Conservation

In the coming decades we will undoubtedly witness one of the greatest extinction events in the history of the earth, as humanity's consumptive chickens come home to roost. It is easy to convey the environmental, economic, and moral reasoning behind trying as hard as we can to preserve as much of our world's biodiversity as we can, but how do we go about saving an animal entirely domesticated?

This is not a research question of the NRCC per se, but it is a concern that pervades the Centre. So long as there are remote desert farming communities the camel will remain necessary, but how long will such an existence remain feasible in the face of climate change, economic growth, and urbanization? The camel is extinct in the wild, except for a few thousand feral in Australia. Other than milk and meat production (neither of which is likely to catch on), token military use, and racing in the Gulf, it lacks a major raison d'etre outside of traditional herding. Is it our responsibility to save it?

Where the time is

In case you were wondering where I get the time to write these posts, the simple answer is I have no life.

I enjoy my research and colleagues at the NRCC immensely, and they have done a wonderful job making me feel welcome. But my interactions with most scientists and staff remains formal. Jitu and I get along fantastically, but he is a very busy person and we don't really get the chance to relax. And when I hang out with other Indians, the language barrier is still too large to allow for the fun and jokes that make for good times. For some social release I can turn to the tourists who pass through the guesthouse, but they're usually only around for a day or two.

So there's no real way for me to just waste time chilling. It's something I'm going to miss, for sure, but it also means I'm staying plenty busy with research and writing.

The Thar: Traditional dry farming

Rajasthan is neatly divided in two by the Aravalli hills, to whose east the Thar extends to the Indus in Pakistan. This 'Great Indian' desert has long been the most densely populated arid area of the world, a distinction that represents a fundamentally sustainable approach towards land use and, in recent years, an ecological disaster as the population has exploded over the region's carrying capacity.

Until the advent of large-scale irrigation, the internal combustion engine, and modern health care the residents of the Thar desert had worked out a very stable economic system whose roles and rules were prescribed by a very strict social code. Nomadic castes (such as the oft-mentioned raikas) herded camels, cattle, goats, or sheep across carefully maintained rangelands whose use was carefully regulated by religious authorities. Small farmers relied on rainfall (averaging about 5-10 inches a year) for their small harvest of millet, pulses, and sorghum; the large variation in yield meant that land consolidation was by and large impossible and small villages remained economically independent. In the cities, the ruling and merchant castes found wealth in the taxation of trade, regulating both overland caravans and the access of the small farmers to larger markets.

As this system anticipated aridity, it was much more resistant to temporary environmental change than, say, a riparian culture completely unprepared for the failure of a flood. The entire success of the system, however, depended on the marginal prosperity of farmers, who in turn relied upon scant and erratic rain. The devastation wrought by drought in Bikaner is legendary in city lore.

Here, a typical dry millet farm:

Visit to Sri Kolayat

This past Sunday the remnants of a cold and the joy of my new bike conspired to keep me from doing anything remotely constructive. Knowing a long drive in the desert was in order, I headed along the Jaisalmer highway to check out the nearest natural lake, Sri Kolayat.

Like Pushkar, the lake is full of lotuses and surrounded by temples and bathing stairways or ghats. Unlike Pushkar, there was no trace of any tourist infrastructure- hardly a visitor at all. The drive back was punctuated only by a policeman who insisted I 'pay a fine now' (Indian for bribe) as my registration had not yet arrived. After flourishing my impressive pile of stamped and embossed paperwork to no avail (normally even a whiff of letterhead is enough to open doors), I took down his name and ID before telling him to fuck off in the coarsest Marwari I could muster. In the end, no problem.

One hump or two?

The camel I study is the dromedary, one-humped, or Arabian variety. Its sister species, the Bactrian, two-humped, or Asian camel, is suited more to the chill of the mountainous Central Asia plateau than the arid reaches that have caught my attention. The two are easily hybridized, though children of hybrids are sterile.

The Bactrian has not been the focus of as extensive research as the dromedary, primarily because the regions in which it is found are also home to more efficient pack and draught animals such as the horse, ox, and yak. The dromedary, on the other hand, holds a decisive monopoly on desert environments.

War and peace in Bikaner

War has come often to Bikaner, long famous for its ruthless cavalry whose skills were sharpened by the constant infighting of the Rajput kingdoms. The district holds the distinction of being the only city in India never to have been conquered, a fact that seems odd when its simple Junagarh fort is compared to the imposing castles of nearby Jaisalmer, Jodhpur, and Jaipur.

