A club by another name

Sant Singh Chatwal is a hotelier, a rich man with many diverse interests. He was also the subject of a criminal investigation by the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) for defrauding Indian banks. Two CBI directors, as recent reports suggest, dropped these charges. No prizes for guessing how and why this was done. Chatwal has now been awarded the Padma Bhushan, India’s third highest civilian honour. It is common knowledge that often those who get these awards are less than meritorious. This causes heartburn. But there are other objections as well. If the quality of those given the prizes has fallen over time so has the quality of the selection process. A more basic question, however, is if a democratic state should issue such awards at all. Both questions are linked, as the Chatwal controversy shows. The bestowing of medals, ranks, titles and other ceremonial stuff by states is as old as history itself. In the modern age, however, this sits uneasily with the role of a government. Why? Any government today is expected to be an arbiter of rules and a keeper of civic order. Good governments keep markets regulated (but stay away from interfering in them), secure the property of citizens and, in general, ensure a level playing field among citizens. The giving away of awards, ones that confer prestige, makes governments a participant in this game. This worked well in the age of kings and queens when hierarchy between citizens was considered normal. Not anymore. When this occurs, dangerous things happen. It gives a government an enormous advantage in setting the “prestige agenda”, much like a beauty contest, but without the charm of the latter. It could, hypothetically, work well as long as the quality of the selection process is not compromised. This is wishful thinking. Any democratically elected government is manned by persons of ambition, not saints. Ministers and politicians alike want to give awards to further their agenda, and not national interest. From the controversy over selling of peerages by the Tony Blair government to our shoddy committee-based procedures for all kinds of awards, devaluation is common.  This has a negative effect. The government, instead of ensuring a level playing field, creates a club where some citizens and non-citizens muscle their way in. The process is reminiscent of patronage in a monarchy. In a democracy, it leads to jockeying. There is acute demoralization of citizens. This is the story of ourPadma awards.

The Republic of corruption!

We need a combination of credible systems and collective leadership to catalyse a virtuous cycle of change.

Most times I read a piece about corruption, I have what I suspect is a fairly common reaction—“Not another moralizing piece!” And so, a promise —this piece on corruption won’t preach.

We can safely declare that while we may not have achieved universal education in India, we have succeeded in universalizing corruption. Consider the list of corruption-infested activities:

Birth certificates, building licences, ration cards, medical supplies, primary school admissions, examination papers, police station postings, mining permits, master planning, defence contracts, court pronouncements, environmental clearances, NGO funding, corporate balance sheets, auditor statements, bank loan sanctions, burial grounds, petrol pump licences, natural gas concessions, power plants, water supply distribution, affordable housing allotments, parking violations, speeding violations, treating accident victims, telecom tariffs, manure for municipal parks, dairy cooperatives, microfinance, garbage contracts, highway contracts, auto-rickshaw meters, bus tickets, press coverage, beggars, hawker zones, NREGA payments, JNNURM contracts, missile systems, government school chalk contracts, army uniform supplies, temple priests, church conversions, mullah edicts, sales tax offices, small-scale industry licences, coffee boards, political parties, candidate tickets, governors’ offices, intelligence bureau, Border Security Force, train reservations, cricket boards, censor board, Olympic committee, forest preservation, backward class reservation, college admissions,panchayat presidents, municipal mayors, movie-making, temple hundis, heritage preservation, tiger protection, aircraft purchases, milk procurement, government fair price shops (ironically named), RTI offices, rape victim depositions, hit-and-run cases, FIR registration, disabilities Act implementation, foster homes, adoption agencies, fertilizer subsidies, land use conversions, Ganapati festivals, factory emissions, labour unions, employment exchanges, student hostels, passport offices, drivers’ licences, excise duties, tourist visas, pilgrimage spots, death certificates...

From birth to death, we are now immersed in corruption. Thought experiment—try and think of one public activity that is free, actually completely free, from corruption.

If there is a common thread that binds us together as Indians, it is corruption. One massive national endeavour in which each of us is an active agent—either as perpetrator or as victim or as beneficiary. The specific role we play changes—just as Vishnu takes different avatars, we assume different garbs depending on the situation: often victim, sometimes beneficiary, and not infrequently perpetrator.

It’s got so pervasive that there is an almost ubiquitous corruption-level guessing game going on in everyone’s minds, be it in government, in the private sector or NGOs: “I heard that so-and-so is corrupt, that is how they can afford all those new gadgets, and the fancy holidays they take.”

