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Correspondent

21 August 2024 at 10:20:16 am

Thirsty Metropolis

Barely a year after torrential rains submerged large parts of Mumbai’s, the city’s water sources have fallen to critical levels and water rationing has returned. This year, a bad monsoon has led to Mumbai’s reservoirs falling to barely 9 percent of its capacity, forcing water cuts across India’s financial capital. The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) has halted supplies to construction sites and swimming pools, and tightened restrictions on commercial users. Predictably, the...

Thirsty Metropolis

Barely a year after torrential rains submerged large parts of Mumbai’s, the city’s water sources have fallen to critical levels and water rationing has returned. This year, a bad monsoon has led to Mumbai’s reservoirs falling to barely 9 percent of its capacity, forcing water cuts across India’s financial capital. The Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) has halted supplies to construction sites and swimming pools, and tightened restrictions on commercial users. Predictably, the politicians blame a delayed monsoon. But blaming the weather alone is convenient and wrong. Mumbai’s water woes are not merely a meteorological problem but the result of decades of political complacency and administrative neglect. Mumbai receives roughly 2,000 mm of rainfall annually. Few global cities are blessed with such abundance. Yet, every year the city oscillates between flooding and scarcity, unable to capture excess water when the skies open and unable to conserve enough when they do not. Mumbai consumes around 4,000 million litres of water daily. More than 900 million litres of treated water reportedly disappear through leakages and illegal connections every day. Non-revenue water losses have climbed above 30 percent, substantially higher than they were fifteen years ago. In other words, the city loses more water through inefficiency than the size of its official supply deficit. Instead, successive administrations have preferred to search for another reservoir farther away. From Vihar in the nineteenth century to Tulsi, Tansa and eventually the Vaitarna system, the city’s answer to rising demand has always been to extend its hydraulic empire.
Such an approach may have worked when Mumbai was smaller. Today, it looks increasingly fragile in an era of climate volatility as a weak monsoon now threatens millions. Meanwhile, local water sources have been allowed to decay. The Mithi River, once a functioning ecosystem, has become an open drain carrying untreated sewage and industrial waste. Wetlands that naturally stored and filtered water have steadily shrunk under developmental pressure. Wells and ponds that historically provided resilience have largely disappeared from public policy. The tragedy is that Mumbai possesses solutions that it refuses to deploy at scale. Rainwater harvesting has been mandatory for many buildings for more than two decades. Yet enforcement remains patchy enough for corporators to demand audits of compliance. Wastewater reuse offers another missed opportunity. Mumbai treats only a fraction of the sewage it generates. The city that pioneered industrial water recycling in India during the 1960s has somehow failed to make reuse central to its twenty-first-century water strategy. India’s financial capital cannot continue treating every dry spell as an unforeseen emergency. Climate change will make rainfall even more erratic in future. In truth, Mumbai does not suffer from a lack of water. It suffers from a lack of imagination. Until politicians focus less on announcing new projects and more on reviving wetlands, harvesting rain and recycling wastewater, every monsoon will remain a gamble.

Reef Politics

  • AP
  • Oct 3, 2025
  • 3 min read

China’s ‘nature reserve’ at Scarborough Shoal is less about saving coral and more about cementing control.

In the South China Sea, conservation has become a new language of power. China’s latest gambit is to declare a ‘nature reserve’ around Scarborough Shoal, a speck of reef closer to Manila than to Beijing. To the Philippines, China’s move (it had seized the shoal in 2012) smacks of ecological greenwash masking geopolitical muscle.


Scarborough matters for reasons far beyond its lagoon. For the Philippines, it is both a breadbasket and a symbol. The shoal lies squarely within its 200-nautical-mile exclusive economic zone (EEZ), as defined by the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). Filipino fishermen have plied these waters for generations. China, however, asserts what it calls “historic rights” over almost the entire South China Sea, demarcated by its infamous “nine-dash line” (later stretched to ten). In 2012, following a tense naval standoff, China seized de facto control of the shoal, barring Filipino vessels and cementing its presence with coast guard patrols.


Four years later an international tribunal in The Hague ruled in Manila’s favour, declaring China’s claims legally baseless and reaffirming the Philippines’ rights over Scarborough. Beijing ignored the verdict. In the decade since, the shoal has become an emblem of the weakness of international law against a determined great power.


What makes Scarborough especially significant is its location. It sits astride vital sea lanes and is closer to Manila than to China’s Hainan Island. Military strategists have long noted its potential as a forward outpost: if ever equipped with radar or military infrastructure, it could help China monitor U.S. forces in the Pacific and encircle the Philippines. The ‘nature reserve’ is a pawn on the geopolitical chessboard.


The timing is equally telling. Relations between China and the Philippines are already frayed. Under President Ferdinand Marcos Jr, Manila has tilted back towards the United States after a period of Beijing-friendly hedging under Rodrigo Duterte. American and Philippine forces have conducted expanded joint exercises. The Pentagon has secured access to more Philippine bases, explicitly with an eye on China. By tightening its grip on Scarborough, Beijing signals that it will not be cowed.


Yet this contest is not merely bilateral. The South China Sea is a global artery with a third of world trade passing through it. Japan, Australia and European navies all have stakes in keeping it open. For America, treaty-bound to defend the Philippines, Scarborough is a litmus test of credibility. For Southeast Asia, meanwhile, it is a harbinger. Vietnam, Malaysia and Brunei - all with overlapping claims - will watch closely whether China’s ‘green’ strategy succeeds. If Scarborough becomes a conservation zone policed by Chinese patrols, similar tactics could be applied to the Spratlys or even the Natuna waters claimed by Indonesia.


Since ancient times, great powers have cloaked expansion in lofty ideals, ‘civilising missions,’ ‘manifest destiny,’ even ‘scientific stations.’ In China’s telling, environmental protection is the latest fig leaf. Scarborough’s marine life has indeed been battered, not least by destructive Chinese dredging and clam harvesting. If Beijing were genuinely committed to conservation, it might have welcomed cooperative management with Manila.


Filipino fishermen, still dependent on the shoal, may find themselves pushed out entirely. Coast-guard encounters, already fraught with rammings and water-cannon blasts, could escalate. In an era when climate change and overfishing demand multilateral solutions, one country’s unilateral ‘reserve’ risks deepening regional mistrust.


For the Philippines, the dilemma is acute. To acquiesce would be to surrender maritime rights affirmed by international law. To resist risks confrontation with a vastly stronger neighbour. Manila has begun leaning on allies, appealing to Washington and rallying ASEAN partners. Yet unity within Southeast Asia remains fragile as many states fear antagonising Beijing, their largest trading partner.


Scarborough Shoal is a microcosm of Asia’s emerging order. It pits international law against power politics, environmental claims against strategic realities, and small nations’ rights against the ambitions of a giant. The corals may be at risk, but so too is the credibility of the rules-based order.

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