If stepping into their shoes was an option

By Trisa Bhattacharjee, 2024 Mountain Restoration Steward. All images courtesy of the Himalayan Restoration Project.

Have you ever been to the Himalayas? Alas! If you haven’t, let me take you on a stroll through the place where my heart resides.

Where do I even start? Should I tell you about the snow-filled caps I see on the mountains during my morning tea, or the starry nights with no city lights to be seen for miles before I go to sleep?

The people, animals and plants that you see here have always fascinated me and left me intrigued about how a landscape can be so cold yet warm at heart. 

In spring, the forests dress up in red and green, reminding me that Christmas is still a long way away. During this time, people here celebrate Holi, the Hindu festival of colors, and so does nature.

Among all this beauty lies the town of Chamba, home to the endemic Chamba sacred langur.  

I am Trisa Bhattacharjee, a young conservation ecologist working in the western Himalayas as part of the Himalayan Restoration Project (HRP).

Our project aims to create a better future for people, wildlife and the landscape. Our work reflects the vision of our advisor, Sanjay Molur, to restore the western Himalayas and make it a safe haven for wildlife.

Our team includes Vishal Ahuja, who is native to this area. All he dreams of is to make the forests look as pretty as they were when he was a kid.

Then there’s P Kritika, a primate lover and a hardcore conservationist working towards a better coexistence model for the region.

Last but not least, we have Amrin Ansari, our community engagement and coexistence enthusiast, whose love for the landscape makes her wake up every morning and beautify the landscape she lives in.

We are a group working together to restore the landscape with native plants, create conservation corridors, provide food for wildlife and help local communities embrace ecosystem-based adaptation and sustainable livelihoods.

My life as a conservation ecologist

A day here starts quite early. You can hear people’s voices echoing throughout the valley, some working on the farms, some trying to set up the chulha, an earthen burner. Others wander the streets in search of work. 

As I leave my field station, I am surrounded by the most curious kids, who have walked to reach the only government school within miles of here.

Our conversations are mostly about how amazed they are to meet someone like me who has traveled here from more than 1,500 kilometers away – just to plant trees and interact with them in this deserted land. 

It’s quite funny at times, when the people here think, “What went wrong with her city education?”, and wonder why I ended up in this part of the world to gaze at wild animals, interact with local communities and wander around all day.

I head towards one of my favorite places, the Khajjiar Kalatop Wildlife Sanctuary. When out in the wild, do your eyes also search for animals and the tree twirls hiding in the vast canopy?

Would you believe me if I told you that once I was lucky to walk across a path here that was so colorful it looked like a watercolor palette?

Once in the sanctuary, Sanjay, Vishal, Kritika, Amrin and I each notice unique things with our different perspectives.

Vishal is busy staring up at the canopy, while Kritika is trying to find langurs in those canopies. Sanjay is set with his microlenses looking at the floral minion-looking flowers, while Amrin has her ears perked, waiting for that one bear growl she’s been longing to hear for a while now.

I’ve never had a specific interest. The beauty of the entire ecosystem has always overwhelmed me, and simply walking, I feel at peace. 

You will find Sanjay with his microlens trying to look for the tiniest of flowers. Though from a distance, the forest played with different colors of green, the nearer I went to him, the more I could see the tints of yellow, purple, pink, white, blue and so many other colors all around us.

The purple pseudo-mertensia, white Himalayan daisy and buckweed, the yellow Trifolium and Ranunculus, and many more flowers make it feel like a fairytale.

I curiously asked Sanjay, “This must be a safe haven for these minions?“ 

Looking at the langur troop of native monkeys with Kritika, I was talking to her about how lucky it must be for the animals to be safe in their own home, grooming, playing and fighting among each other.

Vishal, on the other hand, was looking at the majestic trees around him. Looking at him, I marveled out loud: “How lucky are we to grow up in nature among these giants?“

Amrin’s plan was to set camera traps to study Himalayan black bears. But of the ten cameras she had, she only set four in the sanctuary.

Worried, I asked, “What do we do with the rest?“

“I’ll place them in the village,“ she said.

After all, more and more bears are wandering into the villages and farms in search of food. 

Flabbergasted, I continued looking at the spiders sitting on the flowers, the termites trying to make their mounds, the langurs eyeing us suspiciously, and the tall trees making me feel so humble.

I guess now you can close your eyes while you sip our local rhododendron wine and put yourself in my shoes for a day. 

