After me, Chaos

The Book

By some quirk of fate, I—a confirmed non-believer in astrology—found myself at the book discussion on “After me, Chaos: Astrology in the Mughal Empire” by MJ Akbar, held at India Habitat Centre. It was January 21, 2026, the Wednesday after Makar Sankranti—an unusually sad festive time when India was reeling under Trump Tariff.

Honestly, my raison d’ĂŞtre at the gathering that day was purely to listen to the author who also happens to be one of my favourite and revered writers. The astrology part of it, I had thought, I’d somehow endure. The erudite panel included Sudhanshu Trivedi, MP; Shazia Ilmi, National spokesperson of BJP; Come Carpentier, Distinguished Fellow, India Foundation; friend Alok Bansal, Executive Vice President, India Foundation and of course, the author himself. I admit that they succeeded in shaking my deep-rooted anti-views on astrology to the extent that I became a fence-sitter; decided to buy a copy of the book and, read it.

In the heart of my heart, I knew that my transformation was temporary. I’d be satisfied with reading the interesting historical facts compiled by the author from primary sources. I believe, one cannot discard an opinion built over 60 plus years of indoctrination by ‘scientific knowledge’ of which one is so proud. At the end of the discussion, among other interesting facts, two bits stuck with me.

with the one I revere

One, about the title of the book, “After Me Chaos.” Mr Akbar had pointed out that it was derived from Aurangzeb’s revelation to his son, Bahadur Shah that every event of his (Aurangzeb’s) life had played out exactly as per the horoscope cast by Fazil Khan. He (Aurangzeb) also forewarned that after his death there would be chaos. And, as we all know—chaos, there was.

Two, the interesting story of Akbar’s (not Akbar, the author; but, Akbar the Great, the Mughal emperor’s) birth. Humayun, engaged in a battle at that time, had deputed his personal astrologer, Maulana Chand to be present at the birthplace to record the exact time of the birth of the baby and to prepare an accurate horoscope of the would-be heir to the throne. The conscientious man was striding up and down, outside queen Hamida Bano’s room when he heard the queen writhe in (labour) pain. At that critical juncture, the enthusiastic astrologer went a step ahead and, from the placement of celestial bodies calculated the ‘right’ time of birth which would ensure that the baby would grow up to be a great emperor. That ‘right’ time, according to him, was still a few hours away. Something had to be done to delay the birth of the baby. The ingenuous man, caught hold of an ugly looking midwife and shoved her face into the queen’s bedchamber. The queen was startled and scared at the apparition. Her pains subsided. Akbar’s birth was thus delayed—he was born under the stars that would ensure name, fame and greatness. Rest is history.

Before, and several times during the discussion, my mind had strayed. I had thought of the stress Trump was causing to India, in particular. Those thoughts influenced my questions in the Q&A session. My first question to Mr Akbar was very personal: “Do you, yourself, believe in astrology?”

…to the best question of the evening

“Of course, I do believe in astrology,” was his candid answer.

My second question, with a one-line preface, was: “Sir, astrology is as good as the astrologer. Do we have any ‘good’ astrologers around, who can foretell how long would the world have to endure Trump torture?”

In response, Mr Akbar just smiled; the audience burst into laughter. All of us—the author, the discussants, the audience and I—knew that my question that day was a light-hearted one. It didn’t really seek an answer. A gracious Mr Akbar, complimented me for my question when I approached him for a signed copy of his book. “To the best question of the evening,” he wrote for me.

Today, while that question of mine is swirling in millions of minds all over the world, more questions are cropping up. Here are two of them:

One, “Could Trump’s birth have been advanced or delayed to prevent the crisis facing the world today?”

Two, “What can be done so that leaders (as in case of Akbar the Great) are born under appropriate (read “the best”) planetary influences which bolster world peace?”

