Waste from different parts of state piled up at Brahmapuram
Various types of waste, including customs rejects, were dumped at Brahmapuram.
The mayor stated that corporation had to give its nod for various local bodies, including neighbouring municipalities, to dump waste at the solid waste treatment yard at Brahmapuram. "Until 2010, the entire waste lay inside the windrow compost plant at Brahmapuram. Later, the waste started to pile up all over the plant premises," Anilkumar said.
He mentioned that this points to the fact that treatment of waste was not done properly.
Waste generated from across the state during 2018 floods and Covid-19 pandemic was also dumped at Brahmapuram. LDF councillor Benedict Fernandez also said that customs rejects were dumped at Brahmapuram. He noted that containers laden with garbage, including customs waste, were dumped at Brahmapuram. "It was after the corporation raised complaints a few years ago that Cochin Port authorities started a facility to dump such waste on the port's land on Willingdon Island," Fernandez said.
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The Hindu
25 minutes ago
- The Hindu
In Gurez Valley, a lone man is archiving the Dard-Shin story
The Dard-Shin tribe, which once ruled large parts of Kashmir in the 16th Century and is now nestled in the Gurez valley with Pakistan border posts in the backyard, has found an archiver in Basheer Ahmad Teroo. For the past three years, Mr. Teroo, 48, has been travelling the length and breadth of what was once known as Dardistan, collecting vestiges of his community's culture – items that he has begun storing and displaying at his home in Dawar town. In 2022, just as India was coming out of the COVID-19 pandemic, Mr. Teroo said his mother had gifted him 75 items – jewellery, kitchen utensils, footwear, clothing among others. 'I remember she said it was for safekeeping. These were things that reminded her of our community and how we have lived. I just thought one morning, why not do something with it,' he recalled. He started displaying the items whenever he would visit the Dard-Shin people across the Gurez region, including Tulail, where the community is concentrated. In three years, Mr. Teroo has amassed 457 antique items – ranging from a woman's 20-year-old wedding pheran to a 107-year-old wooden horse saddle – all donated or sold by people of the community, most of whom have found Mr. Teroo instead of him seeking them out. 'The internet has helped. I put out photos on Facebook, and my visits also help. So, people reach out to me themselves. Sometimes, they just want to leave a piece that represents their community's culture in safekeeping, just like my mother did. There are hundreds of more items that are currently in the pipeline, and I have also started the work of logging and cataloguing them,' he told The Hindu while showing around his small home which also doubles up as the Dard-Shin Museum. Right outside Mr. Teroo's home sits a grey log with a deep washbasin-like depression. 'This is a washer. We fill it up with water, put our clothes in it, and then stomp on it with our feet to rinse it. It helps with heavy materials that our community is used to wearing,' he said, before proceeding to show a room in his museum that displayed traditional clothing of the Dard-Shin people, made of sheep's wool. While one room of the museum houses clothing and jewellery items, the second room has daily household and farm items such as horse saddles made of wood, footwear made from grass among others. There is a collection of Shina literature and poetry written by eminent Dard-Shin writers. 'These will remind the Dard-Shin people of their community's identity and which of it they want to preserve,' Mr. Teroo said, showing a cigarette case gifted to a Dard-Shin man by Maharaja Hari Singh in the early 1940s. The Dard-Shin is classified as a Scheduled Tribe by the India government and the community traces its origins to Gilgit. Currently, the community in India is spread over the regions of Gurez, Tulail, and Drass. The Chak dynasty, belonging to this community, ruled over Kashmir for over 25 years in the mid-16th Century before surrendering to Akbar their territory known as Dardistan. The 2011 Census recorded a total of 48,440 Dard-Shin people, for whom the principal means of sustenance are farming and raising livestock, and more recently, tourism. The community's geography in India has placed it literally on the edge, with mountains in the backyard housing Pakistan posts in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir. However, the Indian Army in the Gurez sector has maintained that the security forces and the Dard-Shin people share an intimate bond that has helped India secure the region and the community live peacefully. Mr. Teroo said that when he was starting his museum, the Indian Army had approached him. 'They wanted to build a Shina cultural centre to celebrate our culture and had approached me to display my items at the museum they were building,' he said. 'I asked the people who placed their trust in me with these items. One or two said I should sell those if it helps me financially, but most of them were uncomfortable with the idea of me giving away all the things that they trusted me with. So, I said no,' Mr. Teroo said. A year later, the Indian Army built the Shina Culture Centre in Dawar with expert anthropologists and historians reconstructing articles of Dard-Shin culture as observed by them in Mr. Teroo's collection. Just outside Dawar town, the Shina Culture Centre sits on the banks of Kishanganga river. Inside the campus is a small hut, representative of a traditional Dard-Shin kitchen, with a wooden structure framing the Habba Khatoon peak for tourists to take photographs. The museum displays artefacts and details their uses and also houses sections on the history of the community. In the language section, there are posters showing 'common words' in Shina language and Sanskrit, and mentions of 'Dardistan' in works such as the Mahabharata and Rajatarangini. 'These experts that helped build the culture centre came to visit my collection. The items in the museum are good and accurate but, they were built recently for the displays. The items in my collection are everyday items that were actually used and have memories attached to them,' Mr. Teroo said. While his social media presence continues to get him more articles for his collection, Mr. Teroo said he does think of monetising it. 'But I can't think in that direction unless I have a sure-shot plan of helping my community with that.'
