A Spring Worth Fighting For

Finding meaning in times of climate change

Mar 31, 2025

Spring is a time when life takes on bright new energy and blooms in so many forms and colours. Even in most of India, where the winters are pleasant rather than harsh, life does take a slow pace in the cold months. Historically, Spring has been celebrated in India in many ways. There are many festivals of colours, of beginnings, of song, dance and celebration. Much has been written, much has been said, and much has been loved about this beautiful season—as it should be.

But today as a travel company we must admit that we keep encountering something a little bit concerning. The question we often find ourselves asking in the face of a very rapidly changing climate is: what does Spring mean and which period can be considered to be Spring?

We have seen such changes in so many regions, across all seasons and it is hard to predict how the weather conditions would be on any given time of the year. Sometimes, guests also ask us for weather forecasts, and getting it right has become difficult— both traditional knowledge and modern techniques may fall short. At times, getting it wrong can affect our relationship, in case they feel misled. For example, in Ladakh, spillover of the heavy monsoons in Himachal Pradesh can be felt during July and August when it's supposed to be in the rain shadow region. The effects of this are many; for instance, all traditional Ladakhi houses in the region historically have flat roofs and are made of mud, designed for drier weather, but now this architecture doesn't suffice anymore. These patterns have accelerated significantly over the last 10 to 15 years. And of course, this affects farming, harvesting, and blooming of wild flowers across the region, as well as tourism in unexpected ways. The season for tours and travels used to start from May and end around the middle of September. Now the season starts in April and goes on till November even!

Rhododendron flowers in the Binsar forest.

A sharp example of changing Springtime can be seen on the Binsar forest trail, which is one of our very popular journeys. The season of blooming for Rhododendron flowers has shifted by an entire month, and instead of coming to bloom in March, the flowers already are in full bloom in February. By mid-March, the blooming is over. So again, it makes us wonder, what does Spring mean, and can a time of dying flowers be called Spring?

There are few thorough climate change studies and studies on ecological degradation in India, considering the large size of the country, but ultimately, the picture that emerges from what we do know is grim. Some places in India, including many of its densely populated cities, have begun to see the most extreme temperatures and rainfall ever recorded. For example, in 2024, parts of Delhi recorded temperatures of more than 49° Celcius, which makes it one of the highest temperatures ever recorded in India and in fact, one of the highest temperatures recorded anywhere in the world^[1][2]. We tried reading up on this, and all data indicates that temperatures have been steadily rising both in North and South India and will continue to increase in the coming decades^[3][4]. Rainfall also seems to have changed erratically: on one hand there has been a decline in both monsoon and overall rainfall across the country, and on the other hand there have been a lot of reported incidents of bursts of excessive rainfall^[5][6], including sometimes exceeding all known records by a wide margin^[7].

In the face of this kind of ecological destruction, it is hard to ignore that one of the major causes for this churn is us humans. Especially as a travel company, the question always remains: are we somehow accelerating this sort of ecological damage?

Tree Rhododendron (*Rhododendron arboreum*), locally known as Buransh, is the state tree of Uttarakhand.

We like to think that maybe the contact between travellers and these beautiful locations is inevitable— so perhaps by mediating in this process mindfully, we may be able to soften the impact to some degree in comparison to taking a more heavy-handed industrial approach. Certainly, we do want to inspire people to change how they travel. The greater reality for us is that this very idea of responsible travel comes from a more broad and general sense of responsibility in our day to day lives—which includes small practices, such as reducing the usage of single use plastic and plastic-lined products by carrying a refillable water bottle, reusable cutlery, and empty containers to take food back home, when ordering a beverage remembering to tell the shopkeeper not to give a straw, changing linen only when necessary instead of every day, avoiding extra long showers at full blast, etc. which then extend to travel-specific habits such as bringing personal toiletries and carrying personal dry waste back to the city, and so on. And even as we mention small, individual steps, we do recognise that when it comes to climate change, ecological destruction, and related subjects, probably the lion's share of responsibility lies with corporates, governments, industries, and the system rather than on private individuals— though private individuals may have the ability to put pressure on these institutions to act appropriately.

Speaking of institutional problems leading to ecological disaster, one incident from many moons ago comes to mind. On a beautiful Spring Day, the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl blew up into what today is still considered the largest human-caused industrial calamity. An area of more than 200,000 sqkm was contaminated, affecting ecosystems and leading to a displacement of about 350,000 people^[8][9].