Even as I conclude this post, my mind, as is its wont, has strayed yet again. I am now wondering if Trump (like Aurangzeb to his son) has told his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, “CHAOS WHILE I AM THERE! UTTER CHAOS AFTER ME!”

Comments

Viney Sharma: Good article Ashok.
As regards Trump, here’s another question…

Q: Could his existence have been prevented?
A: Yes, with the use of a simple device called the condom😀

Group Captain KUK Reddy: Hi Ashok Chordia, It’s so interesting to read your encounter with the great Hyderabadi, Mr M J Akbar, whom we also adore and always keep him in Reverence for being a prolific writer and seasoned journalist.
The question about Trump by you is so tactical as the whole world is asking the same and so no doubt yours is the best question of the evening. I am so proud of you Ashok for your erudice and knowledge and your free expression. Keep it going,my dear.

Unsung Women of Substance

One discovers them by chance…

It wasn’t eavesdropping; the words simply fell on my ears, and I couldn’t help respond. What followed was a precious insight into the behaviour of two conscientious service providers.

The story goes thus:

Yesterday (Tuesday, April 7, 2026), I was in the path lab of Kailash Hospital for a blood test. Since on numerous occasions in the past, I have fainted at the sight of blood, I deliberately looked the other way as the nursing assistant prepared to prick my vein and draw a sample. It was a deliberate effort to divert my attention away from the needle. That’s when I noticed these two young women talking. One of them, Manisha, was a member of the support staff in the lab. The other one, Lalita, was at the desk handling patients’ documents.

It was a rare lull in the otherwise overcrowded lab.

“I was very angry at that patient who left a while ago,” said Manisha.

“I know,” nodded Lalita with understanding.

Curious, I turned to them after my test. “How can you be angry at a patient? As service providers—especially in healthcare—you’re expected to remain calm and caring,” I said.

“But Sir,” Manisha responded politely, “that man spat paan in the bin meant for medical waste. It is unhygienic and simply not done. There are spittoons outside.”

“That’s pathetic behaviour,” I quickly jumped the fence on to her side. “If that was the case, he deserved a slap, not just your anger,” I added with superficial agitation.

On a serious note, I added, “You should have reported the matter to the authorities.”

“Sir,” now it was Lalita’s turn, “Everyone who visits us, is already stressed with an ailment or the other. They carry their own worries. Reacting harshly or escalating matters would only add to their distress. We don’t take offence when none is intended.”

Lalita left me speechless. I hadn’t expected such maturity from someone dealing routinely with difficult situations. I admired the sense of duty of the two women.

“Keep up that spirit,” I said as I left. “Your attitude will take you far.”

How I wish Dr Mahesh Sharma (CEO of Kailash Hospital) reads this piece and gives these women of substance a well-deserved pat on the back.

Postscript:

I happened to be at the lab again yesterday (Tuesday, April 14, 2026). I saw the two ladies; busy as bees. I thought that after my pleasant interaction the other day, they’d recognise me. No, I was mistaken. They couldn’t place me. So, to start a conversation I addressed Manisha, “You are Manisha. Aren’t you?”

“How do you know my name,” said Manisha quizzically.

“Don’t you remember,” I said, “I spoke to you that day about…”

“Ohhh yes, Sir. Of course, of course” she smiled, “I remember now…”

I showed them this post on my blog and said, “I wish, Dr Mahesh Sharma sees it. He’ll be pleased.”

I thought, the two would be flattered by something being written about them and their CEO coming to know about their dedication to duty. But Lalita surprised me yet again with her response. “Sir, it matters less whether Dr Mahesh Sharma reads this and pats us. More important and greatly satisfying for us is that you are pleased with our work and have cared to write about your experience. That, indeed is a big reward!”

My feeling of appreciation and respect for the two climbed many more notches.

If only there were more such people around!