Gone are the days of “innocent until proven guilty”; today the mantra is “corrupt until proven honest”. Unfortunately, honesty is like scientific theory—it can never be proved, only disproved. And so, the honest folk who resist are fighting a constant uphill battle—pretty soon, the corrosive effect of corruption seeps in to erode almost everyone’s defence—built on a varying mix of ethics, fear and fading hope in a day of comeuppance.

We find ourselves so neck-deep in the swamp that we don’t even sense the stink any more. In fact, we have constructed twisted arguments to condone corruption, including the ingenious one which says that all the corruption-driven money eventually comes back into the economy, so it’s okay—that in fact it was India’s large grey market that helped cushion the impact of the global economic crisis in 2009.

When a phenomenon is so pervasive that it engulfs an entire society, we cannot get out of the mess by pretending that some are superior to others, or with lectures that lament a bygone ethical way of life—it only puts everyone off, especially the youth. And, for all its punchy impact, Rajkumar Hirani’s movie on Gandhigiri was never really going to work in real life. This is a problem where isolated individual action isn’t enough— we need something more, much bigger, a combination of credible systems and collective leadership—to catalyse a virtuous cycle of change.

Unfortunately, it’s not clear where the flywheel for this change will come from. Politics is a logical answer, just as it has been in other countries. But in India, large-scale politics is a Faustian bargain with integrity as barter.

For all the gloom, it’s also true that we have the capacity in our country to harness a collective energy, rise above our circumstances, and undertake massive transformation. We’ve done it before —what better reminder than 26 January? Maybe that was a unique event, and we can never have an encore. Or, perhaps, we could do it again. Happy 60th anniversary for the Republic. In hope.

ANOTHER 60TH BIRTHDAY PARTY

It was a birthday party with a difference. The “kid” has behaved better than its parents. The home work has not been easy. And even when completed in time, no candy had been handed out. Now that surely calls for a cake.

On Monday, the Election Commission of India (EC), an institution a day older than the Republic, turned 60. There was all-round praise. Politicians, who have often accused EC of bias, were all praise for it on Monday. Its success in keeping democracy in running order is unquestionable.

Two factors, institutional and human, have worked in its favor. To begin with, India’s founding fathers wisely entrusted the task of conducting elections to a non-partisan, apolitical body. Had that not been the case, political events in India would have taken a very different turn. Pakistan provides a contrasting example. The first election in that country, for the Punjab legislative assembly, witnessed blatant misuse of state machinery and administrative intervention on behalf of select candidates. That undermined the credibility of elections there from the start. In India, the rot began much later and never reached levels that could imperil democracy.

The second, equally vital, ingredient in this process has been human. From the time of Sukumar Sen, the first chief election commissioner (CEC), EC has been manned by persons of ability and integrity. There have been some slipups, no doubt, but these are aberrations that have never threatened the edifice.

What of the future? EC’s role and the environment it works is that of constitutional comfort, beyond the whims of capricious representatives it helps elect. With political coalitions being the flavor of the time, it is unlikely that this institutional order can be changed in a way that can harm democracy.

Governments are often tempted to appoint “their” men to man the commission. But constitutional guarantees ensure that CECs turn out to be nobody’s fools. That game will continue, but the results are also clear: It will be a person of very poor quality who will turn partisan when he or she adorns the office of CEC.

The challenges to democracy lie beyond the portals of the commission.

Why Hindus should weed out Gita’s message

Human experience tells us that those asked to work without expectation of reward normally do no work, or do shoddy work. The Gita believes otherwise

The message of the Bhagavad Gita is so electrifying that its narrator Sanjay reports that his hair is standing on end (roma-harsanam). But what exactly is that message? When he began reading Indianauthors, V.S. Naipaul noticed a strange thing. They only recorded inner experience, ignoring the world around them.

Inner world: Gandhi was unmoved by London’s buildings and people.

In 1888, on his first visit outside India, Gandhi landed in Southampton. In his autobiography he noted two things: It was Saturday, and he was the only person wearing white flannel (it was October). The scale of London, its foreignness, its buildings and architecture, its cleanliness, its people—all of that is taken for granted by Gandhi, a 19-year-old villager from Porbandar. He should have been stunned by the differences. But he notices nothing.

Indians, Naipaul observes, have “no feeling for the physical world”. He is right, but why do we look away from the physical world? To see what our culture says about this let us look at the Bhagavad Gita.

