once a lifeline for nearly 10,000 fishing families in North Kashmir, the renowned Wular Lake is now fighting for its survival, with half of its expanse dried up due to prolonged dry weather in the Valley.

During winter, local fishermen from villages like Kehne Usa, Zurimanz, Ashtangoo, Lankrishipora, Laharwalpora, and Kulhama traditionally harvest fish from the lake, a vital source of income for the community.

“The lake now resembles a small stream. We have to push our boats to the center of Wular before we can even use our oars, as there’s so little water left. Fishing and harvesting chestnuts have been our only source of income for generations. Since my childhood, I’ve seen people rely on the lake for their livelihoods. Now, many in our community are forced to look for other work to survive,” says Nisar Ahmad, a fisherman from Kehneusa village.

The drastic reduction in the lake’s water levels has left the fishing community struggling as they grapple with the loss of their primary means of sustenance.

Doomsday Scenario?

Dr. Muhammad Muslim, an environmentalist and assistant professor in the Environmental Sciences department at Kashmir University, warned that a winter without precipitation in Kashmir would be catastrophic.

He says it’s a “doomsday scenario.”

“A decline in precipitation will severely impact the region’s water resources. Such an event could reduce river flows, which are essential for irrigation, hydropower, and drinking water supply downstream.

“Reduced snow accumulation during winter would lead to lower water availability in warmer months, potentially disrupting fragile ecosystems and agriculture in the region,” he says.

Echoing these concerns, Dr. Amjad M. Hussaini, an agricultural scientist, highlighted the grim future if snowfall and rainfall continue to decline.

“Winter precipitation is crucial for the healthy development of plants and their vegetative growth. Without it, this process will be severely disrupted,” he says. “The long-term consequences are alarming. Glaciers are receding, carbon emissions are rising, and deforestation is rampant. Unless we implement a robust afforestation plan as a top priority for at least the next decade, the situation will only worsen. Without immediate action, we are heading in a deeply negative direction.”

Scientists are sounding the alarm with renewed urgency, warning that the Earth is nearing a critical tipping point. Evidence suggests that global warming is on track to reach or exceed 1.5 degrees Celsius—the threshold established by the Paris Agreement.

A recent study published in Nature Climate Change reveals that record-breaking temperatures in 2024 could signal the start of a sustained period near or above this limit.

While natural phenomena like El Niño can cause temporary temperature spikes, the primary driver of this crisis remains human activity: our continued dependence on fossil fuels, widespread deforestation, and industrial practices that escalate greenhouse gas emissions.

These activities have driven CO2 levels to unprecedented highs, even as global climate conferences, such as COP29, reaffirm pledges to curb them.

The consequences of crossing the 1.5°C threshold are already evident. Heatwaves, floods, and wildfires are becoming more frequent, intense, and devastating.

Note: This feature is published with the support of Open Society Foundations.

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Excerpt:

Ibrahim Basheer, diving for mussels at Kovalam beach in Thiruvananthapuram. Credit: Bharath Thampi/IPS

By Bharath Thampi
THIRUVANANTHAPURAM, India, Feb 25 2025 (IPS)

Ibrahim Basheer plunges into the sea and disappears. He remains gone for a couple of minutes before resurfacing for a deep breath of air, repeating this for the next half an hour. When he finally climbs aboard his boat, the net sack around his neck is filled with mussels—his catch for that diving trip. He rests for a short while before diving into the sea again—needing one more such trip to fill the basket he has brought along.

An expert swimmer and a diver, Ibrahim has also been in the lifeguard service in Thiruvananthapuram for the last 17 years. Hailing from a fishing family, he started diving for mussels 28 years ago, when he was barely 18. But Ibrahim is also one of the hundreds of fishers in Thiruvananthapuram, the southernmost district of Kerala, who face the impending threat of losing their livelihood.

The Vizhinjam International Seaport Project, a joint venture by the Government of Kerala and the Adani Group, has been under the lens for the negative impact it’s causing on the marine habitats and ecosystems in the regions around the port. According to the mussel divers of these regions, there has been a significant downfall to the species’ habitat in the last decade or so.

The mussel size in fishing villages around Vizhinjam has reduced considerably. Credit: Bharath Thampi/IPS

Ibrahim Basheer has been diving for mussels for more than 28 years. Credit: Bharath Thampi /IPS

Ibrahim runs his fingers through the mussels in his basket: “Before (the port construction), we used to collect 2-4 baskets of large mussels in this same time. A day’s diving would easily earn us between Rs.3000 and Rs.5000 (between USD 30 and USD 58). Now, the mussels have become smaller. Their presence has plummeted. We barely make a third of what we used to in a day.”

