The recent callous topping of chinars on the Baramulla–Handwara road, as reported in the media, is a wake-up call. The pictures were gruesome. Let us not translate environmentalism into Orwellian animalism. The chinar is a living symbol of our identity. Can we not transplant them to other places and spare them a lease of life?
Saleem Yousuf RatherÂ
In a usual, mundane early morning, when sun rays are just warming the earth’s crust, birds are still chirping in their nests, and early risers are heading towards their milestones, the macadamised roads are about to shower their daily anguish, and dizziness is unlikely to cast its spell. You ply on the roads with chinar trees shading your path. You stop to take a long breath—a sigh of relief. At crisscross junctions connecting villages, these chinars stand tall and wide, showering their blessings on all.
This majestic tree is named Platanus orientalis. It is more than just a boouen (chinar). It is a living symbol of our collective identity and landscape. It is the state tree of our Union Territory. How they grew organically and became part of our consciousness! How their longevity felt like our own!
Boouen is still there. It is in our symbols. It is the most recognisable motif of our art. It is used as a souvenir in official functions. It is there in wood carvings, woven into Pashmina shawls and carpets (kaleens), in paper-mâché, and etched into our copperware.
This lifeline received the patronage of the Mughals. It became a collective memory in the form of Char-Chinari and Naseem Bagh. It made our desolate grassy graveyards look divine, as if controlled by some imposing power. Its leaves warmed our hearths and our bellies. We never felt the need to prune it. It was precious and sacred.
Overnight, our landscapes are changing. We need development and road widening. We need to catch up. Roads should be as straight as an arrow. We have to be Viksit (developed) at any cost. These chinars are out of place. My routine bus driver cannot meander around them. Microseconds compound. Petrol is costly. The chinar planters have lost successors. My milestones are gone. The road looks all the same, and this homogeneity looks like a hazard.
We believe in plantation drives. We celebrate them, and rightly so. But plantation and demolition are not complementary. It was Sounth (spring) in Kashmir. Our land is still pregnant, about to bear fruit. Where is our jungle keeper? Where are our Medha Patkar and Jadev Payeng? Chinars are blazing—not in autumn, but in spring.
Tailpiece
The recent callous topping of chinars on the Baramulla–Handwara road, as reported in the media, is a wake-up call. The pictures were gruesome. Let us not translate environmentalism into Orwellian animalism. Can we not transplant them to other places and spare them a lease of life? Let better sense prevail.
The writer is a teacherÂ
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