Fighting malnutrition with Moringa

It is such a shame that the level of malnutrition in India, the home of Moringa tree, is nearly twice of what prevails in Sub-Saharan Africa. The World Bank, in a report last year, slamming the Government of India on its tag of “one of the most malnourished nations in the world” said that robust economic growth and food security by themselves would not lower the incidence of malnutrition, especially among women and children. Stating that malnourishment rates are high, 54 % among scheduled castes and scheduled tribes and 50% among rural children, the report observed a mismatch between “intentions and implementation” in the Integrated Child Development programme. The nutrition-related sectoral plans of other ministries were also found to have remained mostly unimplemented. Even the Mid-day Meal Programme, while ensuring better attendance in schools, has failed to be of value in reducing malnutrition.

This is not all. Noting that 2000 to 3000 children die of malnutrition every day, even the UK-based Institute of Development Studies described India as an “economic powerhouse but a nutritional weakling”. With 46% children in the country still malnourished, the Institute felt India would not be able to meet the UN Millennium Goals of halving the number of hungry citizens by 2015. Veena S Rao, a former secretary to the Government of India, in her book “Malnutrition, an emergency: what it costs the nation” estimated that malnutrition has led to a loss of 4% in GDP. Stressing that malnutrition was a huge human resource calamity, she called for making “high-energy low-cost food” available to the poor.

This is precisely where Moringa, the “Miracle Tree”, our humble drumstick tree (botanical name: Moringa oleifera), has a role. For many, it is inconceivable that this non-descript tree could ever be an effective foil against the prevailing widespread malnutrition in the country.

Malnutrition is caused by deficiencies of micro-nutrients like, inter alia, iron deficiency anemia (IDA), vitamin A deficiency (VAD),, iodine deficiency disorders (IDD). About 70 per cent of pre-school children suffer from IDA. Further, low birth-weight (LBW) is one of the key causes of under-nutrition in India, where about 30 per cent of the children are born with LBW largely due to poor maternal nutrition. Almost a third of the women have a body mass index below normal and the prevalence of anemia among pregnant women is around 60%. Besides, want of proper sanitation and hygiene, coupled with lack of safe drinking water and consequential gastro-intestinal disorders, are basic causes of under-nutrition and chronic ill-health. The United Nations has defined malnutrition as a state in which an individual can no longer maintain natural bodily capacities such as growth, pregnancy, lactation, learning abilities, physical work and resisting and recovering from diseases.

The miraculous Moringa Tree could take care of most of the nutritional deficiencies if only it is put to proper use. Increasingly considered as the world’s most valuable natural resource, the main constituents of the tree are several nutritive ingredients. Its leaves, pods and flowers are considered good sources of vitamins A, B, B2, B3, B6 and C, folic acid, ascorbic acid, beta-carotene, calcium, iron, and amino acids. More importantly, its leaves are highly nutritious, being a significant source of beta-carotene, vitamin C, protein, iron and potassium. In fact, Australians claim that the Moringa tree provides 7 times the Vitamin C in oranges, 4 times the calcium in milk, 4 times the Vitamin A in carrots, 2 times the protein in milk, and 3 times the potassium in bananas.

A versatile plant with a multitude of natural attributes, Moringa is great food for humans and animals alike. Its leaves, flowers and fruits, all are edible. Its leaves, dried and powdered, when added to the diet of undernourished children enhance their appetite and increase their weight. Among the nursing mothers it markedly increases lactation providing greater nutrition for the suckling infants. It also makes great fodder for cattle. Experiments have revealed that the weight of livestock increased upto 32 per cent through Moringa feed, increasing their milk by 43%. As in the case of humans the dried leaves appear to be much more effective.

What is, perhaps as important is the capability of the Moringa seeds to purify water and thus take care of many of the ailments, including the debilitating diarrhea, of the rural folk that arise from unsafe drinking water. The pulp of the seeds makes an effective coagulant, which can be used to clean turbid waters. In an hour or so of immersion of seeds, the contaminants are pulled to the bottom of the water. Researchers have shown that the seeds, in the process, also neutralise over 90% of bacteria and viruses present in the water, rendering it safer for, both humans and cattle. This it can do even after extraction of its oil, called ben oil, which is of use in several industries.

With its incredible diverse utility as a medicinal, industrial and ecological plant, planting the tree in and around Indian villages, therefore, makes perfect economic sense. Native of India and widely distributed in the country in virtually in its every region, it can grow fast and in any condition. It is drought resistant and has remarkable survival instincts. It is kind of a “never say die” plant, so much so that it is difficult to kill it. It can, with facility, green the semi-arid regions of the country rendering several benefits to the local communities.

Africa is using the tree in a big way to fight hunger and malnutrition. The value of the Moringa tree has been documented and has been found to be sustainable solution to malnutrition in the continent. What is more, a new remarkable attribute has since been discovered and that is its capacity to build up the immune systems. Hard hit by HIV/AIDS, a huge number of the drought resistant trees are being planted in most of the affected countries of Africa.

Internationally some non-governmental organizations like Trees for Life, Church World Service, and Educational Concerns for Hunger Organization — have actively advocated Moringa as “natural nutrition for the tropics”. The beneficiaries have been some of the Central and South American, African and Asian countries. No such governmental or non-governmental initiative has so far taken off in this country though it happens to be the world’s largest producer of Moringa. It seems it is yet to be appreciated that Moringa could well be the provider of (Veena Rao’s) “high-energy, low-cost food” for the Indian anemic and malnourished.

For emancipation of the deprived and the disadvantaged from the curse of chronic ill-health and malnutrition a well thought-out campaign to harvest the varied benefits of Moringa through, inter alia, gram panchayats and anganwadis is, therefore, direly needed

Unregulated sand mining threatens Indian rivers

Many in India, perhaps, are not able to foresee how lack of governance, virtually, in every sphere is going to hit them in not too distant future. Take for instance mining. Illegal mining of mineral resources, with generous help of political and bureaucratic big wigs, is so rampant that not only are the country’s precious natural resources being purloined in a big way, its forests are being clean-felled, land degraded and its rivers threatened with extinction.

Mining of sand, for instance, is depleting the waters of the rivers. While the construction boom fuels the demand, weak governance and rampant corruption are facilitating uncontrolled and illegal mining of sand and gravel in the rivers, threatening their very existence. What is happening is nothing but suicidal. This mindless, unrestrained and unregulated activity is posing threats of widespread depletion of water resources which may lead to avoidable food shortages and hardships for the people.

Sand is vital for sustenance of rivers. Geologists know that uncontrolled sand mining from the riverbed leads to the destruction of the entire river system. If sand and gravel is extracted in quantities higher than the capacity of the river to replenish them, it leads to changes in its channel form, physical habitats and food webs – the river’s ecosystem. The removal of sand from the river bed increases the velocity of the flowing water, the distorted flow-regime eventually erodes the river banks. Beside these on-site effects the off-site effects are also quite lethal. Sand acts like a sponge, which helps in recharging the water table; its progressive depletion in the river is accompanied by sinking water tables in the nearby areas, adversely impacting people’s daily lives, even their livelihood.

River sand, therefore, is vital for human wellbeing. That, however, is yet to be appreciated, for instance, in the central Indian province of Madhya Pradesh where unscrupulous contractors, with more than willing co-operation of the corrupt government officials, are emptying the river beds of sand. Whether it is the major rivers like Narmada, Chambal, Betwa or Wainganga or numerous rivulets and streams all are being ravaged for their sands. The state Government has wittingly lent a helping hand for the loot. Overstepping its authority, it exempted mining of sand and gravel from any kind of environmental clearances under Rule 49 of its Minor Mineral Rules notified in 1996, neutralising the provisions made in several Central legislations on conservation of environment and mineral resources. None of these central legislations has delegated powers to the states to amend any of their provisions. Worse, a section of the contentious Rule authorises the government to exempt any mine to operate without obtaining environmental clearance. Hundreds of lessees of the Mining Corporation of Madhya Pradesh are, therefore, merrily excavating sand from the State’s rivers, generally, disregarding all environmental regulations. Mercifully, Ajay Dube, the social activist secretary of “Prayatna”, a reputed environmental advocacy group, has approached the State High Court for quashing of the unconstitutional exemptions so that indiscriminate mining of sand could be put a stop to. After all, the State’s water security is at stake, as indeed its food security.

The southern state of Kerala, likewise, is experiencing the effects of the veritable loot. Its second longest river Bharathappuzha has become a victim of indiscriminate sand mining. The journal India Together recently reported, “Despite numerous prohibitions and regulations, sand mining continues rapidly on the riverbed of the Bharathapuzha. Water tables have dropped dramatically, and a land once known for its plentiful rice harvest now faces scarcity of water...In the villages and towns around the river, groundwater levels have fallen drastically, and wells are almost perennially dry”. Last year Palakkad, a district largely dependent on the river for drinking water, saw “one of its worst droughts in its history”. Instead of a free-flowing river that it was, Bharathappuzha had no water in it. Unregulated sand mining during the past decade has all but devoured the riverbed. With the sand cover gone, shrubs and acacia groves have cropped up in the middle of the river. A source of drinking water for about 700,000 people in 175 villages and several towns, Bharathppuzha is rapidly ceasing to be so. Meetings and rallies are held on its dry bed while drinking water in the neighbourhood has become scarce. Palakkad, known as the “The rice bowl of Kerala”, is on the threshold of losing that sobriquet.