Ibrahim says that the association of the mussel divers had reached an agreement not to pick the small mussels, allowing them to grow bigger naturally. But in the last few years, he says with dismay, the mussels in these regions don’t seem to be reaching their full size.

In 2023, a comprehensive study report, prepared by a team consisting of oceanographers, scientists, social scientists and other authoritative voices, was released by the renowned historian Ramachandra Guha. The report, titled ‘Our Beaches, Our Sea,’ speaks extensively of the potential loss of biodiversity in the regions in and around Vizhinjam due to the port project. The report lists 225 different species of Mollusca as part of the species biodiversity of Vizhinjam.

The report highlights the fact that fishers from more than 27 fishing villages in Thiruvananthapuram use the Vizhinjam fishing harbor, and any damage to the biodiversity of the region can seriously harm their livelihood.

Source: https://icsf.net/resources/our-beaches-our-sea-heritage-of-fishing-communities-usufruct-of-all-citizens/

Patrick Anthony, a fisher from the Valiyathura village, has been diving for mussels near the Valiyathura bridge for almost a decade now. The region around the bridge, which had a rich fish habitat all these years, has faced a drastic change in its ecosystem in recent years. The bridge, which had stood solid for nearly 70 years and symbolized the culture and history of Thiruvananthapuram’s fishing communities, had broken into two last year. The local communities, as well as scientific experts, have pinned the collapse of the bridge, as well as the loss of habitat around it, on the construction of the Vizhinjam port and the coastal erosion caused by it.

“I can barely collect around two baskets these days,” Patrick echoes Ibrahim’s sentiments. “While the rate for mussels has gone up in the market in the past few years, we fishers still sell it for the old rates. It has been a significant loss to our livelihood for some time now.”

Anil Kumar, a Deputy Director at the Fisheries Department of Kerala, attests to the fact that the construction of the port and the dredging activities related to it have certainly affected the habitat of mussels. He points out that adequate compensation had been given by the Vizhinjam International Seaport Limited (VISL)—a Government of Kerala undertaking incorporated to implement the Vizhinjam International Seaport Project—to the mussel divers in Thiruvananthapuram, who were directly impacted by the construction of the Vizhinjam port.

“We understand that in regions like Mulloor and Adimalathura, which lie close to the Vizhinjam port, the mussel ecosystem has been severely disturbed. It’s foreseeing the long-term impact of livelihood loss for the communities involved in mussel diving that we have provided compensation,” he adds.

According to Anil Kumar, the compensation package offered for fishers who relied on regular mussel fishing was Rs. 12.5 lakhs (about USD 14,400). This sum was offered to more than 50 fishers. Similarly, over 150 fishers who were seasonal mussel divers were offered a package of Rs. 2 lakhs (about USD 2,306). While the compensation was paid through VISL, the Fisheries Department conducted the survey to determine the eligibility of the fishers.

Source: Official website of VISL (https://vizhinjamport.in/)

But Anil Kumar rejects the claims of the fishers that the breeding and growth cycle of mussels in these regions has been affected due to the construction of the Vizhinjam port.

“No, there is no scientific proof behind that,” he says, adding, “Earlier, there was plenty of catch for these fishers. Now, since that has reduced, they have begun to catch the smaller/younger mussels, which in turn affects their normal growth. They may claim the opposite, but that’s the ground reality.”

Dr. Appukuttannair Biju Kumar, the head of the Dept. of Aquatic Biology and Fisheries at the University of Kerala, leans towards the narrative offered by the fishers, though. He grew up close to Mulloor, which was once a thriving center for the mussel ecosystem. The size of the mussels you get in this region has reduced considerably from what it was before the introduction of the port, he reckons.

“Mussels are filter feeders. When there is sedimentation and siltation, owing to dredging and other construction activities of the port, the feeding as well as the growth cycles of the mussel get adversely affected.” There have also been studies that prove the presence of poisonous plankton in the seawater in these regions, Biju Kumar notes.

These microscopic organisms, regionally termed Kadalkkara, are toxic algae that have thrived on the lack of oxygen in these waters. They not only impact the growth of mussels but also can cause adverse effects on the divers. Several mussel divers IPS spoke to had complained of itching and other skin infections they suffered while diving in the last 5 – 7 years. Biju Kumar does feel that there is a rationale behind their experience, citing the aforementioned phenomenon.

