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By:

Shiv Sethi

10 January 2026 at 8:13:11 pm

Reading India from Its Margins

India’s developmental narrative centres on economic expansion, infrastructural transformation and the aspirations of an increasingly confident nation. Yet, a considerable gap separates this narrative from the experiences of its most neglected communities. In Potpourri, bilingual poet and writer Kallol Choudhury draws attention to southern Assam’s Barak Valley, whose social, ecological and administrative challenges rarely feature in national discourse. Through journalistic reports, interviews...

Reading India from Its Margins

India’s developmental narrative centres on economic expansion, infrastructural transformation and the aspirations of an increasingly confident nation. Yet, a considerable gap separates this narrative from the experiences of its most neglected communities. In Potpourri, bilingual poet and writer Kallol Choudhury draws attention to southern Assam’s Barak Valley, whose social, ecological and administrative challenges rarely feature in national discourse. Through journalistic reports, interviews and literary reviews, the collection examines institutional indifference and questions how progress itself is understood. A compelling dimension of the collection is its exploration of geographical abundance and human deprivation. Choudhury’s account of Sonbeel, also called Sanbil, a vast wetland surrounded by numerous villages, reveals the irony of communities amid natural wealth yet struggling to access essential services. The absence of a doctor at a healthcare centre and the difficulty of transporting patients along inadequate roads expose failures beyond geography. This reflects development journalism’s focus on public policy’s effects on ordinary lives. Unlike celebratory accounts that measure progress through investment figures and official announcements, Choudhury highlights the human cost of incomplete development. The wetland embodies the coexistence of natural resources and public neglect, challenging the assumption that economic potential translates into social well-being. The endangered Gangetic dolphins of the Barak River extend this argument to environmental responsibility. Habitat degradation, siltation and destructive fishing threaten a species dependent on a healthy aquatic environment, while the failure to establish a proposed dolphin sanctuary exposes the gap between conservation rhetoric and administrative action. Choudhury’s concerns echo environmental writing that treats ecological destruction as an ethical, not merely scientific, issue. The dolphins’ fate is inseparable from the river’s condition and the communities that depend on it. Both livelihoods and biodiversity suffer when environmental protection takes a back seat to competing priorities. This complicates the opposition between conservation and development: the question is not whether development should proceed, but whether it is meaningful when it compromises the ecological foundations of collective survival. Transportation and infrastructure offer another measure of the region’s marginalisation. Difficulties with the Lumding–Silchar railway connection deepen economic vulnerability, disrupting the movement of people and goods, affecting essential commodities’ availability and cost, and restricting access to healthcare and employment. Compared with metropolitan centres, an uncomfortable imbalance emerges: infrastructure is celebrated as a national achievement, while inadequate connectivity in peripheral regions receives far less attention. Choudhury urges readers to judge infrastructure by its social utility rather than symbolic grandeur. A railway line’s real value lies not merely in engineering but in the opportunities it enables. When connectivity remains precarious, geographical distance becomes economic disadvantage and isolation takes on the character of structural inequality. The collection’s most sensitive intervention concerns the classification of individuals as ‘D’ or doubtful voters, extending the discussion from material deprivation to citizenship, identity and administrative justice. For economically vulnerable individuals, uncertainty over citizenship documentation threatens dignity, security and belonging. The contrast between electoral administration’s abstract language and a daily-wage worker’s precarious circumstances is particularly revealing. Unlike conventional discussions of citizenship, which privilege constitutional principles, political arguments or institutional procedures, Choudhury foregrounds the human consequences of bureaucratic decisions. Legal and administrative categories, however necessary, operate within unequal social conditions, leaving those with limited resources less equipped to navigate prolonged procedures or bear their costs. The larger question is whether administrative systems can ensure accountability without imposing disproportionate hardship on vulnerable citizens. As a compilation of journalistic and literary forms, Potpourri lacks the sustained argumentative progression of a conventional analytical monograph. Its varied subjects may create shifts in emphasis that readers accustomed to a continuous narrative find uneven. Yet this diversity offers an advantage. Moving between ecological vulnerability, infrastructural deficiencies, healthcare limitations and citizenship anxieties, Choudhury reveals how seemingly unrelated problems stem from a failure to recognise marginalised populations’ needs. His poet’s sensibility brings human vulnerability to subjects otherwise confined to administrative language and statistics. The collection’s journalistic character is inseparable from its moral purpose: making visible what routine public discourse overlooks. Ultimately, Potpourri invites a reconsideration of the relationship between the national mainstream and India’s regional margins. Though rooted in the Barak Valley, its concerns extend across the country. How should development be assessed when basic services remain inaccessible? What does environmental protection mean when implementation fails? How secure is citizenship when administrative uncertainty overwhelms everyday life? Choudhury need not offer a comprehensive policy blueprint for these questions to matter. His achievement lies in documenting the disparity between public promises and lived experience. Potpourri is a valuable contribution to regional reportage, reminding readers that national progress must be measured not only by visible achievements but also by the dignity, security and opportunities extended to those farthest from the centre of power. (The writer is literary critic, book reviewer and columnist. Views personal.)