Similar has been the fate of the Pamba River, Kerala’s third longest river. For its association with the Sabarimala shrine it is considered sacred and is also known as “Dakshin Ganga”. That, however, has not saved it from meeting the same fate as that of Bharathappuzah. In fact, reckless sand-mining has reduced the water-holding capacity of several rivers in the state. They become trickles soon after the monsoons only to dry up later. Kerala may, in all probability, lose its green mantle and may not be able to live up to its epithet of “God’s own country”.

Little up north , the supposedly sacred Godavari River, flowing from West to East over the Deccan plateau, has been mined so badly for its sands that its basin in the Marathwada region of Maharashtra State has almost dried up. In Aurangabad district, villagers have recounted to “Down to Earth”, the well-known environmental periodical, how Godavari would be brimming with water until only about two years ago, but now it has considerably shrunk, so much so that scores of villages in Paithan tehsil have to get water through tankers. This is so despite the existence of the nearby big Jaikwadi dam. Wells have dried up and farmers have to have water piped in over long distances. Rocks jut out in the mercilessly excavated banks of the Godavari near Wadwali village, the resident farmers of which had threatened to commit self-immolation in front of the district collector’s office. According to rules, sand can be excavated only up to a depth of one metre but greedy contractors, most without permits, in connivance with officials, dig up to as much as seven metres. Rules and regulations are seldom observed. It is kind of free for all.

The instances cited above are only illustrative. The malaise is pretty widespread as many other states, like Gujarat, Karnatak, Tamilnadu, etc. are also victims of unchecked illegal sand-mining the consequences of which, needless to say, are very serious. Rivers of India are already seriously sick. Polluted by industrial and urban effluents, they are also victims of deforestation in their catchments, sequential damming and degradation because of unchecked sand-mining on their banks and beds. Besides, erratic monsoons, induced by changing climate is taking its toll, adversely impacting their capacity to sustain the current levels of economic activities, especially agricultural productivity.

The Prime Minister, Dr. Manmohan Singh, has already warned that the country has to snap out of its false sense of food-security. Perhaps, he also needs to advise the states to take necessary care of their rivers and other water resources so that the country is prevented from being overtaken by desertification, famine and hunger.

Meeting the Chinese challenge

Although the Indian Minister of Defence has denied it, the local officials in Ladakh, in the state of Jammu and Kashmir (J&K), have arrived at the conclusion that during the last 20 to 25 years the country has lost a “big chunk” of land to the Chinese along the Line of Actual Control (LAC), the line that separates India with the illegally occupied Indian territory by the Chinese. It was a finding of the Ladakh district administration, in association with the Army and the Indo-Tibetan Border Police, the organisations which man the LAC. They concluded “We are withdrawing from the LAC and our area has shrunk over a period of time”. Stating that the “The Chinese are pushing us back from our own territory” the note suggested that the boundary question “should be settled once for all”.

Obviously, the survey was carried out as a sequel to several instances of Chinese aggressive posturing on the LAC last year. Two Chinese choppers violated the Indian airspace and buzzed the village of Demchok in Ladakh. The Chinese even objected to construction of a road up to the village which is well within the LAC. The J&K Government, apparently, feeling a little unsure of the entailing consequences, promptly stopped the work.

Then again, Chinese troops breached the unmanned border and intruded 1.5 kilometres deep into Indian territory in the Chumar sector east of Leh, and painted “China” on stray rocks and boulders. The Indian border patrol discovered the signs of Chinese intrusions last July. Sniffing a story to catch the Government on the wrong foot, the media went on an overdrive, with the electronic media telecasting pictures of the boulders with “China” writ large on them in Cantonese. Keen to bring down the temperature, the India’s defence establishment played down the reports of incursions.