The Gita has three messages:

• We must work without expectation of reward

• The soul is immortal: The body and the outside world are unimportant— Chapter 2

• We must aspire not to a state of action (rajas) or inaction (tamas) but purity (sattva)—Chapters 14 and 18

The Gita’s definition of sattva—goodness (14:5), serenity (14:6), wisdom (14:17)—will puzzle someone who wants to follow Krishna’s advice and become sattvik.

On the other hand it is easy to be rajasik—driven to action (14:9), passionate (14:12), hungry for reward. Human experience tells us that those asked to work without expectation of reward normally do no work, or do shoddy work. The Gita believes otherwise.

We are familiar with the famous line that starts Karmani eva adhikaraste... (2:47), but it is actually a couplet. The second line cautions us not to be motivated in action, or attached to inaction. In another place we are told the wise man sees action in inaction and inaction in action (4:18). This ambiguity in the Gita—act but don’t act—has given spiritual gurus the space to do endless philosophizing. It is the favourite text of all from Vivekanand to Sri Sri Ravishankar, and Gita sessions dominate the daily engagements column of newspapers in our cities.

The Gita tells us to withdraw our senses like a tortoise its limbs (2:58), because all answers are within us.

So this looking inwards, this detachment that Naipaul observes, is actually prescribed by the Gita. Are all Hindu texts like this? No.

The Vedas are very different, aggressively materialist and extroverted. The Vedic chant is really a list of demands on the Gods, particularly Agni and Indra: Give me this, give me that. But the chanter’s hunger assumes action that needs divine support. In the vocabulary of the Gita, the Vedas are rajasik.

Naipaul then makes a second, more cruel, observation. Because Indians are oblivious to the world, we don’t participate. The behaviour of Indians “is parasitic. It depends on the continued activity of others, the trains running, the presses printing... It needs the world but surrenders the organisation of the world to others” (India: A Wounded Civilisation). When the Indian is at a great foreign airport, his thoughts are on how not to look foolish. He has no wonder about how the place works (A Bend in the River).

He is right again. All who observed India closely have noticed our peculiar shutting out.

Allama Iqbal went to Europe for his PhD and came back transformed in 1908. The great unifier till then, he began separating Muslim culture from Hindu on his return. In 1904, Iqbal wrote Tarana-e-Hindi, commonly called Saare jahan se achcha. In 1910, he wrote Tarana-e-Milli, which goes: Muslim hain hum, watan hai saara jahan hamara (The whole world is the Muslim’s nation). Iqbal didn’t suddenly decide to start hating Hindus: He worried that their culture would also take Muslims down with it.

Kipling, who knew Indians well, wrote about its danger in The Miracle of Puran Bhagat. It is the story of a powerful minister, a wise man, who renounces his position and family and becomes a sage. He tries to run away from the world but eventually finds himself only through action, not mindless renunciation.

Are we stuck with our culture forever? Not necessarily. The detached Gandhi of Southampton became a magnificent man of action, but only after exposure to Europeans. When he visited India in 1896, he was aghast by our apathy, because after eight years abroad he was able to observe it as an outsider. He saw the inexplicable attitude of the Indian, obsessing about ritual pollution to his body through caste, but oblivious to an environment he kept polluted beyond belief.

Modernity has brought no difference: We are one of the filthiest people on earth in 2009. But we can live beside filth quite comfortably because we are trained to ignore it. Our high tolerance to the anarchy of India comes from our religion.

Today the Mumbaikar recognizes the Parsi for his ability to engage with machines. We even pay him a premium for the car he cares for. But we cannot replicate his simple actions, which should come easily to us because every other culture behaves that way. We cannot, because the Gita’s message of disengagement is so effective. The unobservant do not invent, and that is true of Indians, a highly evolved people who have little or no invention to their name.

When he comes, if he comes, our Martin Luther must reform the culture by moving the Gita from Hinduism’s centre to its periphery, where it should be revered, not followed. Its sophisticated message of detachment is for yogis, not ordinary men. Something more mundane and work-oriented must replace the Gita, even if that message is less electrifying.

My barber’s wisdom

‘There are two kinds of poor people, those who have the capacity to improve their lives, and those who don’t’

Once every few weeks, I visit my barber Narayan for a haircut —that mandatory male ritual that accompanies us throughout our lives.

Narayan is a successful entrepreneur, running two shops in Bangalore, employing several people and offering an expanding range of tonsorial solutions.

The haircuts are always accompanied by clockwork-rhythm conversations—we begin as he swooshes his crisp white cloth around my shirt and ties it behind my neck, and end as he brings the framed mirror for me to approve the haircut.

Normally, the topic of our talks are interesting but somewhat generic —movies, politics and cricket. But our last trimming conversation touched on a personal chord—Narayan’s life journey. It was filled with pearls of wisdom—about hard work, running a successful business, and surprisingly, the government’s poverty programmes.

“Narayan”, I began as the starched cloth settled on my shirt, “how long have you been a barber?”

“Oh, 37 years now”, he smiled.

“And how did it start? Did you always have your own shop?”

“No sir, I came to Bangalore from my village at the age of 19, running away to earn a living. No education, no skills, nothing to save me except my determination. I found work as a cleaner in Ashoka Hotel (one of Bangalore’s old premium hotels). One of my jobs was to clean the barber shop floor. Soon, I realized that there was a lot of money to be made from tips as a barber, so I learnt after work. In a few years, I was working as a barber, and did that for several years before I had enough to start my own business.”

“How did you manage to save enough with a barber’s salary and tips?”

“I never said ‘no’ to any opportunity to earn more money. Some of the richer clients preferred to have haircuts at their homes. So I would get there by 6am, finish the haircut, get to the hotel by 8, then repeat the same thing in the evening.

“I scrimped and scrounged—for food, I would go to the Janata Hotel near Shivajinagar, and order one idli, but the sambar was unlimited, so I would keep asking for more sambar to fill my stomach.

“Every single day, I saved money. Within a few years, I had enough to start my own business. And now,” he waved his scissors around with a blend of humble pride, “I have two of these parlours in prime locations.”

“And you still do haircuts, despite being quite well off?”

“For some customers, yes. This is a relationship business. Would you come back if I asked someone else to cut your hair?” he smiled cannily at me in the mirror.

“What about vacations?” I asked. “Do you take time off?”

“In the past 40 years, I have taken two holidays, of four days each.”

“That’s it!” I exclaimed.

“Well, I also take a two-day break every year with my staff. We go to some nice hill station, such as Ooty. We sightsee, eat well, enjoy ourselves. And then, back to work the next morning.”

“What about your family? Are they OK with this lifestyle?”

“I have a daughter and a son. My son takes care of the other shop. Daughter was married five years back, big choultry. I spent Rs50 lakh on the wedding. Called everyone from the village, gave each woman a silk saree. It felt really good to see the pandal on the stage that day. I thought of my parents. My family is used to my discipline, it is what saved us.”

He was working on the back of my head now, more than halfway done.

“So Narayan, you are clearly a self-made man, got nothing from the government. What do you feel about anti-poverty programmes such as NREGA?”

“It’s a good thing, poor people will benefit”, he said very matter-of-factly.

“But, you didn’t get anything from government, and succeeded with your own effort. Isn’t that the message we need to send to the poor, that they need to take ownership over their own lives, rather than depend on government handouts?”

“Sir, there are two kinds of poor people, those who have the capacity to improve their lives, and those who don’t. For those who don’t, we cannot just leave them to their fate, they need help. And even among those with capacity, luck plays a big role in coming out of poverty. I was lucky. There are many who are not. This second group of people also need help.

“In any event, most people don’t want to have their hands turned up all their lives.”

He had brought the mirror. I checked my haircut and nodded, even as I caught my reflection in Narayan’s hands.

Bollywood producers, multiplexes end standoff

The two parties reached a consensus over the rationalization of profit sharing for forthcoming films

Mumbai: Bollywood producers have agreed to end a crippling two-month standoff over revenue sharing with Indian multiplexes that had dried up releases and led to large losses in the world’s most prolific film industry.
The deadlock, which piled woes on an industry already battling a slowdown, ended late on Thursday after eight hours of talks when both sides came to a verbal agreement.
“The strike has been called off and you will see films being released at the box office from next week onwards,” Tushar Dhingra of Big Cinemas, part of the Reliance ADAG group, told Reuters.
Producers had demanded a 50% share in box-office revenues, while multiplex owners favoured a performance-linked model based on a film’s budget and star power, resulting in a deadlock that has seen almost no releases since 4 April.
“We have agreed to a 50% revenue share for the first week, across board for all movies, including Hollywood films,” Priti Shahani, senior vice president of the Indian Film Company, told Reuters.
Multiplexes are largely concentrated in cities and big towns in India, and have also encouraged the production of low-budget films that are a departure from song-and-dance extravaganzas.
India’s filmed entertainment sector, estimated at about $2.2 billion, is forecast to grow by more than 9% every year over the next five years, according to consultants KPMG.
Box-office revenues are still less than 10% of Hollywood’s because of low ticket prices.
Dhingra said all national multiplexes were part of the agreement. The two month gap will mean a backlog of movies waiting to be released, which may hurt smaller companies.
“The deadlock hasn’t really caused losses for the producers so far, because it has only meant releases have been pushed forward,” trade analyst Komal Nahta said.
“However there will be a huge pile up of releases in the next few months, which is bad news for smaller films.”

The thing about the tiger

Be it in Kanha, the Sunderbans or Corbett, too many tigers are still dying unnatural deaths. But why is saving the tiger so important? And how can you contribute?

Before you snigger at yet another tiger story, let me assure you that I understand your point. Yes, it is our national animal and yes, it is quite a sight even in the zoo. But in a country that is wracked by poverty, unemployment and terrorism, does the tiger deserve prime ministerial intervention?

No wonder you just don’t get this thing about the tiger.

The more compassionate among us might spare a thought for it were we not repelled by rabid environmentalists who seem to value all living beings except humans. But for most, the tiger does not make the cut. It does not even make a legal pet. Is there, then, a valid case for saving the tiger?

Years ago, I was with some children at the Dhikala Complex in Corbett National Park. When I asked why they were there, they told me they had come “to see a tiger”. Why tiger? “It’s so big and powerful…even elephants are scared of it…”

At this point, a proud father prompted his seven-year-old to say “We must save the tiger” and a few other children echoed the same thought. But when I asked them why they should do so, even the parents looked foxed.

Suddenly, a tiny girl threw up her hand and said in a sing-song voice: “…because it is the king of beasts”. With a few children protesting “nooo, that’s the lion”, the parents broke into indulgent laughter.

But I had my answer. This whole thing about the tiger is not about the tiger.

Though it is indeed the king of the Indian forests, having won the territorial battle with the Asiatic lion long ago, let us not meddle with traditional titles. What children understand as king of beasts is, in fact, the ecological equivalent of the apex predator or the animal at the top of a food pyramid. In that sense, both lions and tigers are kings.

Common sense tells us that to keep the top block in place, every block down the pyramid must be in place. So a healthy tiger population typically indicates that everything is fine with the rest of the forest. The same is true of the lion, but it can serve as an indicator only for Sasan Gir National Park, Gujarat. The tiger roams much of India’s best forests. So this thing about the tiger is really about the entire forest.

In talking to children, few can match Mumbai-based environmentalist Bittu Sahgal, who runs the Kids For Tigers campaign. Some of his ploys are dramatic. One of his routines is to call two children on stage (usually a boy with cropped hair and a girl with a thick mop). He asks them to bend over, then pours a glass of water on their heads. Then he takes out two white handkerchiefs to wipe their hair dry. He demonstrates how the handkerchief used by the boy gets less wet than the one used by the girl. It’s Sahgal’s way of telling children how forest cover is essential for our water security.

Our forests are the source of 300 rivers and perennial streams; without forests, these water bodies would dry up.

There are many other reasons to value our remaining 64 million hectares of forests. A few years ago, the Centre put a conservative annual estimate of Rs40,000 crore as the value of assets exploited from forests— from biggies such as timber, medicinal plants and salt, to lesser derivatives such as tendu leaves, or firewood. This figure does not include minerals (around 75% of our mines are inside forests), encroached plantations or illegal wildlife trade. A more realistic estimate, based on independent studies, of the annual value of our forest produce would be around Rs75,000 crore.

The thing about the tiger is about protecting this treasure trove, ensuring our water security, and enjoying an annual dividend of around Rs75,000 crore. Anyone who has fathomed this has a very selfish reason to bother about the big cat.

The thing about the tiger is about us.

When I uncovered the local extinction of tigers at the Sariska National Park, Rajasthan, in January 2005, the government’s initial response was that of denial. But later, the Prime Minister’s office, the Supreme Court and the Central Bureau of Investigation got involved. There was a new Central legislation (the Wildlife Protection Amendment Act, 2006) and two new Central agencies (the National Tiger Conservation Authority and the Wildlife Crime Control Bureau). The budget for tiger conservation was increased fourfold to Rs600 crore in the 11th Plan.

Why then are tigers still dying frequent unnatural deaths? Why the disturbing headlines from Tadoba, Kanha, Pilibhit, Sunderbans or Corbett in the past few months? We can blame the lacunae in the system. But on the ground, the biggest threats are habitat loss, conflict with people and poaching.

The tiger is a territorial animal. There are gender concessions as the larger territory of a male overlaps with several smaller territories of females. But no two adult males or females usually share space.