True Education: Lessons that Outlive Classrooms

“True education,” Mr RGL Srivastava, our English teacher, used to reflect, “is what stays with one after one has forgotten everything one learnt.” Young naughty minds then, we spent much time splitting hairs over the literal meaning of the pearl of wisdom. “If one forgets everything,” we used to argue, “nothing remains. So, there is no such thing as true education.”

Much of what my teachers, which includes my parents, sister and brothers, taught me, has stayed with me and shaped the way I think and work. The lessons were not limited to classrooms and textbooks. They were about curiosity, discipline, and integrity, and more importantly, about the spirit in which knowledge should be pursued. Those values, slowly absorbed, became part of who I am. 

Today, when I stand before students as an adjunct faculty member and honorary Professor of Practice, I often find myself trying—however modestly—to emulate my own teachers. I try to make learning engaging. A class may begin with an anecdote, a little-known fact from the history of science, or a challenge that students cannot resist attempting. Sometimes there is a small surprise reward for solving a quiz—a pen, perhaps, or a book.

It brings excitement to the classroom. The students participate, question, and occasionally throw back a challenge. By the time the formal lecture begins, the atmosphere is already alive with curiosity. It is fun for them and me alike. I find each teaching experience rewarding in some way.

On this journey I continue to learn from seniors whose profession is teaching. One such person is Dr Devendra Singh, the erudite Head of the Mechanical Engineering Department at AK Garg Engineering College in Ghaziabad, whose passion for teaching is unmistakable.

One afternoon last month, we were exchanging notes over a cup of tea in his office when a student walked in. She was a resident student, a hosteller.

“Jai Hind, Sir,” she said politely. “I’ve come to request approval for a night out-pass. My mother is visiting Ghaziabad to see my local guardian who is unwell. I’ll stay with them over the weekend.”

It sounded like a routine request. I expected the form to be signed without much discussion. Instead, Prof Singh asked her to call her mother. “I just wish to speak with her,” he said.

To me, it appeared to be a rather cautious approach. I wondered, if it was really necessary to treat a young adult that way. I got my answer soon; in the very next minute.

The telephonic conversation between the mother and Prof Singh revealed that the student’s LG wasn’t unwell. Also, her mother was not scheduled to visit Ghaziabad any time soon. The student had simply wanted to spend the weekend with friends—something disapproved by the parents. The request was declined without drama, and the student withdrew quietly.

Later Dr Singh remarked that the student’s body language had made him suspicious. “Giving students freedom while ensuring they don’t stray into trouble is difficult these days,” he mused. “It was much easier when we were students,” he chuckled as he recalled an incident from his own days as a student in the late 1980s at the Motilal Nehru Regional Engineering College in Allahabad.

On a frivolous issue, a few students had instigated a strike and encircled the main building with the intention of causing nuisance. They were pressing unreasonable demands and seemed to be on the verge of going on a rampage. Slogans of “Zindabad… Murdabad…,” had filled the air.

At that moment, the proctor, Prof SM Goel stepped out of the main building and walked up daringly to the agitated crowd. Standing on the steps above them, he raised his hand to quieten the noise. Just as the students seemed ready to listen, one self-styled leader shouted dramatically, “If our demands are not met, we will immolate ourselves!”

Professor Goel, a habitual smoker, happened to be holding a lit cigarette. Without losing his composure he said loudly, “I have come to settle your problem. But if someone still wishes to immolate himself, here is a can of petrol—pour it over yourself… and here is the light.” He flashed the lit cigarette in his hand.

The effect was instantaneous. The crowd dispersed, and the fiery leaders vanished.

Prof Singh cited the incident in the lighter vein. Yet behind the humour lay an important lesson about authority, wisdom, and the ability of a teacher to influence young minds in a moment of confrontation.

Our conversation then drifted to how education has changed over the decades. There was a time, he recalled, when engineering colleges in places like Roorkee and Muzaffarnagar produced some of the finest engineers in Asia. Placements were so abundant that in one instance the placement rate exceeded one hundred per cent—some students received offers from several companies.