News18
10 hours ago
- News18
Outnumbered And Low On Fuel, This MiG-21 Indian Pilot Turned The Tables On 3 Pak Jets
Last Updated: After a victorious dogfight, Vikram Shah's MiG-21 had barely any fuel left. He climbed, shut the engine, and glided to base, landing safely as the last drop of fuel ran out On the afternoon of December 16, 1971, during the Indo-Pakistan war, Flight Lieutenant Vikram Samar Shah of the Indian Air Force found himself facing a critical situation. While flying a MiG-21 at an altitude of thousands of feet, Shah was preparing to return to base after completing his mission. Suddenly, three supersonic fighter jets from the Pakistan Air Force surrounded his MiG-21, with one on either side and the third above. The MiG-21's alarming system began to signal, alerting Flight Lieutenant Shah to a dire situation: his fuel was nearly depleted. With only a few minutes left to reach the base, a crash seemed imminent. Faced with a perilous predicament, Shah made a bold decision. Rather than retreat, he chose to confront the enemy head-on. Shah engaged the engine of his fighter jet at full throttle, executing a sharp turn and disappearing into the sky's depths. This intense encounter occurred as Indian Air Force's Marut fighters were on a mission to attack enemy positions in Naya Chor and Mirpur, with Shah and Flying Officer Dinesh Arora of the 29th Squadron tasked with providing cover. Initially, the mission proceeded as planned until Shah spotted a Pakistani Cessna Bird Dog fighter jet. He instructed Arora to stay with the Marut fighters while he advanced to engage the enemy. After neutralising the Pakistani Cessna, Shah prepared to return to base when he was surrounded by Pakistani MiG-19 fighters. With his fuel running dangerously low, Shah disappeared into the sky once more. Reappearing unexpectedly, Shah manoeuvred his MiG-21, scattering the Pakistani jets. The precision of his strategy caused two pilots to lose coordination, prompting them to flee. With only one Pakistani fighter remaining, Shah capitalised on a minor error by the enemy pilot, targeting him with a missile. The MiG-19 crashed into the desert. Despite his triumphant dogfight, Shah's aircraft had barely enough fuel to reach the base. In a final act of ingenuity, he ascended to a certain height, turned off the engine, and glided towards the base. His MiG-21 landed safely just as the last drop of fuel was exhausted. Flight Lieutenant Shah's exceptional skills and bravery not only decimated the enemy but also ensured the safe return of his aircraft. For his outstanding performance, he was awarded the Vayu Sena Medal and Vir Chakra. view comments First Published: Disclaimer: Comments reflect users' views, not News18's. Please keep discussions respectful and constructive. Abusive, defamatory, or illegal comments will be removed. News18 may disable any comment at its discretion. By posting, you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy.
