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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.

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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