Campus life had its own informal discipline. Seniors did not merely dominate juniors; they mentored them. They taught them how to conduct themselves, even basic table manners. Walking into the dining hall improperly dressed invited silent disapproval.

“Now,” he said with a smile, “I find myself on the other side of the fence—teaching. I enjoy it far more than my years in the corporate world.” Listening to him, I was reminded again of my schoolteacher’s words about true education. Theoretical knowledge may fade, facts may blur, and textbooks may gather dust. But the values, habits, and examples set by impressionable teachers continue to dispel darkness and illuminate our lives.

Note: Here are two of the quizzes my students and I had fun solving.

Two Sports Cars and a Drone

Eiffel Tower & Three Projectiles

Even the US needs them

Arms lobby promotes a parallel business — that of coffins & body bags.

Comments

Air Marshal PK Roy PVSM, AVSM, VM, VSM: True… It brings back memories of the body bag requirements during the Kargil operations. I was posted as Stn Cdr Thoise during that time. This is the grim price nations pay for the reckless decisions of a few who believe they can play god with the fate of others.

‘FAIRways’ for All

Kerry Packer is incidental to this post on golf.

“There is a little bit of the whore in all of us, gentlemen. What is your price?”

When Kerry Packer reportedly delivered that line during negotiations with the Australian Cricket Board, he wasn’t merely bargaining for television rights — he was detonating a revolution. What followed, reshaped cricket forever. The game leapt from stately grounds and private clubs into living rooms, into prime time… into the bloodstream of nations. Cricket became spectacle. It became aspiration. Above all, and most importantly, it became accessible. Before Packer, cricket belonged to the privileged few. After him, it belonged to the masses.

Like cricket, golf was introduced to India by the British and has been played here for nearly 200 years. But unlike cricket, golf has never quite had its Kerry Packer.

The sport has always worn an expensive reputation like a blazer badge. The cost of equipment; the vast acreage required; the manicured greens; the membership walls — have kept the game away from the common man. In India especially, it signals status before it signals sport. A golfer is presumed to be affluent, uniformed, bureaucratic — or a caddie who caught lightning in a bottle.

But revolutions rarely announce themselves with television contracts. Sometimes, they begin quietly — with one believer.

India’s golf revolution seems round the corner.

Wing Commander Arun Kumar Singh — “AK” to friends — is no corporate magnate. An Indian Air Force veteran, former Parachute Jump Instructor, mountaineer, and the founding Commandant of the IAF’s elite Garud Special Force — AK’s life has been defined by discipline and audacity.

He first swung a golf club at the National Defence Academy in 1978 — he thanks his buddy, Rahul Bhardwaj for introducing him to the game. But it wasn’t until the late 1990s, while serving as Secretary of the Air Force Sports Complex, that his relationship with the game deepened into a mission. He upgraded the golf course, introducing sand-based greens in line with USGA recommendations. The improvements were technical — the impact, transformative. Participation surged.

Where others saw turf, AK saw possibility. Through keen observation, AK had discovered a pattern. India’s golf champions (particularly Army children and some caddies) often shared a common denominator: access. For ‘Army kids’, access to courses in cantonments was easy. Likewise, some caddies were lucky to get similar access to courses like Delhi Golf Club and Royal Calcutta Golf Club which enabled them to achieve excellence.

So, he chose to create access.

His stint at Golden Greens became a laboratory for inclusivity. Amateurs (including juniors) in the IGU order of merit were allowed to compete; sometimes, free of charge. Professionals from the PGTI and WGAI were facilitated likewise. In the early years, PGTI, WGAI and Albatross began conducting their events there, often at highly concessional rates; and at times, free. In AK, budding players found not just a host, but a patron.

Later, as the Director General of the Indian Golf Union, AK widened the map — conducted feeder tours across zones. He took IGU tournaments beyond the usual metros — to Shillong, Visakhapatnam, Cochin etc. New geographies; new dreams!