Image by Jorge Franganillo, used under the Creative Commons 2.0 license.

But here is one interesting thing: Chernobyl may no longer have any human beings living nearby, but it is teeming with life. As a result of the nuclear accident, 800,000 hectares of agricultural land were removed from production and 700,000 hectares of forest timber production were halted, which had a positive impact on ecosystems like forests and freshwater bodies. Biodiversity in the region has increased after the disaster, and more than 400 species of vertebrates, including deer, wolves, beavers, moose, mink, raccoon dogs, pole cats, foxes, wild boars and many kinds of birds, have returned. It appears that radioactive exposure is less harmful than industrial activity by humans^[10][11][12].

Despite several negative effects, including harmful mutations and deformities, flora and fauna seem to have adapted to tolerate the radiation, and there are even some signs of hope. Some species may have even benefited in some sense, such seeds which germinate faster^[13], forests which exhibit higher biomass^[14], plants which potentially develop a high mutagen resistance^[15], rodents with higher resistance to oxidative stress and to DNA-damaging compounds^[16], and birds with higher sperm motility and density^[17]— and some microorganisms even grow directly on the most radioactive parts of the facility and consume the radiation and thrive on that energy^[18]. Isn't that what Spring is about?

An aerial view of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, taken from Wikimedia Commons, under the Creative Commons 4.0 license.

The more we look, the relationship between creation and destruction becomes less clear.

In an interesting twist, in Indic lore, the bringer of cosmic destruction, Lord Shiva, is revered as the benevolent god of gods, but the cosmic creator, Lord Brahma, is not typically worshipped by people— though many demons pray to him. Creation is also attributed to demons such as Mayasura, known as the architect of material reality. In Indian astrology, the demon Rahu is a signifier of desire, which in turn leads to creative action in the world. The guru of demons called Shukracharya, whose name means ‘sperm-teacher’, is also associated with regeneration and life— he is known for his ability to bring the dead back to life. This power is rare, and even the gods do not have access to it easily. Demons were equal partners of gods in the churning of the cosmic ocean. The Spring festival of Holi is also associated with demons—it celebrates new life and the deep devotion of the demon prince Prahlada towards Lord Vishnu. The harvest festival of Onam is linked to Prahalada’s grandson, the demon Lord Mahabali, who is associated with prosperity and righteousness. So, we wonder why these motifs of creation and destruction are so intertwined. Perhaps they are just archetypes of potent cosmic forces which cannot be easily categorised as good or evil, and perhaps cannot be seen as separate from each other. We know that many creation myths across the world also contain elements of chaos and demons and potent gods with a range of different motivations… and we'd love to know your favourite stories, if you'd please share.

A celebration of Holi at Binsar through traditional dance.

When one thinks about it, even the earliest life on earth was probably born in some chemical chaos that we can't even imagine properly. What we do know is that, for example, out of the approximately 4 billion years of life on earth, oxygen was a deadly poison for most forms of life for the first 1.5 billion years or so^[19]. And yet, today, practically all life that we as humans encounter, including ourselves, would die without a constant supply of oxygen. And much before that, did the entire cosmos not Spring forth suddenly from something else not well understood?

So maybe one lesson that helps in staying hopeful is that life tends to find a way, and nobody knows how exactly something will play out in the long arc of time.

So even as we strive to get better in our practices as individuals and as a travel company, we also see that there is a much greater wisdom that makes death into life— as Victor Hugo said, "...eternal Spring is in my heart". So maybe a time of dying flowers is Spring, too…

We are still reflecting on this. As a travel company, how are we affecting things? The negative aspects seem more obvious since every bit of travel, food, usage of goods, and electricity has an ecological cost, but what about benefits? Can travelling into nature soften the heart of the traveller and bring changes big and small to their lives? Could facing the impacts of a changing climate have an impact on how people engage with it at home? On how they think, how they vote, and how they drive policies? Humans often stand out as a destructive force, but for a long arc of history humans have also been integral and productive parts of many biomes— and these learnings are yet contained in practically all traditional communities; could travelling help bring these learnings back into the urban mainstream, and catalyse a gentler, more inclusive world? The questions are many, and we would love to hear what you think about any or all of these… please share if you have any stories related to these subjects; we look forward to hearing from you! Even as we were putting these thoughts together, we wanted to get a first-person point of view from someone who has had to confront these subjects up close and hands-on.

