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By:

C.S. Krishnamurthy

21 June 2025 at 2:15:51 pm

Ekta Bhyan, Quiet Gold

The strongest lessons in life rarely arrive with drumbeats. They come quietly, sit beside us, and stay long after the applause fades. I learnt this at the recent Peakst8 Festival in the world-class Padukone-Dravid Centre for Sports Excellence Bengaluru. The venue was full of ambition, energy, loud confidence and polished success stories. Yet, it was gold-winning para-athlete Ekta Bhyan who held my attention, not by raising her voice, but by lowering the noise around her. She was an integral...

Ekta Bhyan, Quiet Gold

The strongest lessons in life rarely arrive with drumbeats. They come quietly, sit beside us, and stay long after the applause fades. I learnt this at the recent Peakst8 Festival in the world-class Padukone-Dravid Centre for Sports Excellence Bengaluru. The venue was full of ambition, energy, loud confidence and polished success stories. Yet, it was gold-winning para-athlete Ekta Bhyan who held my attention, not by raising her voice, but by lowering the noise around her. She was an integral part of a panel discussing what it takes to reach the Olympics. Others spoke of pressure, fame and sacrifice. Ekta spoke of routine. Of turning up. Of patience. There were no heroic flourishes in her words. Each sentence was measured, calm and grounded. Listening to her, I sensed a deep reserve of experience. She was not trying to impress. She was simply explaining how life had unfolded. A spinal injury, in 2003, had left her paralysed. This is usually where stories pause for sympathy. Ekta’s does not. She spoke of rebuilding, not rebelling. Of learning what the body could still do, and then working patiently within those limits. Para sport entered her life quietly, not as rescue, but as direction. Over time, she found her space in the F51 club throw, a demanding discipline where balance, precision and control matter more than force. What stayed with me was her restraint. She mentioned podium finishes only in passing. International meets, Asian Para Games, world championships, all appeared briefly and then moved aside. Even the gold medal she had earned was referred to almost casually, as one would mention a milestone on a long road. For her, medals are not destinations. They are confirmations. Steely Discipline Ekta spoke about training. It is not exciting, she said. It repeats itself. Progress hides. Muscles resist. The mind looks for shortcuts. Yet commitment must remain steady. She described days when success meant completing a session without excuses. On some mornings, it was finishing gym work despite fatigue. Evenings meant outdoor practice, carefully timed because regulating body temperature is a constant challenge after spinal injury. For nearly three years, she has not missed a single day of training. With limited muscle use and only about forty per cent lung capacity, each session needs careful planning. Her shoulders are her strongest allies. Other muscles cooperate less. Fingers offer no strength at all. Still, she works with what she has. Over the last four years, this discipline has translated into results. Gold medals at national championships. A bronze at the Asian Para Games. Gold and bronze at the World Championships in Paris in 2023. This season alone, she added gold at the Indian Open Paralympic Championships and a silver soon after. Her personal best stands at 21.5 metres, and she speaks of improving it, not defending it. There was a gentler revelation too. As a young girl, Ekta had once dreamt of becoming a doctor. She wanted to heal. Life rewrote the syllabus. Yet, listening to her, I realised she still heals. Not with medicine, but with example. Her journey treats assumptions and restores belief, quietly and effectively. Human Moment After the session, when the crowd thinned, I walked up to her with my notebook. I asked for her autograph, expecting a quick signature. She paused, asked my name, and wrote hers carefully. That small act reflected everything she had spoken about. Presence. Respect. Attention. Her daily life, she earlier shared, is not simple. She needs two people to help with routine movements, from transferring to travel. Public transport is impossible. Every trip requires planning, space and expense. Often, she bears the cost for three people, not one. Yet, she spoke of this without complaint. The harder challenge, she said, is mindset. People with disabilities are still seen as separate from the mainstream. Expectations are lowered, often disguised as kindness. Ekta resists this quietly. Her competition is internal. Yesterday versus today. Comfort versus effort. Paralysis, she believes, is a condition, not an identity. As I left the venue, the applause felt inadequate. Not because it was soft, but because her journey asks for reflection, not noise. Ekta Bhyan reminds us that ambition can change shape without losing meaning. That success does not always announce itself. Sometimes, it arrives quietly, balanced and consistent. Her strength lies not only in the distance she throws, but in the steadiness she maintains. And in that quiet balance, Ekta Bhyan offers us something rare. A lesson that stays long after the hall has emptied.   (The writer is a retired banker and author of ‘Money Does Matter.’)

Greater Andaman Nicobar Project: India’s Strategic Necessity, Not Ecological Folly

Part 1: The Centre’s Greater Andaman Nicobar project seeks to bolster maritime security and economic growth in the Indo-Pacific. However, its critics are masking their opposition to it as ‘environmental concern.’ Our two-part series examines the controversy.

As India seeks to assert itself as a global power, few initiatives illustrate the collision between strategic ambition and domestic dissent more sharply than the Greater Andaman Nicobar Integrated Development Project (GANIDP). Announced with great fanfare by the Narendra Modi government, this Rs. 72,000-crore venture aims to transform the Andaman and Nicobar Islands into a regional economic and military linchpin. Its proponents envision a sprawling transshipment port, an international airport, a power plant and a modern township, turning the archipelago into India’s equivalent of Hong Kong.


Yet the Opposition, using rhetoric couched in the language of ecological and tribal preservation, has turned the project into a political flashpoint. The project’s strategic rationale is unambiguous. Situated astride key maritime routes in the Indo-Pacific, the Andaman-Nicobar chain holds the potential to reinforce India’s naval reach, particularly in an era of rising Chinese assertiveness. As Beijing expands its military footprint across the region, India sees the need to counterbalance China’s presence at Coco Island - a strategically placed Chinese base in Myanmar that was acquired by them due to a diplomatic oversight by Jawaharlal Nehru’s government in the 1950s.


