You Gave Me a Mountain

The Himalayan mountain ranges are staring at a grim future. Freedom from mindless and unplanned construction is the need of the hour

- Swati Subhedar

THE scene was a study in contrasts. It was a pleasant July afternoon. A gentle breeze was blowing. We were surrounded by stunning Himalayan mountains. And then there was a trail of destruction. Debris was strewn all around. As if an earthquake had just struck.

Very carefully, adjusting our steps on the few stable bricks, we followed Raghu Singh Kunwar, 43, who was taking us to his home down the mountain, a home that once was. We stopped and contemplated when we had to cross a long, crumbling pavement-it was slanted 30 degrees, all set to cave in. It had rained the previous night, making it even more unstable. "This is the only way," says Kunwar.

It led us to his living room, overlooking the mountains. No roof, no walls; more debris. "I used to have tea sitting next to the window here. There was the kitchen. My wife loved these colourful tiles," he said, while picking up a broken tile. There were broken pieces of a desktop keyboard, a broken cupboard, a broken almirah, broken crockery... and broken dreams. "I don't come here often. There are so many memories. It makes me emotional," he adds, his voice choking. There were other homes around, razed to the ground. There were remains of green and pink walls; walls that were once home.

Kunwar's dream home was the epicentre of the tragedy that struck Joshimath in Uttarakhand-perched on a hill at an altitude of 6,150 feet-last year. Land subsidence was the term used. Satellite images released by the Indian Space Research Organisation (ISRO) showed that the town sank at a pace of 5.4 cm in just 12 days-from December 27, 2022 to January 8, 2023. More than 700 homes developed cracks, many buildings had to be demolished or evacuated, many left.