The most radical strokes were, however, played off the course. AK took Rotary Club on board to fund golf at the school level. In a heart-warming initiative, he joined hands with “RAYS – Asha ki ek Kiran,” an NGO to introduce the game to HIV-positive children who had been (almost) rejected by their near and dear ones. It was a ‘simply’ noble cause — “To give those children an identity and self-worth through golf.” AK thanks Preetam Saikia and his team who toil to turn ordinary children into promising golfers. 

AK’s Ultimate Foundation (UF) has opened doors for children from less privileged backgrounds. In collaboration with Golden Greens, UF has been selecting young golfing talents from modest backgrounds; some have already begun playing on the national circuit. Thanks to another enthusiast friend, Wing Commander Pradeep Bagmar, government school students in Nashik and Niphad were given a chance to swing a club at Riverside Golf Course — many for the first time in their lives. An enthusiastic and dedicated Ms Navita Mansingh (Secy, UF), he says, keeps UF going.

The 23-year-old Green Keepers and Superintendents Association of India is the body of turfcare professionals who work behind the scenes to keep the golf courses in good condition and suitable for playing. The Association focuses on education about turfcare and regularly conducts programs/seminars by inviting external and in house domain experts. As the current President of the Association, AK has recently promoted and supported a certification program for the professionals in collaboration with Protouch Sports and George College of Kolkata.

Today, as advisor to “72 The League” — India’s first professional golf league — AK stands at another inflection point. With icons like Kapil Dev, Samant Sikka, Amit Kharbanda (Game of Life), Joy Bhattacharya (ESPN fame), Shouvik Roy and Aditya Ghosh lending their weight, the league promises to blend youth and experience, amateurs and professionals, teenagers and veterans in their sixties.

Success of “72 The League” will do for golf what Packer did for cricket — minus the provocation, minus the profiteering. It’ll popularise the game and shatter the myth of the game’s inaccessibility. Here, and now, AK Singh is not selling television rights; he is only creating opportunity for enthusiasts who would otherwise never step onto a fairway.

Revolutions do not always roar. Sometimes, they tee off quietly at dawn. And sometimes, all it takes to change a sport is a man who refuses to believe it belongs only to the privileged few.

PS: Passionate about popularising the game, AK is a moving, living encyclopaedia of golf; a repository of interesting stories. His knowledge of the history of the game is profound. All one needs to do is — goad the otherwise quiet man, into speaking.

More golf stories…

I (really) saw God!

It is true as true can be.

Now, this not that time of the day when I am usually engrossed in intellectual discussions with friends after downing a few Paul Johns, or Old Monks, or some wine — or a “Green ON! Go!” for that matter. That I saw God is not a figment of my imagination after a few drinks. It really happened.

Before I proceed, a word about God, godliness, and my stand on that subject.

I am neither an atheist nor a believer. But, sometimes I do flaunt Rudraksh beads; I feel they go well with my baldness and round-rimmed glasses. Occasionally, I also apply chandan (sandalwood paste) on my forehead; it is so soothing. The beads and the chandan ka tika—together, they give me a rather cool, saintly look. That is my belief. But my dear wife urges me to discard them. “This kind of symbolism is meaningless; be a good human being and people will see God in you,” she says admonishingly, so I give up the pretence.

With or without saintliness and godliness, life goes on.

Yet, sometimes in this God’s Own Country, I wonder if HE/SHE (THEY) really exist. What do THEY look like? Multiple heads and arms? Riding a tiger, a mouse, an elephant, or a swan? I got my answer when I visited Ranthambore recently.

It was a family holiday—nearly twenty of us. The night before, at Juna Mahal (the resort), we had great time — star-gazing, folk songs and music and local cuisine. We were all set to embark on a tiger safari the next afternoon. Since the morning was free, some of us decided to visit the Amareshwar Mahadev Temple nearby. Each one on board had an agenda to be met at the temple. I guess most were going there to seek “special” blessings. As for me, I was eager to discover the physics behind the perpetual trickle of water falling on the Shivling in that small temple carved inside a rock—a cave of sorts; Lord Shiva’s blessings would be a bonus.

