They are all unique ecological rhythms of our Ghats—the Impatiens flowers paint the shola grasslands pink, the Myristica swamps are ancient, water-holding forests, and the Kurinji blooms are a legendary blue wave every twelve years. But, beta, the world only talks of the spectacle; my fight is for the silent, drowning swamps they ignore. When I see a new resort's drain pointed at a swamp, I know it’s easier to admire a flower than protect a muddy, mosquito-filled root. My life is in those muck-filled swamps, not the postcards.
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