ENVIRONMENT (SLOPPY SLOPES)

SLOPPY SLOPES  

By: Nasser Yousaf 

 Shamrez, an assumed name common to the Himalayan foothills in Pakistan, works at a tea stall at a lesser-known point on the road between Ayubia and Nathiagali. The teashop built of cement blocks with its rustic corrugated iron rooftop sits somewhat serenely on the edge of the road overlooking a thick wall of conifers. 

In his mid-thirties with a goatee beard, grown so more as a result of paucity of facial hair than any perceived sense of fashion, Shamrez, unlike most of his people in this stretch of the Himalayan mountains, has the ability to converse fluently in Pashto. ‘I am not the only one, down in the village there are many who can speak Pashto,’ he submissively volunteers to inform while pointing to a cluster of tin-roof houses in the ravine. 

Shamrez works as a helper to the elderly owner of the teashop who could be seen assiduously checking the sweetness of the tea with the help of a spoon and his palm. Business does not seem brisk although traffic on the road has increased manifold in the recent years. The shop is frequented mostly by labourers building summer houses for the rich from the plains. 

Summer monsoon appears to be ebbing as August is drawing to a close. There are fewer showers, but whenever a burst of rain lashes the mountaintop stench from garbage piling on the slopes is accentuated. Shamrez, his humble disposition aside, is one of the guilty. He keeps providing the proof of his guilt each time he knocks an egg against the rickety counter of the teashop. After emptying the shell of its contents in the frying pan, he throws the refusals down the slopes with an appalling apathy. 

This otherwise obnoxious action is repeated many dozens of times on a daily basis. All that Shamrez does is he picks an egg, knocks it against the grimy wooden shelf and then casually darts a few steps to the end of the road to dispose of the shell down the muddy slopes. When not attending to a breakfast order, he gets down to peeling vegetables to be cooked for lunch. Today’s menu would be pumpkin, possibly mixed with lentils, a favourite delicacy in such restaurants. After transferring the peeled vegetables to a black pot, the remainder is consigned to the slope. 

It is not just the egg shell and the vegetable skin going down the slopes, the two indeed are the lesser evils considering their organic value, but all the plastic that is transported to the mountaintop for the consumption of the tourists. And it is not just Shamrez, but every single restauranteur and indeed all those who have built themselves summer houses in the mountains contributing to the mounting piles of garbage. 

The topography of our mountains that we keep crowing about to the potential tourists is fast changing. A time may soon come when our mountains, except for their heights, will stand bereft of their much sought after romance. Not quite long ago, the sight of tin roofs painted in different shades of green would welcome and thrill the visitors. And, of course, music of the rain drumming on the tin roofs would put one instantly to sleep. 

All that is changing now. More and more people are opting for concrete roofing, more out of greed than any consideration of aesthetics or strength. In fact, both from the points of view of aesthetics and strength corrugated iron rooftops should be preferable in the mountainous areas which receive heavy snowfall in winters. 

There is little that the authorities are doing to save our mountainscapes. By the look of things, mountainous retreats were better off when there were no governmental authorities. The emergence of authorities, ostensibly for the development of the mountains, has given rise to the spectre of townships where once there were only single-storied wood and stone cottages. A journey into the mountains would now bring one face to face with many-storied apartments and hotels rising from the depths of the ravines like some grotesque monstrosities. 

It is the verdant slopes adored with tall conifers that bid us to the mountains. Mountain slopes lend immense beauty to the scenery in its entirety. We ought to do everything possible to save and preserve our mountain slopes from the ongoing frenzied construction and the litter spread by the rising flow of domestic tourists. 

This monsoon there appeared to be a rancour to the usual noise of the beetles, crickets and cicadas and indeed insects of all descriptions. They seemed to be angry at Shamrez, and at us all. We are making their habitations less habitable for them. They might have heard someone uttering ‘extinction,’ in their quarters.