It was mandatory to leave the cars at a gate about two kilometres from the temple. A jeep meant to ferry visitors, took us to the foot of the hill on which the temple was situated. Thereafter, it was about a kilometre and a half of gentle climb through rocky terrain. We were warned to remain in a group, as tigers had been spotted in the area in the past.

Amareshwar Mahadev

I belong to Ujjain, known for its temples—Mahakaleshwar, in particular. When I realised that, like the Mahakaleshwar Temple, the Amareshwar Mahadev Temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva, I began looking for similarities, which were aplenty—such as, the Shivling and a small water tank for people to take a dip. But there was a striking difference that caught my eye. The 1.5 km walkway to the temple was clean beyond imagination. This was in sharp contrast to the litter one sees around Mahakaleshwar and other temples. I attributed the exceptional cleanliness to the relatively (much) lower footfall at that site, and concluded the dialogue within.

The temple surroundings were clean too. And ah, the serenity! It was a cherished world far from the humdrum of where each one of us had come from—Noida, in my case. One had to prostrate oneself to get a close darshan of the Shivling. The constantly trickling thin stream of water from the rocks above the Shivling evoked reverence and amazement. It had been dripping for many years. We spent a blissful half hour at the temple before heading back. The return trek was uneventful yet fun.

While driving back in the rickety jeep, we crossed a man dressed in a saffron half-kurta and a white dhoti. With long hair, a beard, and a cloth bag dangling from his hand, he looked like a typical sadhu. I thought he was one of the caretakers on his way to the temple.

Ganesh, the living god…

“This old man is walking alone to the temple. Isn’t he afraid of the tigers?” I asked the driver of our jeep out of sheer curiosity.

I listened in disbelief to what the driver told us about the man. “That man in saffron is Ganesh. He is the son of one Ramchandra Verma and lives in a nearby village. He has been walking to the temple and back every day for the last forty years. On his way up and down, he collects litter thrown around by devotees. We owe the cleanliness of this place to this one man. He does it selflessly, and with devotion; doesn’t charge a paisa. He lives on whatever he earns by tilling his small piece of land.”

When I turned back, I saw the man in the distance, a halo around him—the kind we see in pictures of gods and saints. I had no doubt; I had caught a glimpse of a living GOD.

Postscript

No regret that we didn’t spot a tiger that day.

Last week, when I got an opportunity to visit Ranthambore again, I grabbed it with both hands. While another tiger safari was the loudly proclaimed agenda, somewhere at the back of my mind was a strong desire to cross paths with the same god. Sadly, this time I missed both—the tiger and the god.

If, and when, I revisit Ranthambore, it will be with the primary motive of meeting Ganesh — all else, will be secondary.

“Chanakya”

“Chanakya” as the real Chanakya could possibly have been!

Sterling…

My revered theatre friend, Shri Ashok Banthia, rekindled my love for the stage when he invited me to work with him on the play Maha Param Veer two years ago. The production was staged in Udaipur, Jaipur, and Bhopal, and is expected to travel to other state capitals as well.

Recently, thanks to Ashokji, I had my first glimpse into the beautiful world of the National School of Drama (NSD). I was awestruck, to say the least. As is often my habit of wishing I could go back in time to pursue unfulfilled dreams, I found myself longing to study drama at NSD. That renewed desire arose from the stellar performances I witnessed yesterday.

Gripping…

The play was Chanakya.