While many would like to attribute this independence to the ferocity of its warriors (who were the elite of Mughal army) or the blessings of Karni Mata, several more practical factors come to mind. Foremost among these is the city's aridity and isolation, hindering all but the most determined invaders. Even more telling is that Bikaner never faced the Mughals or British in battle. Shrewd political leadership led to defensive pacts with these powers as their influence was waxing, and skilled courtiers kept the state in favor. Indeed, I have even heard Bikaneris refer to their district's opportunistic past with a touch of shame.

Today, Bikaner is home to large detachments of the Indian military. War with Pakistan would entail nuclear exchange, rendering impassable the main road connection between the countries (Delhi-Amritsar-Lahore-Islamabad). The empty Thar provides an easy highway into the heart of Pakistan, and so it is here that Indian offensive might is concentrated.

Accidents

It was with a certain degree of concern that I learned from Jitu that the type of motorcycle accident I had just fallen victim to would occur on a quite regular basis.

I had been driving straight, at constant speed, when some idiot turned into me. My rear tire scooted a few inches and caught, and I kept my balance and continued driving. The other guy waved and smiled.

Apparently, there are simply too many motorbikes on the road, and people 'nudge' each other all the time. Not a matter for concern, supposedly. I guess so, seeing as the exact same thing happened again yesterday.

Deserts and me

I am fascinated by deserts, and have been since I was a child. My romantic side flirts with their aridity, their purity and emptiness, and finds a truth or essence that is missing from the ever ironic world we've created. At the same time there is an analytical beauty to the desert that stems from its raw simplicity, putting its workings just within the realm of comprehension of the scientific mind. Not in the most luxuriant jungle nor in the most resplendent coral reef do these qualities come together; only in the desert do individual variables-- sun, water, plant, ego-- assume large enough roles that their interactions can be fathomed.

The desert is not just a place or environment, nor even, as the cliché goes, a frame of mind. It is a way of viewing life, particularly human life. Turning a desert-tinted lens to our history is like performing a feminist reading of a text or explaining momentum in string theory-- a mere reconsideration of the evidence using different assumptions.

Fare well, Funkmobile

It was with the deepest sorrow that I disassembled my stereo system last night. After a botched mounting attempt in which my foot met a speaker rather than the starter, it seemed prudent to relocate the fragments to my room. In any case, I get enough stares as it is, and really didn't appreciate the extra attention that came from blasting Tower of Power in the middle of the city.

Festivals

Today is Mahatma Gandhi's birthday, a national holiday. Furthermore, the end of Ramadan was delayed by a day because clouds obscured the moon, so it is Eid as well. We are also in the middle of Nauratri, 'nine nights' dedicated to Durga. So it's quite a festive time.

Khyber: Introduction

The Indian subcontinent is completely isolated by land save a small gap in the Hindu Kush mountains of the northwest, the famous Khyber Pass on the Pakistan-Afghanistan border. South Asia's history can be seen in terms of who pased through these gates at what time, invaders sweeping and receding across the region like waves, leaving behind traces of their stock, culture, and religion.

There have only been three migrations in Indian history that did not pass through the Khyber Pass. One (sensu latu) was the periodic arrival of the latest model of hominids, from Homo erectus to modern Homo sapiens' coastal spread eastward 70,000 years ago. The most famous was the influx of the colonial powers, from early Arab trade links to Vasco de Gama to the eventual dominance of the British East India Company. Recently, the South Asian diaspora has led to the emergence of East Indian communities around the world, from centuries-old families of East Africa to half-Indian Guyana to the famous New Jersey suburbs, particularly Edison.

Deshnok, the temple of rats

Last Sunday (before tricking out my bike) I awoke early to head to Deshnok, the famous rat temple of Karni Mata. This goddess (a manifestation of Durga) has been the patron of Bikaner ever since its founder Bika secured her blessing, and the number of times she has saved the city from certain destruction and drought are countless in the region's lore. I was content with some simple sight-seeing.

We arrived around 7:30AM (after a highly gratifying ride along new roads where I could exceed 30mph!) in time to see most of the rats bedding down for the day. Aside from the mandatory bare feet and layers of rat shit, the temple was quite beautiful, with different rooms and adornments added since the first (innermost) simple shrine. We glimpsed a white rat, a symbol of good luck. It is believed that the souls of local villagers are reincarnated only as humans and rats. This is why the pests are tolerated and so lovingly cared for; indeed, stepping on one can only be repaid by the erection of a silver rat statue.

Now we're in the middle of a nine day festival in honour of Durga, and to kick it off every Hindu in Bikaner made the 30km walk to Deshnok over Monday night. We took a jeep with 300kg of bananas to distribute as prasad, enjoying the sights of the pilgrimmage along the way. Among impromtu dance parties outside tuk-tuks sporting massive speakers, parades of Hindu nationalists chanting slogans, and the sheer spectacle of 400,000 people in motion it was a memorable night.

Getting down in the desert: