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Gaon Ki Awaaz: Grassroots media finds a voice

Rampur-Mathura (Uttar Pradesh): It is not yet 5 p.m. but the light has started fading in Rampur-Mathura, a village of barely 5,000 people, in Sitapur district. A group of village elders settle down comfortably in wooden chairs around a small fire lit under a tree. It is here that they gather every evening to discuss the day's events before retiring for the night. Until now, the village's busybodies used to keep...

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The climate denial industry seeks to dupe the public. It’s working by George Monbiot

Think environmentalists are stooges? You’re the unwitting recruit of a hugely powerful oil lobby.  The evidence of man-made global warming is unequivocal People behind climate denial campaigns know that their claims are untrue When you survey the trail of wreckage left by the climate emails crisis, three things become clear. The first is the tendency of those who claim to be the champions of climate science to minimise their importance. Those who...

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Food for thought at Copenhagen by Jay Naidoo

Good nutrition is the nexus point where food security, public health and environmental protection meet.  As world leaders in Copenhagen struggle for an ambitious deal, let us not forget that it is the future of our children that is at stake. Hurricanes, floods, heat-waves and droughts wreak havoc when they strike, but in the desolation they leave behind it’s relatively easy to reconstruct a road or a house. A human...

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The Ground Beneath Our Feet by Tripti Lahiri

CITIES MAKE one simple promise to newcomers: Sacrifice yourself to me and your children shall prosper. This promise drew Ahmed Raza, a small-time wrestler from an Uttar Pradesh village and millions like him to the capital of newly-independent India. Raza kept his part of the bargain, yet half a century later, his daughter was pushed out of the city her father helped build, the only home she has known. “I...

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Irom And The Iron In India’s Soul by Shoma Chaudhury

SOMETIMES, TO accentuate the intransigence of the present, one must revisit the past. So first, a flashback. The year is 2006. An ordinary November evening in Delhi. A slow, halting voice breaks into your consciousness. “How shall I explain? It is not a punishment, but my bounden duty…” A haunting phrase in a haunting voice, made slow with pain yet magnetic in its moral force. “My bounden duty.” What could...

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