All of us Indians have grown up hearing stories of Chanakya and Chandragupta Maurya. Honestly, those stories seldom inspire awe anymore. However, this Chanakya—researched and scripted over four years—felt fresh and intellectually invigorating. Having been staged more than 1,700 times, it’s no surprise that the actors have come to live and breathe their roles. Watching them, I couldn’t help but wonder if the real Chanakya, Amatya Rakshas, and Chandragupta Maurya could have expressed themselves half as powerfully. No exaggeration intended!

Been there.

The team led by Manoj Joshi (as Chanakya) and Ashok Banthia (as Amatya Rakshas) delivered a sterling performance. The dialogues were powerful and passionate, complemented by excellent costumes, lighting, sound, and music—every element of the production was par excellence. Time seemed to fly, and before I knew it, the play was over.

Beyond its artistic brilliance, the play reintroduces Indian history in a way that leaves a lasting impact. Those who watch it—especially those involved in running the country—will carry pearls of wisdom passed on by the real Chanakya through Manoj and Ashok’s portrayals.

…with my theatre mentor

We often judge a film or play by whether it’s worth our time. My conclusion? Watching Chanakya was worth more than a dozen of the best films or OTT series combined.

When I received a warm, friendly hug from Shri Ashok Banthia after the performance, I couldn’t hold back my hidden desire. I requested him, “Sir, please accept me as your pupil. If nothing else, I’ll cherish the role of a tree or a lamp-post beside which you stand and mesmerize audiences.”

Kudos to Manoj, Ashok, and the entire Chanakya team!

Delhi’s Dirty Air: Why Quick-fixes don’t work?

Every dust particle removed ‘permanently‘ from the air, is a dust particle less in Delhi’s lungs.

Delhi has done much and is contemplating more to rid its air of menacing particulate matter. Atomisers, sprinklers, mechanical road sweepers, smog towers and now, cloud seeding, is being resorted to clean the air. Regardless of the cost, the effectiveness of these methods has been, at the best, marginal.

Psychological Relief
Sprinkler: transferring the problem in time and space?

Except smog towers and mechanical road sweepers, all the other methods (including, the much talked about cloud seeding) of removing particulate matter from the air are either temporary, or have the tendency to transfer the problem from one locality to another. The water (sprayed or sprinkled) supresses the particulate matter temporarily. The dust particles when brought down at one place by water, first stick to the road surface and then cling to the wheels of the passing vehicles, and are carried to other parts of the city. When the water evaporates and the wheels become dry, the particles are released back into the air. Thus, the dust from Mayur Vihar gets transported to Lajpat Nagar; that from Lajpat Nagar, to Sarojini Nagar, and so on and so forth.

Old particles remain in circulation and new get added from different sources. The relief, if at all, is temporary and psychological.

Smog Towers: Limited Success

Talking of smog towers. Studies suggest that they make a marginal difference. The smog tower at Connaught Place was installed at an approximate cost of $2.5 million (nearly ₹ 21 Crores). Where the tower stands, its efficiency is 50%; at 50 metres, it is 30%; and at 500 metres it is just 10%. If the filters are improperly sealed; they allow dusty air to by-pass them. As per some estimates, Delhi would need 2.5 million such smog towers to clean its air. The likely cost will be close to $20 billion, about 2.5 times the Delhi State budget for 2021. Numbers speak!

It is noteworthy that Beijing and Shanghai have abandoned large-scale smog towers because of limited success.

Cloud Seeding: glamorous, iffy results

Suppressing dust particles by causing artificial rain (through cloud seeding), likewise, will have temporary effect—the dust particles will remain tethered to the earth’s surface only as long as it is wet. If by some chance, the rain is heavy, poor drainage will cause traffic snarls. In effect, we’ll rob Peter to pay Paul—if not the lungs, the roads will get clogged. Delhiites will pay for both.

Is there a way out?

Of course, there is one! It follows the principle: capture particulate matter and prevent it from getting back into circulation. It is as simple as it sounds.