So we spoke with Juli Cariappa of Kracadawna Farm, which is one of our beloved destinations: a farm and homestay that is surrounded by a quiet river next to a vibrant semi-deciduous forest biome, stewarded by Juli, her partner Vivek and their two sons Azad and Kabir (who now stewards an organic farm of his own with his partner).

Juli and her family, including her daughter in law Harshitha, who is a new member of the team!

For four decades, it has been home to not just people but also chickens, cows, goats, dogs, cats, countless different kinds of birds and bugs and myriad species of trees, as well as integrated food gardens grown without chemical fertilizers and pesticides. With many years of watching life around her, Juli has deep insight into how the same location has changed in response to a changing climate and how the changing patterns of human life and other life forms affect and modify each other continuously.

Climate change has had a very real impact, making life difficult for all flora, fauna and the people who depend on them. This includes Juli and her family, and the people and community that they have worked and lived with for so many years.

In conversation, one of the first things that came up was that by comparison, humans are more vulnerable than life at large, which is quite robust and which is likely to carry on no matter how much destruction humans bring into this world. As an agriculturalist, Juli noted that the production model that worked for many years has suffered quite a few setbacks. This makes her think that maybe we should look more closely at how we eat and see if we can change those patterns and our nutrient cycles to match the changing realities of the seasons. She observes that these challenging circumstances bring out and highlight the adaptogenic capabilities contained within all life. She also noted that we are at a situation where climate change has become unstoppable, so how do we respond to it?

Kracadawna is a happy home for countless beings.

Maybe small changes in our personal lives and our local biomes can create a synergistic effect that ripples out through many, many layers of life. She asks a valuable question: will the new include us? We don't know, but maybe one way to view the current times is to look at them as a transition space. A time of change is always filled with as much possibility in letting go of old ideas, old assumptions, and our comfort zones. This is a time for acceptance, humility and surrender. It could be a new space to honour the power of one and the power to choose life over just giving in. Juli emphasizes again that we cannot really dismiss the power of one, even as a consumer or even a guest at the farm.

Speaking of the farm, Juli recounted an anecdote from her direct experience of such unexpected changes— for the last 5 years or so, the rain patterns have changed so severely that about 3 acres of the lowest area in the valley farm is flooded every year now and stays submerged for about 3 weeks at least. As a result of this, the mango trees in an orchard in that area have begun to die out. Their response has been to adapt to this new reality and plant mangoes on higher ground. Surprisingly, these new trees were found to have more vigour, and they produced sweeter mangoes. Another unexpected positive result from this flooding was that it brought in a lot of silt every year, which has been a boon for higher yields in the paddy crop. The weeds and other life forms have also been changing rapidly, creating new symbioses.

Flooded mango orchards at the farm and a glimpse of a cultivated plot.

Overall, however, the changes have been quite drastic. There have been extreme heat and cold, deficits in water, winter jumping into summer skipping spring altogether in some years, cold waves in summer and heat waves in winter— demanding adaptability at a pace and scale never seen before by the entire life system of flora and fauna, including pollinators and humans. It has caused a lot of mortality and even loss of species.

Loss is a valuable lesson Juli reflects; winter is inward-looking, and it is a time for repair. We, as humans, also need to reflect on our inner selves. Juli feels that the outer and the inner worlds are in a continuum and climate change is a reflection of the changing inner climate within each being.

The way climate change is perceived sometimes can be so narrow and depersonalized that it can be dangerous. Fortunately, at this time, there is a growing awareness among human beings to engage in a lot of self-work and reflection. Now is a time to learn how to simply observe and see and hear and be okay with it and not panic. This time of transition is demanding of humans a very different way of relating with things. If we don't learn to conserve the spaces around us, we ourselves will be on that list of extinct species. The earth will protect herself, and our actions will have a significant impact on our future.

As we concluded our conversation, it converged on a strong note that this is a Spring worth fighting for.

Presently, Juli said that she is in a place where she looks to stand very still, listen carefully, breathe, and understand how small she is.

Juli, in a moment of solitary reflection.

And the lesson that she has learnt in four decades of working a farm is this: we can—and we have to—do something powerful by doing something simple, and that simple act also has to be something profound and fundamental; there is no other way to get around it or postpone it anymore.

She asks a question for us and for our readers to sit with... a simple one— “How can I learn to be with the Earth?”

For us, it would be nice to know what comes up in your heart if you happen to stay with this question.

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