The port construction in the area has been blamed for affecting the size and availability of mussels. Credit: Bharath Thampi/IPS

As the port becomes operational in the future, the mussel ecosystem loss will only worsen, Biju Kumar suggests. Vizhinjam was once rich in biodiversity and clean water, with the mussel habitat playing a crucial role in the same. That is certainly a story of the past, he muses.

Ibrahim reaches back ashore at the lighthouse beach at Kovalam, where he often serves his duty as a lifeguard. As he places the basket on the beach, a couple of old women, who sell fish at the nearby market, come to inspect his catch. After a brief conversation, he seals the deal with one of the women for a price of Rs. 500 (about USD 5.77) for the whole of it. He turns towards me, shrugs, and says knowingly, “I told you I won’t get much for it. That’s the price of nearly two hours of work.”

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Pavitra Nandagiri—one of the highest-ranking transgender spiritual leaders at Maha Kumbh, the largest religious gathering on earth in Prayagraj, India. Credit: Stella Paul/IPS

By Stella Paul
PRAYAGRAJ, India, Feb 18 2025 (IPS)

Despite a blazing sun and growing heat, Pavitra Nandagiri sits on a cot smiling. Clad in a saffron robe and headgear with her forehead painted with turmeric and vermillion, Nandagiri is a Mahamandaleshwar—one of the highest-ranking monks of the Kinnar Akhada (Transgender Arena) at the Maha Kumbh, the world’s largest religious gathering currently underway in northern India.

As a steady stream of visitors pours in to touch her feet, Nandagiri raises her right hand and touches their heads in a gesture of accepting their respect and blesses them.

Just a few hours ago, she had taken part in the special, ceremonial snan (bathing) in the Sangam—a place with mythological significance where three holy rivers—Ganga, Jamuna and Saraswati—are believed to have met. Taking a dip in the confluence of these rivers is considered by Hindus as the most sacred act of one’s lifetime.

The ceremonial bathing is led by the most important of the living Hindu saints and godmen who follow a strict order of hierarchy. On Wednesday morning (February 12), the fourth ceremonial bathing of the 45-day Maha Kumbh was held. Fifteen transgender spiritual leaders, including Nandagiri, marched along with the Naga Sadhus and Aghoris—the legendary saints with ash-covered bodies, matted hair, and minimalistic clothing. Together, they bathed in the river with the holy chant of “Har har Mahadev” (Hail Shiva) while saints of other sects waited for their turn.

A devotee prays at the Maha Kumbh Sangam, where three rivers are believed to have converged. While two of the rivers—Ganges and Yamuna—are visible, the third river, Saraswati, is said to be hidden underneath. Credit: Stella Paul/IPS

Later, inside the Kinnar Akhada, trans gurus receive visitors while some are seen performing some rituals and meditating along with Aghori ascetics. Asked how the partnership between the third highest order of the religious saints and the trans leaders came to be, Nandagiri says that it had been in the making since 2015 and culminated in a functioning collaboration during this year’s Maha Kumbh, which happens once every 12 years. She, however, does not share other details except that perhaps what brought together the two sects is their shared denouncement of worldly pleasure and embracing of a life free from its wealth and other complexities.

Transgender-Inclusive Kumbh: Conditions Apply

At the Kumbh, Akharas are organized into various sects, primarily categorized based on their philosophical orientation and the deity they worship. The two main sects are Shaiva Akharas, dedicated to Lord Shiva, and Vaishnava Akharas, devoted to Lord Vishnu. Each Akhara operates under a hierarchical structure, typically led by a Mahant (chief) or Acharya (spiritual leader) who oversees the spiritual and administrative functions.

The inclusion of the transgender Acharyas in the Kumbh, especially as a part of the highly revered Juna Akhada of the group of the Naga Sadhus, however, has not been completely free of controversies. Some have disputed their claim of embracing a minimalistic life and accused them of indulging in a game of power and authority considered unbefitting for true sainthood.

On January 24, the community ushered in a former film actress called Mamta Kulkarni as one of its top leaders, which led to protests by many both from within the trans community and leaders of other Hindu sects, who described it as a public relations stunt. Baba Ramdev—a well-known yoga guru—called it a violation of the Hindu religious ethos. Some gurus went as far as threatening to boycott the next Kumbh—to be held in 2037—if the Kinnar Akhada is not excluded from the ritual bathing.