The climate crisis destroying habitats

But you know, I can’t keep my eyes closed anymore because I have the burden of reality to carry.

My closed eyes no longer see the starry nights. They instead feel the burning forests on the hill opposite my balcony.

Mornings are filled with fear learning that a new village has been taken by a landslide. It might be mine tomorrow.

The powerful rains and landslides in the area impact everyone. And the children – what about them? These kids, aged anywhere between four and 16, walk for three or four hours to get to school every day. They have the right to knowledge.

As a kid growing up in a city, rain meant me playing with my mom in the water followed by a hot supper at night. But I no longer get happy when it rains here. Seeing the kids trekking along the slippery paths without raincoats and still going to school every day is a feeling I can’t explain. 

A day of school promises a meal for those kids, which their families can’t always afford. But what about a raincoat or basic safety that society has forgotten to give them?

The rains have changed now. They don’t come during the monsoons, as they used to. Instead, they come anytime, flood villages one after the other, and wash homes, forests and wildlife away with them. 

Mornings start with chaos. Sometimes it’s women crying about the black bear that raided their farm, or men shouting and the macaques causing havoc in the villages, or the painful sound of tree cutters tearing down yet another giant.

The Himalayas always make me feel conflicted. The charisma of the landscape makes me adore it, but the destruction of habitats, landslides, floods and the plight of the people and wildlife often makes me feel helpless.

Every time I close my eyes, I remember the time when Sanjay laughed at my question and said that even some of those tiny plant minions like the Lilium polyphyllum and others are critically endangered and lack any conservation measures to this day. 

You know, I’ve really tried talking to a lot of people about Sanjay’s dream to save this rainbow of flowers along our path.

But how does one justify the importance of each and every creature on Earth?

Doesn’t its very existence, whether as a producer or as a source of food to predators, make it pristine?

Will the invasive Lantana camara take over these flowers, just like it has in other parts of the country?

The questions, once they start, never end.

While looking at langurs, I no longer feel the joy of seeing them. Rather, I’m on the lookout for any feral dogs around that could kill these surreal creatures. Or I feel the constant fear that the farmers will beat them away for feeding on their crops.

And even if the langurs get safe food, what are the chances that it’ll be from a garbage dump or some processed food fed to them by travelers?

After escaping all these unforeseen fates, one fine day, you’ll hear that the langur troop you had been following for months has lost its home to a fire, flood or landslide. 

Every time I meet Vishal, I no longer envy him for the beautiful childhood he had here.

Instead, I feel upset imagining how he must be feeling seeing the oaks being replaced by non-native and invasive chir pines, the forest being logged day after day, mountain after mountain, and getting less snow every passing year.

Vishal always says that the region once had a mix of grasslands and oak forests, but all I see are monocultures and invasive species all around me. 

Visiting villages to set camera traps has become a nightmare now. As Amrin said, bears are often seen around farms and villages nowadays.

Wonder why?

Well, what do you think happens when you cut the forest they live in, introduce monocultures and invasive species, destroy wildlife corridors and leave them in the burning forests?

When I hear of human–black bear interactions, I no longer know who to blame. Do I blame the kid who was playing in the farm and got scared or injured by a bear? Or do I blame the bear for asking for the basic right to food? 

Feeling deeply connected to the land

Working in the region for almost three years now has increased my will to work for this landscape, the plants, the animals, and the people even more.

Ask me to choose what matters to me the most, and I can’t answer you – because they’re all too close to me and my project.

Seeing the economy collapse due to severe landslides and flash floods, hearing the women and children suffer, and witnessing the constant signs of the climate crisis make my heart ache for the people here. 

Seeing the Chamba sacred langurs, Himalayan black bears, porcupines and the hundreds of invertebrates yet to be discovered losing their homes, not having food to eat, or falling prey to human anger makes me so upset.

On top of all that, the majestic giant trees are being cut down every day, which makes me feel numb.

And all I hope is that it makes you feel the same.

So, let’s come back to the title: ‘If stepping into their shoes was an option.’

Even if I could, I don’t think I’d have the strength to endure the pain of the oak that’s being cut, the woman whose house is swept away by floods, or the langur who’s being chased by the village dogs.

But I want to make a difference. 

I’m not a hero, but I surely am a person who will keep on working to care for the people and animals and ease their suffering. I want to make this sanctuary a home filled with love.

What would you do?