Bharat’s Jetson Cities, Light-years Away from Nature

Jan 18, 2025
5 min read

Updated: Jan 20, 2025

Jetson Cities

One thing is for certain: our Bharatiya cities, the big metros and towns, are fast becoming like the ‘Jetson’ cities. For those who are unaware of Jetson cities, these were first shown in the famous Hanna-Barbera cartoon series, the Jetsons, set in the 2100s, where cities are air-tight glass globules tethered to the ground, and the only way to get in and out are the flying cars. Yes, we, the city-dwellers, aspire to tall skyscrapers, spectacular bridges, world-class tunnels, swooshing metro trains, and we are building Jetson-like flying cars. A few HD drone images here and there, during the day and at night and around twilight, and we are content that our cities have become the cynosure of our own eyes. We want our cities to be brightly lit, with neon signs, laser shows, and large billboard videos. We would then fulfil our inner desire to have a city on par with Tokyo, New York, and Shanghai.


Our buildings, designed for the next 30 years, are well air-conditioned, shielding occupants from a soupy dust bowl of brown smog, soot, particulate matter, and fine dust. It is said that most new home buyers invest at least 10% of their property’s price in enhancing the interiors, soundproofing their homes, using air purifiers and conditioners, and disconnecting from the outside world for that much-needed solace. Indeed, large builders promote their projects as close to nature amidst tranquillity. However, there is always another builder eager to get one plot of land ahead of yours to enjoy that nature. To be truthful, access to nature now comes at a premium - even the skies.


Let’s assume the working-age population is occupied in the leisure of our Jetson cities, but how many of their young school and college-going kids have seen the long arm of the Milky Way galaxy from their cities? How many have witnessed a comet zooming by? How many know about endemic plants with medicinal properties? When did they last see a chirping house sparrow? How many know that the nearest sewage drain was once a freshwater stream? When did they last find their suburban beach prettier than the resort beaches of Maldives?


The intent to ask these questions is simple: Bharat is currently at a crossroads. Pundits are enthusiastic about a cultural renaissance on the horizon. Corporate leaders, on the other hand, want us to invest hundreds of hours each week to pay our dues to the growth of the national GDP. But no one asks, if a cultural renaissance is to occur, who will generate the new understandings and insights of nature that arise typically during such a period of human advancement? No one is actually asking, for whom are we building the nation if there is no time for children, or worse, if there is no time or intent to have children. In the process of growing rich, we are about to become old. By 2047, 65% of the population under the age of 35 will grow beyond 35 all at once, and we’d have an enormous population in advanced ages with a tapering young population, a graph that looks like a banyan tree. Unfortunately, that young population will have no access to the knowledge that nature has to offer, neither flora and fauna nor the seas and the skies.


Our urbane lifestyles need tempering. Such tempering can occur only if we ensure the revival of natural sciences during this period of cultural renaissance and nation-building. Let’s not rely solely on the educational system. With Indian Knowledge Systems, constructive changes are underway, and academic curricula are poised to improve for the greater good. However, true knowledge arises only when parents and grandparents introduce children to nature. Genuine understanding also develops from extracurricular activities in schools and colleges that encourage kids to observe, journal, and act on their discoveries. On the positive side, our country’s forest cover is increasing, as announced by the government. However, efforts must be made to ensure that every school or college, whether in Mumbai, Vijayawada, Gorakhpur, Ratlam, Thrissur, Bhuj, Faridabad, Imphal, Manali, Cuttack, or Ajmer, guarantees that their students are well aware of the endemic nature of their surroundings and are regularly observing and recording data on whatever interests them. Let kids observe rivers and understand the volume of water that flows through them. Let children learn about the decline of house sparrows in their cities and what steps should be taken to revive their populations. Let them study the bees in their nearby groves and recognise the vital role these bees play in nature.


Of course, you need to learn AI, robotics, fintech, the next generation of management courses, and all the engineering bells and whistles. However, we must not leave the next generation with inadequate comprehension and skills for understanding nature. We must ensure that nature conservation is not merely lip service or a tool for politicised green activists. This can be achieved if natural sciences are given the respect they deserve at the school, undergraduate, and postgraduate levels.


Indeed, I am a plebeian, and you might feel that you, too, could write a rant about the plight of our urban lives. Urban development and municipal experts have many solutions to propose, but few are willing to take action. However, that is not the issue I wish to highlight. I aim to illustrate a much larger concern—that Indian city dwellers are disoriented and devoid of nature, lacking a guiding star to lead them toward a brighter future. Our cities of Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, Ahmedabad, Kolkata, and Chennai have taken on characteristics reminiscent of Jetson-like cities. We show little regard for the Nagar Devata, Gram Devata, and Van Devata, who have protected the cities, towns, and forests that once surrounded us. We wait for formal governance to clean up our beaches, rivers, and ponds without making sufficient efforts to prevent pollution in the first place.


For those striving to grasp spirituality not through the Puranas and Aadi-Granth but through new-age podcasts, I recommend watching Vinay Varanasi’s podcast on Bhagavan Vishnu’s Dashavatar. If it is clear that Bhagavan Vishnu does not tolerate disregard for Bhudevi or Mother Earth, why do we, the devotees of Bhagavan Vishnu, continue to pollute our Mother Earth—her air, soil, waters, and sounds? Or have we taken Elon Musk's words at face value, assuming our next destination is Mars after destroying Earth, only to ruin Mars later, even worse than its current clinically sterile state? If that is the case, then bear with me when I say this: these Jetson cities stand on precarious pillars of ego, victimhood, apathy, and consumerism, waiting to be toppled either by the true harbingers of order or by false prophets. Therefore, teach the next generations to observe nature, appreciate our coexistence with other species, and venerate the forces of nature. By doing so, we humans will be good, at least for the next thousand years. If not, prepare for a bleak future by the end of this century.


(The author is a Space and Emerging Technology Fellow at the Centre for Security, Strategy and Technology, Observer Research Foundation, Mumbai. Views personal.)

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