Saturday Feeling: Meet the mangrove protectors—they’re a lot like you and me

Mangroves seem like an enigma—they sit between water and land, they float yet are rooted, their leaves are a shiny, bright green yet seem to absorb all light once you’re within their waterways. And the way we see mangroves seems just as paradoxical—as one part of the country tries to protect them, another is busy chopping them down.

These rather mysterious and forbidding-looking forests are rich biodiversity hotspots that we’re still learning about. Even before we know everything about them, we’re threatening their survival with development projects in many parts of the country, and it is ordinary citizens who are fighting back. The language of conservation tends to be quite difficult—carbon sinks, biological barriers, sea walls, coastal erosion—and so regular citizens are stepping up to show and tell their fellow residents why these trees are integral to their own survival. In the Sundarbans and in Odisha, women, many of them from marginalized communities, have formed groups to protect the coastal forests as well as supplement their income by leading tour groups and pointing out the marine life, fishing and catching crabs and other creatures. Their involvement raises awareness about these unique trees among their own communities as well as visitors, as Avantika Bhuyan reports.

Tarang Mohnot visits the threatened mangroves of Mumbai, which most residents just whizz past, and participate in walks that citizen groups hold regularly in order to mobilize public opinion to save these urban forests from razing for road projects. The citizen-led tours are a great idea—when we engage with the world around us and learn to observe it closely, we’re more likely to stand up for it.

Other stories we’ve worked on this week also consider the role of the tiny things we often miss in the city. Bees and bats fly under the radar, but new initiatives in cities—walks, field guides and talks—are getting urban residents to stop and think about the interconnectedness of ecology, culture, history and our daily lives. Slow looking and attentive observation isn’t just for wildlife though, it also changes what the brain is capable of seeing, giving us a new appreciation of art, film, books, and even music and food.

Make desi salads your summer friend

Indian cuisine rarely takes salads seriously—or maybe they've just got another name. What is kachumber if not a salad? Or a kosambari/koshimbir of cucumbers, carrots or beetroot tossed with yoghurt and roasted peanuts? Isn’t singju a salad of vegetables and herbs mixed with ngari or fermented fish paste? Call them what you want, but salads bring something extra to the table. They come into their own in summer, soothing and nourishing, while bringing balance to meals. It’s a good idea to make them with local and seasonal fruits and vegetables, leafy greens, legumes and heirloom grains. Rituparna Roy provides tips to help you get started on your desi salad bowl.

Loss of face in the internet economy

A virtual empire has been built around the pull of the human face, fueling everything from Zoom calls to dating apps. The human brain detects a face within 100 to 170 milliseconds—faster than it processes almost any other visual stimulus—through a dedicated neural network that evolved over millions of years. Screens now deliver faces at a volume, proximity and frequency that no previous generation has experienced, and the parade of faces means we register details less clearly. In a world where the face is stripped of all meaning and reduced to content, what does it mean to be human, asks Shephali Bhatt.

It's okay to check on a colleague in recovery

In workplaces, mental health therapy and breaks no longer carry stigma and are openly talked about, yet there is a deep silence around checking in on colleagues who have recovered and returned to the office, writes Arjun R. Iyer, a communications consultant who is in recovery. Often, this silence can be as harmful as stigma because colleagues do not possess the vocabulary to ask the person what they need, whether are okay and if they are coping.

A stitch for the future in Hungary

In north-east Hungary’s Tard, a village of around 1,000 people, Matyó embroidery is more than a pastime. It is an amalgam of memory, skill, income and identity. Located in the foothills of the Bükk mountains, Tard is part of the Matyó embroidery region along with Mezőkövesd and Szentistván. The work features bursts of colour—roses in scarlet and coral, leaves in emerald, petals edged in cobalt and gold, reflecting the region’s natural beauty. The most famous design is the Matyó rose, a large, loose red blossom ringed by smaller flowers and leaves. Most patterns are outlined in dark thread, allowing the colours to pop against black or white cloth. The old embroidery tradition is stitching together a new future and bringing work, pride, and colour back to the community, writes Teja Lele.