A Walk up the Hill review: Madhav Gadgil — A life in nature

Gadgil’s tryst with nature has been in varied forms — as an admirer of flora and fauna and the cultures dependent on them; as a researcher visiting fields and living and eating as locals do; as an academician and mentor to his students; as an adviser to several committees and boards; and finally, as a writer by popularising science of biodiversity and its emergent issues. Being a voracious reader of periodicals, magazines, and many books on science, economics and mathematics — both in English and Marathi — his undertaking as a columnist for several prominent publications is not surprising at all.

An ode to the Western Ghats

At the book launch in Pune in late August, held at the Gokhale Institute of Politics and Economics — an institution that his father, the renowned economist Dhananjay Ramchandra Gadgil, co-founded — Ramachandra Guha, a friend and co-author of This Fissured Land (1992) and its sequel in 1995, suggested that Madhav Gadgil’s two most significant relationships in life are with his wife, Sulochana, and the Western Ghats. A reading of Gadgil’s biography explains why. A Walk up the Hill is an ode to his profound love for the Western Ghats. From a young age, he has been fascinated by the region’s avian inhabitants, elephants, sacred groves, and the indigenous communities, such as the forest-dwelling, buffalo-herding Dhangar Gavlis.

In the book, he takes us across the Western Ghats with him — to spice orchids, sacred grooves, and the sustainable management of bamboos in Karnataka — and introduces us to the life and struggles of fishermen, tribesmen, forest-dwellers and members of other local groups. Some of his recurring concerns include replacing community-led management systems with state-led ones; the alienation and displacement of dependent groups; the aggressive exploitation of timber in the Himalayan, Western, and Southern regions; the long-term effects of pesticide use, such as mercury poisoning and the extinction of birds, particularly predatory species, and the “unexpected results” of these actions, including the growing menace of revered monkeys (Hanuman Langurs).

He equates these with what is called “externalities” — a term coined by English economist Arthur Cecil Pigou (1877-1959) — which refers to “the cost or benefit that affects a third party who did not choose to incur the cost or benefit”. Gadgil contends that at the root of these problems lies a general disregard of people in policy-making. He consistently highlights the “urban nature” of many conservationists and the imperial legacies kept alive by the Forest Departments, mostly in their misjudgment and isolation of rural groups who need their wild space as much as the wilderness needs them to survive.

Gadgil also addresses the human-wildlife conflict and the consequent attacks by animals like elephants, leopards, tigers, sloth bears, and even wild pigs in cultivated and domestic areas. It has mostly arisen due to the mismanagement of Wildlife (Protection) Act (1972) over the last fifty years, especially outside of protected areas. In this context, he remembers activist-priest Bismarck Dias, to whom the book is dedicated. Dias died defending the Gaonkari management system, which recognizes foresters as an essential source of managing the natural resources of Goa.

Universal responsibility: Only key to human survival

Examining the country from a global perspective, Gadgil writes, “India cuts a poor figure partly because of the manifold divisions of caste, creed, race, language, and religion in its society. But for an ecologist, the divide of primary interest is that between the better-off urban dwellers constituting ‘biosphere people’ and the economically weaker rural and forest-dwelling population tied to the health of, and access to, the natural resources in their surroundings — the ‘ecosystem people’, many of whom have become ‘ecological refugees’.”

His work widely echoes the demands of social justice, be it with the peasants of Aamby Valley in Pune or the mining-affected villages of Goa, or the unreported instances of overfishing, or downfall of intensive agriculture, or the victims of misinformation around Bhopal Gas Tragedy. Notes on all this and more are found in abundance in the book.

Having lived through several advancements in science, Gadgil also ponders over the potential of technology in evoking an ecological conscience in the world and in the ease of doing business at the ground level. He cites examples of farmers who have used apps and technology to surpass unnecessary hurdles between producers and consumers.

He underlines that we must use this “information revolution” to global (as well as local) advantage carefully, especially as we enter the age of Artificial Intelligence. Of the future, he says with hope, the third-generation born in independent India will continue to profess the values of social justice, equity and equality. He concludes with the Dalai Lama’s urge to adopt a “universal responsibility” towards humanity, which is the “only key to human survival”.

The gap between ecological and economic infrastructure

Born in the year that British India roared with cries of “Quit India” and a year after Salim Ali’s revolutionary Book of Indian Birds (1941) came out, to parents who actively resented the limits of caste and religion, Gadgil lived a monumental life. He completed his education between Pune, Mumbai and Cambridge, fortunately alongside his wife, Sulochana Gadgil, who is also an esteemed figure in Indian meteorology. Although he admired Harvard for encouraging students to think on their own, they both returned to India in the backdrop of the Vietnam war, to carry forward the true spirit of science and education that they had acquired.

Between his economist father, D.R. Gadgil, who taught him that “the purpose of scholarship is not merely to understand but to deploy that understanding towards action”; his neighbour and aunt Irawati Karve, the distinguished anthropologist with whom he went on a month-long expedition; the late ornithologist Salim Ali, 46 years his senior, who later became a mentor and friend; Jyotiba Phule, the social reformer who fought against the elimination of natives from conservation reform; and J.B.S. Haldane, who also focused on inclusion of the indigenous rather than their exclusion, Madhav Gadgil has been inspired and driven to bridge the ever-expanding gap between the ecological and economic infrastructure.

A scientific memoir

Gadgil is most popularly known for chairing the Western Ghats Ecology Expert Panel (WGEEP) in 2010, which had its own long legal battle before it came to light. To some extent, his prolific endurance in the field has been possible because of the support of his peers and seniors, who have had faith in his abilities and findings. One such name is Satish Dhawan — the renowned space scientist — who served as the director of the Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, where Gadgil served from 1973 to 2004 and founded the Centre for Ecological Sciences.

Madhav Gadgil’s life story will inspire those who fear that a lifetime is not enough to bring change or at least get the ball rolling. His active pursuit of ecological matters is proof that if used correctly, the short precious time of one’s life can be well-meaning and leave a considerable impact. His contributions to the Biological Diversity Act 2002 and his manual for the People's Biodiversity Registers, which documents locally sourced information on biodiversity, shall outlive him.

His pursuit of nature’s wonders and his ambition of correcting the goals of environmentalism — which lean on the ideals of an ecological democracy — will inspire many for years to come to trace (and hopefully, correct) the missteps in ecological governance. The timely release of this scientific memoir preceded the National Wildlife Awareness Week which is celebrated every October from second to 8th since 1952. A Walk up the Hill is bound to create lasting ripples, as M.S. Swaminathan, the father of Indian Green Revolution, states in his Foreword.