On 15-16-17 November, the citizens of Kathmandu woke up to three brilliant mornings, with the Himalaya visible crisp and clear – a 300-km horizon of himals on whose snowline, if your lookout were high enough, you could see the curvature of the earth. There was none of the localised smog, nor any of the all-pervading haze that seems to have become a signature of the central Himalaya of late – dust particles transported by westerlies from the plains of India and Pakistan.
Three brilliant days, which followed one after another – and which the tourism industry saw as a boon and a bonus. After the Maoist Doldrums, that industry needs everything available right now to boost its industry, and the clear skies and brilliant views were good for business.
But while Kathmandu was basking in the winter sunshine, southern Bangladesh was reeling under the attack of Cyclone Sidr. The cruel irony of it all was that the clear skies of Nepal were the direct meteorological result of Sidr. As Bangladesh fisherfolk and peasantry alike were being slammed by 250-kph winds, the circulation of air currents that fed the cyclone sucked in air from as far away as Central Asia and the Tibetan plateau. This is what brought the clear northern air to Kathmandu, and is why the tourists were smiling even as thousands died and millions were affected by Sidr.
When nature devastates one region and favours another, one is likely to take it as an act of god. But it is what we ourselves are doing to the weather, through manmade interventions, that needs watching out for – especially now that global warming is a proven phenomenon, despite more than a decade of foot-dragging by a good part of the scientific and political community. That decade can now be seen as a massively wasted opportunity, and the alarm of the kind we hear today would have done better if heeded back in 1990, if not 1980.