The VITs of Rajpath versus the mango trees

Will there ever be citizens’ movements or social media crusades to protect the aam neighbourhood trees as assiduously as the Very Important Trees of Rajpath? In the predominantly Bengali residential area in New Delhi where I have lived for nearly two decades, trees along the main road are subjected to an annual savage attack. Men come in trucks, armed with huge saws and lop off branches indiscriminately. The purpose? To clear the vista to erect advertisement-bearing bamboo gateways for the annual Durga Puja. ` The result of this inexpert and haphazard pruning is the inevitable toppling of many of them by the next monsoon as they become lopsided. And this murder is invariably deemed to be death by “natural causes”. The same happens when the gangs arrive to “clear” (hack off) branches that have got in the way of electricity and cable wires or cement trees to “beautify” the area. No one hears about their horror stories because they are not VITs—Very Important Trees—growing in newsworthy areas. They are aam janta trees, planted mostly by chance rather than mandate along New Delhi’s largely narrow internal colony roads a few decades ago and are now seen as a hindrance by many to access, sunlight and even advertisements. Even less publicised is the constant culling of trees in residential areas that do not have the good fortune to be located in a colony park. Thanks to alterations in building byelaws, entire plots can be covered, so what chance do trees have when weighed against increased floor area ratios? The stipulation of stilts to facilitate parking have also been a death knell for trees. In 2020 a case came to the Delhi High Court about the hacking of two amaltas trees in Janakpuri in West Delhi. A lady complained that a fellow resident had chopped the trees badly; he responded that branches had fallen on his car during a storm, after which he called in the forest department that had done the dastardly deed. That glib response sounds dreadfully familiar. The forest department claimed it issued a show-cause notice to the person who cut the branches and assured that no pruning or felling would be carried out illegally. The petitioner’s contention that no action was taken, that fines imposed after such offences are useless and such assurances without a quick reaction team are futile, sounds like an epitaph for the aam trees. When 16,500 trees were marked for death in a central Delhi government colony slated for redevelopment in 2018, the huge public outcry belied the old Stalinist axiom that a single death due to hunger is a tragedy but a million are just a statistic. The startling number of trees destined to officially become timber galvanised thousands who stay silent for a single one. In response, various courts promptly passed orders against further mass-scale felling of trees and decreed that alternatives would have to be found. The government backtracked and the relevant minister said no trees will henceforth be cut during redevelopment projects. He also mentioned that they would be transplanted, and more trees would be planted too. In 2018, the Sunder Nursery, for decades a rather overgrown 90-acre patch of land housing a government outlet for plants, reopened as Delhi’s latest green hotspot. Now the capital’s chatterati eagerly flock there, especially on weekends to commune with nature amid the renovated monuments and VITs with an enthusiasm not seen for their own neighbourhood greenery. Last year, the initiation of the new Parliament building construction was also preceded by an outcry about the VITs there being cut down. It emerged that 404 trees—that used to provide shade in what was earlier a parking lot for cars with parliament stickers—would be transplanted and some 100 trees retained. The crux, of course, is how many will survive the transplant. Cut (!) to May 2021, and once again VITs are in the news with rumours that thousands were going to be axed along New Delhi’s most famous boulevard, Rajpath. Disturbing photos of uprooted lampposts, bollards and lawns—not trees, mind you—have evoked those same extreme emotions among those unmoved by the aam (ordinary) trees of their own neighbourhoods. As the protests gathered steam on social media about the slaughter of jamun trees, the minister informed that among the 4,650-odd trees along Rajpath—a little over 1,000 of them jamun—only 22 were transplanted. None have been axed. And that the lampposts, bollards, chains, lawns and fountains would be restored after installation of utilities and amenities in the area. That the new Central Vista will have more green areas seems to be lost in the din. And the photos provided by the minister—ironically, also on social media—shows artists images of proper pavements, pedestrian walkways and orderly utilities. The prospect of no smell of urine in the corners, no higgledy-piggledy vendor vans and no trash on the lawns also beckons. Yet the clamour about thousands of trees being massacred persists, fuelled by uninformed ‘forwards’ of photos. This outpouring of love for the VITs is heartening indeed, but will this public concern expand to include the mango (aam) trees that surely outnumber them? Will we now see more cases in high courts like the one about the two amaltas trees in Janakpuri? In the West, there are strict laws regarding planting, pruning and culling trees in neighbourhoods. Trees are sanctioned—often even varieties are decided—by local authorities. Not even a twig can be cut without tortuous permissions and procedures. India has similar laws—but only on paper. In reality, we all know how easy it is to murder a tree and get away with it. While the courts in India of late have been very concerned about greenery, most of their orders relate to protecting parks, forests and other large green areas. Most protests also centre on such tracts like the Aarey Colony controversy in Mumbai in 2019. No one is there to stand up for the neighbourhood trees, along colony roads, and in plots that still have small open patches. The very prominence of the VITs along Rajpath provide a natural safeguard—any attempt to harm them naturally attracts attention and censure. Not so, the vulnerable aam trees that are closer to home, like the ones where I live. Will there ever be citizens’ movements—or even social media crusades— to protect these ‘underprivileged’ trees as assiduously as the VITs? The author is a freelance writer.