This can be achieved as follows:

  • Polluted air (laden with particulate matter) is directed on to moist screens, or is passed through specially designed ducts whose walls are moist.
  • The wet surfaces/ ducts ‘trap’ particulate matter and let go of cleaner air—devoid of particulate matter.
  • These wet surfaces and ducts are continuously cleaned by running water, or still better, water jets. The running water takes away the particulate matter with it and deposits it into a sump. Thus, the wet surface always remains clean and ready to ‘trap’ more particles.
  • From the sump, the particulate matter is removed continuously by decantation/ filtration and the water is reused.
  • The particulate matter thus removed is disposed of in a way that it doesn’t get into circulation again.

Using this principle, simple inexpensive static and mobile contraptions can be made to very effectively ‘capture’ particulate matter and consign them to their graves.

Yours truly, confident of the effectiveness of this method, had written to the authorities who matter. There must have been some communication gap, because the response was on these lines: “If you have a problem, please connect with the concerned department. Thank you for visiting the website.”

When I presented this idea to budding engineers (college students whom I lecture sometimes), they responded favourably and expressed their desire to take up projects on these lines. But very soon, they backed off for they had graver concerns—examinations and placement interviews.

Thus, what I thought was a cost-effective practical solution to Delhi’s woes got stored into some less frequently visited corner of my mind.

Then this childhood friend, while playing golf, rekindled the subject discussion, “It is a desperate situation now. The AQI has risen to alarming levels. It is still rising. The concern is high. Yours seems to be a workable solution. Why don’t you write to Delhi Govt?”

Going by my past experience, I was disinclined to go through the grind again. But then, the thought came to share the idea in a blogpost which passes more eyes.

So here it is.

I share this post in a hope that someone, somewhere, turns this simple idea into a real solution for Delhi’s lungs. Among the beneficiaries will be my better half and some of my dear friends who are occasionally forced to use inhalers and nebulisers for respite.

Author’s Notes: This method of removing particulate matter from the air, ‘for good‘, can be implemented in numerous and innovative ways. Before posting this article, I shared my thoughts on the subject with my BITSIAN brother, Sumit Chordia, and lo and behold, he came up with umpteen suggestions not only to trap the rogue particles flying in the air but also to check pollution at source. Likewise, I invite my readers to share what comes to mind. Eventually some idea, will work.

Comments & Feedback

  • Air Commodore Meenu Vania, SC, VM: Any idea is better than no idea 🙏 In your case what you propose seems a workable solution and deserves a trial. I also have a point of view 👍I propose we tackle the known sources of air pollution ie construction activities, vehicular traffic , stubble and garbage burning , road sweeping ( actually its absence ! )and any other pollution generating activities. My point is the major sources of air pollution are not unknown. For ages its poor policy , knee jerk reactions , and an unwillingness to take some strong action that may result in political harakiri that has resulted in this pathetic state of affairs 🙏 Don’t tell me we are not aware that winter, Diwali and crop burning are a deadly cocktail. Surely if we can think of Gaganyan we can think of a solution to this problem of air pollution too 🙏
  • My response: ‘Nipping it in the bud’ is THE solution. That is a gospel. Just can’t be denied.Pollution due to Deepawali & crop burning also can be brought to zero if there is a will. Education is lacking. Despite best efforts, some pollution due to construction work and vehicle use is a given. What I am suggesting (without saying it in so many words) is to fight the pollution which can’t be stopped at source despite all efforts. 🙏
  • Colonel Alankar Bhardwaj: Was installed in Chandigarh. Failed and is now shut down. https://chatgpt.com/s/t_69058d278e7881919dfab9934b5b37ab

Delhi’s Dogs of War

“Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the Dogs of Delhi!”

…and Champagne* wonders, “Why do these Delhi dogs fight for territory despite relief granted by
the Honourable Supreme Court? Doesn’t the whole of Delhi belong to us?”

*Champagne is a ‘thinking’ dog, very affectionate, shares living space with me, has bitten me twice. Click here to read the story of this awesome creation of God.