Kalyani Nandagiri—another top-ranking trans guru who opposed the actress’s inclusion—was physically attacked by unidentified assailants on February 12.

A monk at the Transgender Arena within the Maha Kumbh. Credit: Stella Paul/IPS

Despite these deep divisions and acts of violence, Pavitra Nanndgiri remains hopeful of the community’s future.

“People say a lot of things; some wrongs also happen. But such small issues should not be highlighted much. We are here today, and we will be here then (in the next Kumbh),” she says, sounding more like a peace advocate.

A Different Picture

While inside the Kinnar Akhada, trans gurus are busy receiving and blessing visitors; outside, on the street, a small crowd of men is seen surrounding a young trans man dancing to the fast beats of music.

“This is Launda Naach,” says Ajeet Bahadur—a local theater artist. “It’s a common form of rural entertainment here, performed typically by cross-dressing trans men.”

The audience of Launda Naach is typically male. It is said to have started at a time when women were not allowed to dance in public because of orthodox social norms. However, today the moves of a Launda Naach performer are often sleazy and according to Ajeet Bahadur, the dancers are often sexually exploited, and their performance is rarely seen as art.

“Their lives are unbelievably miserable; there is little respect for their art, all eyes are on their bodies and exploitation and poverty are a constant part of their lives,” says Bahadur, who has studied the lives of Launda Naach performers for some time.

Aside from Launda Naach performers, thousands of other trans men and women in India struggle to earn a living. They are usually seen begging on the street and inside public transport, while many are also often accused of extorting money from small businesses such as shopkeepers in local markets. Not surprisingly, the presence of a trans person in India usually evokes a mix of fear and contempt instead of the deep respect that is on display in the Kinnar Akhada of the Kumbh. Will the elevated status of the gurus here lead to any change in the social status of the common trans people?

Priyanka Nandagiri, a transgender monk, says that it cannot be guaranteed. “Broadly, the transgender community in India is divided into two groups: the Sanatani and the Deredaar. We are the members of the Sanatani group who have always been immersed in religious activities, while the Deredaar are the ones who have chosen a different lifestyle, such as performing dances on the street and at social events like weddings, etc. So, we have always been following separate paths,” she explains.

Dwita Acharya and Mohini Acharya—two other trans monks—nod in agreement: “It will depend on what life they choose,” they say in unison.

”If they want to follow our path (the Sanatani), they will get that recognition but if they want to continue with their usual Deredaar lifestyle, then people will continue to view them accordingly.”

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Homes with large, south-facing windows harness the winter sunlight, naturally warming interior spaces throughout the day. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR, India, Jan 20 2025 (IPS)

India’s average temperature has risen by 0.7°C since 1901, bringing more frequent and intense heat waves, erratic rainfall patterns, and a marked decline in monsoon consistency since the 1950s.

With projections suggesting a 2°C global temperature increase, India faces the risk of even greater instability in summer monsoon patterns. Extreme weather events such as floods, droughts, and cyclones are already becoming more common, placing the country as the seventh most affected globally by climate change-related weather events in 2019.

In Kashmir, the impacts are just as stark; the average maximum temperature in Srinagar rose by 1.05°C between 1980–1999 and 2000–2019, and the winter of 2023–2024 was the driest on record, marking the hottest winter in 18 years.

With climate change reshaping the region, the importance of climate-resilient architecture has become crucial.

In this photo essay, IPS explores the ingenious climate-responsive architecture of Kashmir, developed during the 19th and early 20th centuries, which showcases how traditional techniques created structures capable of withstanding the region’s extreme weather patterns.

Deodar wood, locally sourced and resistant to cold and moisture, is the backbone of Kashmir’s climate-resilient architecture. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Double-glazed windows trap warmth indoors while letting sunlight in, making them a modern staple in Kashmir’s evolving architecture. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Older homes in Srinagar’s downtown demonstrate the success of traditional design, staying warm and cozy even in mid-winter. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Thick layers of mud plaster cover many homes, trapping warmth inside and blocking the winter cold from entering. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Using stone or concrete, modern designs absorb daytime heat and release it gradually at night, enhancing comfort. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Verandas and balconies, or Deodis, act as barriers against the cold, helping maintain warmth inside. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

Hakim Sameer Hamdani, senior architect and project coordinator with the Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage. Hamdani is the author of Syncretic Traditions of Islamic Religious Architecture of Kashmir. Credit: Umar Manzoor Shah/IPS

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