Hindustan Times
19 hours ago
- Hindustan Times
Review: Learning to Make Tea for One by Andaleeb Wajid
There are perhaps few emotions as universal, yet as little discussed, as grief. Although religions have built extensive rituals around death and mourning, they are not as preoccupied with coming to grips with grief, relegating it to the realm of the personal. While they do provide structure and direction at a time when everything seems unmoored, grief largely remains an individual struggle and many have to create anew ways to process their loss or help a grieving person. Days of darkness and fear: A Covid-19 Care Centre in New Delhi in May 2021. (Sanjeev Verma/HT PHOTO) 232pp, ₹499; Speaking Tiger When grief becomes a collective emotion, it can be even more incapacitating. That was the case during the summer of 2021 in India. As the Covid-19 pandemic's deadly second wave surged across the country, almost everyone knew someone who died or was on the verge of death. Hospitals, graveyards, and crematoriums ran out of space, and bodies piled up. Amid the strict lockdown and social distancing norms, quotidian rituals and coping mechanisms, such as spending time with loved ones, often became impossible. Like many other traumatic events affecting millions of people across India — the demonetisation of high-value rupee notes in 2016, leading to financial difficulties, or daily-wage labourers walking for hundreds of miles after the sudden imposition of a lockdown in 2020 — there seems to be a collective amnesia or, perhaps, wilful forgetting around these events. This is understandable to some extent. Life moves on and it can be unproductive or difficult to dwell on the past. And yet, there is value in memorialising such events and ensuring a collective reckoning. These can help provide closure and reduce the chances of repeating past mistakes. Although there have been a couple of fiction and non-fiction works about Covid-19 in India, Andaleeb Wajid's Learning to Make Tea for One: Reflections on Love, Loss and Healing is, to my knowledge, the only book-length memoir about losing loved ones during the pandemic. While the author's story is deeply personal and does not touch upon the misgovernance and apathy that caused immense suffering, it is nevertheless a powerful reminder of how these forces shaped people's lives — and deaths. In April 2021, everyone in Wajid's house contracted Covid-19, except her younger son, Azhaan. Wajid, her mother-in-law; and her husband, Mansoor, were admitted to Covid-19 wards. While she was eventually discharged, the other two remained hospitalised for weeks, their condition slowly deteriorating. Just before her 24th wedding anniversary, Wajid's mother-in-law died due to complications from the disease. A few days later, Mansoor passed away. But this was not her first brush with death or illness. When she was 12, her father died suddenly after a heart attack. 'For many years, my father's death defined me,' writes Wajid. 'While the tears dried up after the first few months or so after his death, the hollowness refused to be replaced by anything or anyone. I stuck to my tragedy like I meant it to embrace me and never leave me.' She also faced multiple miscarriages, including one where the doctor diagnosed that her baby had been dead in utero for more than 15 days. LISTEN: Remembering not to forget - Andaleeb Wajid on the Books & Authors podcastThe memoir not only delves into grief but also other formative life experiences. Wajid got married in college — her father had arranged it to her cousin before his own death. Women in her family did not work as their husbands were expected to provide for them. But to cope with the multiple miscarriages, she started applying for jobs — five years after she finished college. A memoir of this kind must have been harrowing to write. Yet, Wajid is powerful and poignant throughout. She is strikingly honest, even where it might have been difficult to talk publicly about personal matters. After a tragedy of this sort, one would give allowance to a person to indulge in self-pity or navel-gazing. Yet, Wajid is measured, not maudlin, despite the many sorrowful passages. She also does not eulogise Mansoor or turn him into a larger-than-life persona. She wonders, '...what he would think of this entire exercise, of me writing down my experiences of what happened to us, how our family was fractured and torn apart.' Her guess? He would be 'plain embarrassed'. One of the interesting aspects Wajid highlights is the gendered nature of grief. She writes about how 'men are allowed to move on and live their lives, get a fresh start, and women are just expected to live each day as it comes. To just keep surviving.' Thus, women have to 'keep moving on, but not moving on too much either'. Interestingly, many of the published personal recollections of the pandemic in India have been authored by women, though the number of such works is too few to glean common threads. Author Andaleeb Wajid (Courtesy the publisher) While Wajid had not set out to be an author and her writing journey was knotty, her prolificity — nearly 50 books in 15 years — is remarkable. As has been the case for many, writing became a form of therapy. 'Where it had been a form of escapism before, a way to make the lives of my characters far more interesting than the life I led, it became a way for me to cope with loss,' she explains. Her faith also helped her on her grieving journey. She describes her pilgrimage to Makkah with her sons after Mansoor's death: '... it healed something inside me that I thought had been broken and even shattered beyond repair.' Another thing that gave her peace was crocheting. While there might be as many ways of grieving as grievers, Wajid's memoir is an exemplar of the most universal way — memorialising people through words, elegies, and physical markers, such as gravestones or urns. As Wajid writes, 'Every time a reviewer for my books refers to me as Wajid, I feel a little lurch inside, as if they're talking about him [her father]. And every time my family sees his name next to mine on the many books I've written and published, I know it feels like he lives on.' Syed Saad Ahmed is a journalist and communications professional. In 2024, he was selected as a Boston Congress of Public Health Thought Leadership Fellow. He speaks five languages and has taught English in France.
