March 20, 2025 to March 28, 2025
Raimona learnings, heartbrakes and good byes
The training was conducted in Assamese (Aa-Ho-mia). We learned about what constitutes "waste," how to segregate dry waste for recycling or monetization, and how to harness organic wet waste to enhance soil fertility.
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As I walked through various fringe villages to get to the Raimona National Park's gates, I got a firsthand sense of the ground realities. Many fringe villages had electric fences due to elephant activity, which is why I wasn’t allowed to camp in any of the fringe villages. Human-wildlife conflict was a daily reality here. I saw at least three houses and a grocery store where elephants had tried to break in searching for salt, rice, or food. One of these structures belonged to Bidinta Basumatary, a wildlife conservationist, guide, and avid birder, who is still one of the most knowledgeable and dedicated conservationists in the area.
The houses of the Santhals, the indigenous people, are beautiful bamboo, stick, and mud structures. They’re short but crafted with care. These people were, and some still are, animists/nature and forest worshippers. However, the declaration of the national park has stripped them of their primary source of livelihood. For them, sustainability and conservation mean entirely different from what they mean to me, an "educated elite" who has enjoyed the privileges of development and education.
I still consume coffee, snacks, and food packaged in plastics. I still fly when I want, take hot showers, and waste electricity and water, despite knowing how precious these resources are.
Yet, I strive to be conscious of my carbon footprint—not because it’s a moral obligation but because it’s my choice.
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2 weeks ago
I often wonder: If I were in their shoes—or wearing recycled-tire sandals—wouldn't I crave shiny, new shoes? Wouldn't I prefer a concrete house to withstand elephants? Wouldn't I hate wild animals if they raided my village regularly?
I am not a nutritionist but malnutrition is evident among people here. So, packaged food/water would seem appealing, if I were them.
Wandering through the tea estates in Manas, I'd witnessed firsthand what the mid-day meals of tea-pickers consisted of—mostly rice and some cooked vegetables. One day, I offered a tea estate worker one of my most treasured finds: Tanaa, or Chikki (peanut brittle). I still vividly remember how this elderly man held his palms together to accept the gift.
People here recycle out of necessity, not because it’s the right thing to do. But, that's the only way they knew.
I never want to lecture them about right and wrong—those are concepts I like to ponder. For them, it’s about meeting basic needs.
They recycle more than just tires into sandals, cycle seats and ropes; even old auto and cycle parts find new life. Even torn rupee notes are "recycled," stitched or glued together.
During my walks in Raimona, I discovered a tea shack owned by one of the participants. She’d attend the training all day, then rush to help her mother and sister run the shop. They cooked everything with firewood, and the tea was delicious. They served fresh, cold water from a hand-pumped borewell. All food was served in steel, glass, or a simple newspaper piece. I wanted to suggest a dustbin but realized I was just an observer, not a teacher. They were doing so many things right, and I didn’t want to criticize. After customers left, the paper was swept away and burned. The clay floor was spotless again. There was almost no use of disposables, and for them, this was convenient, not necessarily environmentally motivated.
These are simply my observations. I haven’t had the heart to discuss them with the locals because it feels offensive compared to their living conditions and lifestyles. My stomach is full, I can make a living remotely, and I’ve enjoyed the opulence of developed parts of India and the US. I’ve had time to think, while these folks are struggling daily to make ends meet.
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I know that the destruction of nature—mountains, rivers—will impact these communities the most in the long term. But how do I convince them when "educated" people won’t even bring their shopping bags, walk instead of drive, or refuse to use reusable cups because “who knows how clean they are”?
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On the last day of training, we got our hands dirty by actually segregating the dry waste of homes and resorts.
During the closing ceremony, one local leader/participant expressed how disgusted he felt while segregating the dry waste. I felt the same. There were used condoms, needles, diapers, broken glass—things that anyone would find repulsive. I’ve picked up diapers after diapers on a Kanchenjunga trek, but this still unsettled me.
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Honestly, I haven’t seen the recycling process in full, but like that participant, I can’t fathom what goes through the minds of those who segregate waste. It’s one thing to deal with your waste, but mixed dry waste from resorts? I’d rather burn it. Btw, this dry waste was from the "educated" outsiders.
As a scientist, I’m curious about the immediate health effects of burning trash. Pragmatically, I wonder: if we tell people not to burn it, can we offer them a reliable, respectful alternative? And is that alternative less harmful?
The truth is, the people who clean up our “shit” should be paid more than those who produce it. Sadly, that’s not the reality. No one has time to segregate their waste, so it all gets mixed up and then dumped in valleys or rivers—out of sight, out of mind.
Because I cycle and walk, I see a lot of these "waste disposal" sites. Now, I’ve learnt to not to let it bother me.
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I am an animist, someone who worships all things nature. Witnessing greenwashing in the developed world and the destruction of Mother Earth, I chose not to have children—I didn’t want to stake a claim in the future. I chose a life I can “live” with.
But as I travel more, I realize that I’m fighting a losing battle. For an entire week, I've searched for Chikki that's not wrapped in plastic. Again, I have the choice.
But if I were a kid—or an adult with a family to feed—would I stop to consider whether to pick a plastic toothbrush or a bamboo? Would I walk around town for six months trying to find that bamboo toothbrush? Could I resist the temptation of beautifully plastic-wrapped Chikki?
That’s why I call this a losing battle.
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After 10 days in Raimona, I set off towards the mountains of the Darjeeling area.
Saying bye to new friends in Raimona was hard, but I had realized that heartbreaks, goodbyes were part of my life, now. Not sure how successful I would be able to keep my promises to return, whether it's San Pedro de Vilcabamba in Ecuador or Walter's village in Meghalaya, or now, Assam.
The ride was on a highway until I took a detour to pass through Buxa Tiger Reserve and elephant corridors. A kind soul asked if he should escort me and I said, I will ride by myself dealing with that fear while also enjoying a chance encounter with fate. You see, I am an animist..
Finally reached a village where I found some hot chai and fresh rotis. I hadn't had much that day, so I refueled, and this Bihari family, migrants from a different part of India, helped me find a stay for the night.
Today's ride: 115 km (71 miles)
Total: 2,401 km (1,491 miles)
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