If they are lucky to survive their first two years, tiger cubs leave their mothers and go looking for their own territories. However, these sub-adults (known as floaters) don’t easily find space unclaimed by adult tigers.

At this stage, a floater may kill or chase away a resident tiger or get killed or chased away. If alive, the displaced weakling or the young floater moves towards the forest periphery and may circle the forest till it gets lucky and finds a slot. Otherwise, it may find a patch that connects its native forest to an adjoining forest where it may try to shift. If there is no peripheral forest (known as buffer) or connecting patches (known as corridors) to temporarily accommodate these displaced weaklings or young floaters, the animals run into people. Such encounters usually trigger conflict and the animals are eventually killed or sent to zoos.

In natural circumstances, dispersal and deaths maintain the balance in a tiger population. But external disturbance such as mining or highways or habitation inside a forest reduces the size of the prime habitat (known as core area) and pushes too many tigers towards the buffer. These dispersed tigers are doomed if we allow agriculture, hotel resorts and other human activities right at the edge of the forest, if we cram the animals for space and pushes them into conflict. Over time, this combination of a disturbed core, a non-existent buffer and no connectivity between forests makes a tiger population locally unsustainable. Then, the remaining few are taken out by poachers, as in Sariska.

Poaching tigers is a highly specialized job that only a handful of traditional hunting communities are capable of. Without them, no poaching mafia can run the trade. But while the syndicates make Rs20-50 lakh per tiger, these hunters do the high-risk job for merely a few thousand rupees.

I know several tiger poachers who struggle to support a family of 8-12. When not hunting, they earn less than Rs50 a day if they get work as daily wagers. Their amazing jungle sense is a rare gift but it has little use in our legal economy.

The emphasis of our anti-poaching strategies has been on guards and guns. But guarding thousands of hectares of forests is physically impossible and financially draining. Targeted empowerment of the hunting communities is more feasible and effective. For foolproof protection, we need a carrot-and-stick policy that combines incentives for reforms with strict enforcement.

Most communities living around tiger forests are hostile to the tiger because the protection regime restricts their livelihood options and they also end up as victims of conflict. Such hostility not only leads to frequent retaliatory killings but also allows poaching mafias to make easy inroads. Our conservation policies need to be inclusive and offer these people enough incentives to support the tiger.

We cannot altogether deny the need for forest land to meet the demands of economic growth. But we must learn to distinguish between forests, between what is still pristine and what is already degraded. India’s conservation efforts will remain ad hoc till the government formulates a national policy for land use, decides what percentage of land we can afford to leave aside as inviolate forest, identifies and prioritizes the best forests within that ceiling, and protects the designated areas uncompromisingly.

Forget the government for a while. What can you do to save the tiger? Of course, you do not buy products made from wildlife. Yes, some of you send your children to rally for the tiger. But you can do a lot more:

• As an individual or a small organization or business, you can directly support effective conservation projects. Not only money, your specialized skills could help and you could devote a few weeks a year on the field.

• You can visit a hostel near Ranthambore National Park, Rajasthan, and teach the children of a traditional hunting community, the Mogiyas. A project here (www.tigerwatch.net) also trains Mogiya women in handicrafts, markets the products and employs Mogiya men as forest guides or anti-poaching informers.

• Another project, run by the Corbett Foundation (www.corbettfoundation.org) in collaboration with World Wildlife Fund-India, provides on-the-spot compensation (in addition to the government compensation that usually takes months) for any loss due to man-animal conflict around the Corbett National Park.

• You can choose from other innovative models of change such as setting up biogas plants or subsidizing LPG to cut dependence on firewood. But check if the projects are sound before investing time or money. Typically, any project that does not start showing results by the mid-term is suspect. It always makes sense to visit the project site, even if as a tiger tourist, once a year.

• While holidaying in the wild, you could opt for hotels that follow the ethics of wildlife tourism and generate local employment. Travel Operators For Tigers (www.toftigers.org), for example, is one such international movement that promises a light carbon footprint.

• If you have the power to decide for a big business house, why not trigger a turnaround? Why not buy strategic tracts of private land between adjoining forests, settle the rights of landless people residing or depending on those tracts, and hand over the land to the government to serve as undisturbed forest buffers or corridors?

• You can also just keep it small and simple by saying no to plastic, switching off appliances that are not in use, opting for a carpool to school or work, planting trees in your backyard—every little act that helps your future helps the tiger too.

If nothing else, talk about the big cat once in a while. And tell those who do not get this thing about the tiger.