Similar reports had earlier emanated from the eastern sector of the India-China border. However, in October 2009 it was a different ball game on display. Indian Prime minister, Dr. Manmohan Singh happened to visit Arunachal Pradesh, a state that borders Tibet the status of which the latter holds in dispute. His visit, essentially for canvassing for elections to the state legislative assembly, brought forth a virtual torrent of undiplomatic verbiage. Expressing its “strong dissatisfaction” over Dr. Singh’s visit to the state, China demanded India to address its “serious concerns and not trigger disturbances in the disputed region so as to facilitate the healthy development of China-India relations”. The whole thing was quite inexplicable as Dr. Singh was not the first Prime Minister of India to have visited the state.

This was not all. Even the visit of Dalai Lama to Tawang in Arunachal Pradesh early in November 2009 came in for adverse notice of the Chinese. Their Foreign Ministry issued a strong statement expressing dissatisfaction over the permission given by the Indian Government to the Tibetan leader to visit Tawang and its spokesperson branded Dalai Lama as “anti China” merely because he visited the monastery located therein. The more than three centuries old monastery is one of the biggest outside Lhasa. Dr. Singh clarified that the Tibetan spiritual leader was an honoured guest in India and was free to travel anywhere within the country. Latter’s visit to Tawang, however, sent the mercury soaring in China.

Mild-mannered as he is, Dr. Manmohan Singh, made a mention of the recent Chinese belligerence during his state visit to Washington in November 2009 with his characteristic mildness. While addressing a US think tank, he pointed out that India had taken note of a “certain amount of assertiveness” on the part of China lately. He went on to say that he did not “fully understand” the reasons for the recent Chinese actions.

Some Indian China-watchers say that the Chinese cussedness in so far as India is concerned is Dalai Lama-centric, that is, they are annoyed with India for having given asylum to the Tibetan spiritual leader. It seems, during his Delhi visit in 1956 Zhou Enlai, the then premier of the People’s Republic of China, gave a very broad hint to his Indian counterpart, Jawaharlal Nehru, that any Indian assistance to the Tibetan leader would be treated as an unfriendly act. The continued rebellion in Tibet in the early 1950s perhaps gave the Chinese a hunch that Dalai Lama would eventually seek assistance from India. And, when India played host to Dalai Lama in 1959, Mao is reported to have ticked off India as an enemy. That, perhaps, explains the Chinese policy of keeping the Indo-Chinese border on the boil even after China resolved its land border disputes with 12 of its neighbours, including Russia, North Korea and Vietnam despite brief skirmishes with each.

That apart, one has to reckon with the Chinese irredentism. According to Michael Richardson, a former editor of International Herald Tribune, China is the leading proponent of irredentism and it lays claims on vast territories – both land and maritime – on grounds of vague ethnicity. Claims against India, substantial as they seem to be, are perhaps receiving special treatment.

Bill Powell, writing in Time magazine (August 10, 2009) said that with its growing economic importance China has increasingly “started throwing its weight around”... and “push other governments to see things China’s way”. From India’s viewpoint, that, perhaps, is a more accurate assessment of China. While it has been objecting to developmental activities within the LAC in Ladakh calling it disputed, China has merrily been carrying out infrastructural development on its side of the LAC as if that is not disputed. Worse, having gobbled up Aksai Chin in 1950s, China has occupied large swathes of land in Ladakh. One doesn’t know whether it is Chinese irredentism or Chinese expansionism?

Even if he does not understand the new Chinese “assertiveness”, Dr. Singh has to appreciate the fact that he is up against a bully. Playing down the Chinese aggressive posturing only betrays the softness of the Indian State. Dr. Singh, therefore, would do well to prepare the country to meet any eventuality vis-a-vis China. Its military unpreparedness, as was splashed all over recently, to meet the threats from its northern and western neighbours had alarmed the nation. The country needs to shore up its defences. True, it may not be possible to match the military might that the Chinese have built up over the last couple of decades but India can surely manage to develop enough deterrent capability to dissuade anyone from treating it as a push-over. There are enough resources available within the country. Dr. Singh only has to evolve a political consensus to clamp down on large-scale waste and rampant corruption, both at the Centre and in the states. The attitude towards corruption, particularly in the high places, has to change. Besides, decisive steps, as promised, to recover the billions of dollars illegally stashed away in tax havens abroad are urgently needed.

If the country is economically and militarily strong none would ever think of messing with it.

(Published by Indian News & Features Alliance, New Delhi, on 22nd January 2010 under the title "Halt Chinese push-over"

Muharram of my childhood

As one grows old one tends to look back into the past. Any event or festival or ceremony takes the mind years back and associated memories come flooding back before the mind’s eyes in the shape of lifelike moving images, almost like the present-day videos. As one views them one gets enthralled, losing all sense of time in watching something that actually takes place only in the cerebrum.