If left unchecked, China’s hold on Coco Island risks threatening India’s control over the critical Malacca Strait, through which a substantial portion of India’s trade passes.


Despite this, the Opposition and a clutch of environmental activists have seized upon the project as emblematic of reckless development. Congress leader Sonia Gandhi described the project in a national daily as “an ecological disaster,” warning of its potential to uproot tribal communities and push unique species such as the Andaman-Nicobar long-tailed macaque and sea turtles toward extinction. The Opposition’s rhetoric is potent given that the image of vulnerable tribes and fragile ecosystems under siege resonates deeply in India’s public discourse.


Inconvenient truths

But this narrative fails to reckon with inconvenient facts. The Jarawa tribe, often held up as the most endangered by the project, has not only survived but grown in number. From a meagre 380 individuals during the UPA regime, their population now stands at 647, according to the latest estimates. Rather than representing an existential threat, the current government has rigorously enforced the 2004 ‘Minimal Interference Policy’, clamping down on illegal tourism, hunting, and exploitation of tribal women. The data suggest a conservation success story rather than ecological catastrophe.


Similarly, India’s broader wildlife record tells a more nuanced story. Elephants and tigers - symbols of India’s biodiversity - are all experiencing population rebounds. From 27,000 elephants in 2014 to nearly 30,000 in 2025, and tigers rising from 2,226 to 3,682 over the same period, these statistics belie the narrative of Modi-era environmental negligence as alleged by a certain group of environmentalists. Such numbers indicate that India is capable of pursuing economic development without sacrificing ecological stewardship.


Moreover, historical perspective reveals a clear double standard in the outcry over the Andamans. In the 1980s and ’90s, activist Medha Patkar led the Narmada Bachao Andolan against the Sardar Sarovar Dam, decrying it as an environmental and humanitarian tragedy. For years, the project stalled, depriving millions of arid farmers in Gujarat of irrigation and drinking water. Only in 2000 did the Supreme Court allow the dam’s height to increase, unleashing long-delayed progress.


Retrospective evaluation suggests that the movement was politically manipulated to slow India’s growth. The current opposition bears striking similarity. Several NGOs opposing the Andaman project reportedly received foreign funding before India’s tightened restrictions on external financial support in 2014. Since then, many such organisations have gone silent, either shuttering operations or refocusing their efforts abroad. The obvious question that arises is whether these actors truly motivated by environmental preservation, or is this part of a broader political strategy to stymie India’s development trajectory?


Victimhood narrative

Sonia Gandhi’s focus on tribal displacement evokes a familiar narrative of sanctity and victimhood. But if developmental displacement was overlooked when farmlands gave way to New Delhi’s urban sprawl (where once jackals roamed, now high-rises dominate) why treat Andaman tribes as uniquely sacrosanct? The inconvenient truth is that no industrial or urban project proceeds without displacement. The central issue is not whether land will be taken, but whether the affected communities are treated with dignity and offered adequate compensation - a standard that should apply universally.


Environmental activists and Western publications alike have jumped on the bandwagon, casting the project as part of Modi’s alleged ‘war’ against the environment. But why has there been little outrage when China expanded its military footprint on Coco Island, home to similarly rare flora and fauna? The silence on this issue is telling. If biodiversity were truly the primary concern, activists would have raised the alarm decades ago when China began militarizing the island. Instead, their focus is selective, surfacing now, when India dares to assert its own security interests.


Beyond the politics, the economic case for the Greater Andaman Nicobar Project is compelling.


The Indo-Pacific is the fastest-growing economic region globally, with trillions of dollars in trade transiting through its waters. India’s ability to establish a transshipment hub in the Andamans would not only reduce reliance on foreign ports but also enhance the nation’s connectivity with Southeast Asia and beyond. With the world’s supply chains becoming more fragmented, the strategic value of a secure, modern port cannot be overstated.


Moreover, the power plant and airport components are designed to overcome the islands’ long-standing infrastructural bottlenecks, catalysing local employment, boosting regional economic output, and improving living standards. The modern township would aim to provide not only accommodation for workers but also critical public amenities, setting a precedent for sustainable island urbanisation.


That said, the Modi government has not ignored the environmental component. Comprehensive impact assessments, adherence to strict regulations under the Andaman & Nicobar Islands (Protection of Aboriginal Tribes) Regulation, and explicit commitments to the ‘Minimal Interference Policy’ all form part of the project’s official blueprint. These measures seek to strike a balance between development and conservation, although opponents prefer to see only the risks, not the safeguards.


Ultimately, the Greater Andaman Nicobar Project is not an ecological sin, as critics insist, nor a luxury vanity project. It is a strategic shield designed to safeguard India’s sovereignty, secure vital trade routes, and project influence in the increasingly contested Indo-Pacific region. Far from being a symbol of reckless ambition, it reflects a nuanced, carefully calibrated strategy to achieve economic growth, security, and ecological balance in parallel.


The opposition, when examined closely, reveals itself less as a defence of environmental or tribal welfare and more as political doublespeak in their fervent attempt to weaponize sentiment against development. As the great Hindi poet Ramdhari Singh Dinkar once poignantly observed, “The battle is not over, the sin lies not only with the aggressor. Those who stand neutral, shall also be judged by time as guilty.”


India’s vision for the Andaman-Nicobar archipelago is about sovereignty and security. To oppose it in the name of the environment while ignoring strategic threats and the lessons of history is not just myopic but downright dishonest.

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