Something like that happened to me the other day. It was Muharram, the day of mourning for Muslims for the martyrdom of Husain ibn Ali, who is revered by all Shia for fighting tyranny. My mind effortlessly travelled back in time and started retrieving images from early 1940s of Muharram of my childhood in Gwalior, a princely Indian State in Central India, ruled by the then young, barely-in-his-twenties, Jiwajirao Scindia, grandfather of Jyotiraditya Scindia, currently a Minister in the Government of India.

Truly secular, Gwalior State, now at this distance of time, seems to have been the epitome of the famed Indian “composite culture”. Life mostly revolved around the Maharaja, a benign feudal, who used to actively participate in most of the religious festivals. A major festival, whether of Hindus, Muslims or any other community, was nothing unless he was a part of it. Every year on the occasion of Muharram he would come out in procession to the local Karbala. Perched on a black and white horse dressed in his ceremonial richly worked-on angarkha, laden with assorted jewels and with his trademark Maratha pagri placed on his head with just a hint of a tilt to its left he would ride down the city roads. His numerous ministers (locally known as sardars) and important officials dressed likewise would be in tow on horses more or less of similar kind.

Like on Dussehra, it was carnival time of sorts – of those innocent days. Roads would be blocked for hours – more for ensuring a clear passage than for security – as the Maharaja would come out among his people. None would mind the inconvenience. Those were unhurried times. People would go about their businesses through the mass of humanity consisting of rural folk assembled on the pavements. Villagers in large numbers from the hinterland visiting for the occasion would camp overnight on the footpaths. For them witnessing the procession was incidental; they would mostly come to see their loved and revered Maharaja during one of his rare public appearances. Gwalior, seemingly, bursting at its seams, would see frenetic activity. I remember my siblings and I would thread our way with my parents through the milling crowds to reach the house an acquaintance of my father that had a veranda that offered a ringside view of the proceedings.

As the hour of the procession approached the villagers would change into their best in honour of the Maharaja. Generally, the fresh whites of their dresses would be topped by huge colourful turbans with flowing tails. Their women, veiling their faces with their flamboyant saris, would remain in their men’s shadows. As soon as the Maharaja came into view the crowd would burst into a huge roar and the people on the pavements would jostle to get a better view of him. Some would be up on their legs, others would crane their necks from behind, holding their children high above them on their shoulders or climb on trees or any vantage point just to see the Maharaja. As their revered one passed by, they would shout in unison “Maharaja Jiwajirao Scindia ki jai ” .

The crowds used to be thickest near Kampoo, which once used to be the camp of the Scindias and where the Imambara was located. It was also the point of origin of the procession. The Imambara, now much more than a century old, was truly impressive. Of Islamic architectural design, its what seemed to be frightfully high ceiling and mammoth dimensions accommodated the several-storied tazia of the Scindias as it was assembled bit by bit. A decade or so later, I recall, the Imambara became the venue of the national badminton championships in 1952. It had enough space for stands on all sides of the courts for spectators. It was in this Imambara that Nandu Natekar dethroned TN Seth, the then reigning national badminton champion.

I still remember the huge shiny golden multi-storied tazia made on behalf of the Maharaja (the like of which I am yet to see again) leading numerous other smaller shiny and richly-coloured ones of lesser dignitaries, Muslim organisations and individuals along with several tall bright and colourful alams in a seemingly unending stream. They would slowly wend their way down the streets followed by hundreds of mourners, a few with blood on their backs from the iron chains that they lashed themselves with uttering the anguished “ya Husain, hum na hue”.

In Bhopal, too, Muharram is observed with ritualised fervour. It is, however, gradually acquiring a celebratory character. Living as I do, close to Bhopal’s Karbala, I find the place lit up and illuminated with myriad lamps. A Ferris wheel is installed near it and numerous temporary food stalls are erected selling mouth-watering meat preparations and sweets, including the inevitable jalebies. Though loud-speakers broadcast wailing music there is, generally, an air of festivity around the place, giving it the ambience of an amusement park. Processions with numerous tazias and alams come from various parts of the city and converge around Karbala in a huge mass blocking all traffic. One cannot negotiate even the recently constructed VIP Road, the main artery between the north and the south of the town.

But for me, somehow, it is not the same thing. There is a general air of disorder and boisterousness with ear-splitting noise; the tazias are far smaller and the alams pale and pedestrian. Besides, the gilt, the pomp and pageantry seem to be missing.

Or is it that I am deluded by my nostalgia for those good old bygone days?