Latest news with #Ficuselastica
Mint
07-06-2025
- General
- Mint
Meet Morningstar Khongthaw, the man who grows bridges
We had been walking for over an hour—down a steep, moss-slicked staircase cut into the hillside of Rangthylliang, a remote village in Meghalaya's East Khasi Hills. The forest thickened with each step—bamboo groves pressed in close, their trunks darkened by rain, the sound of a stream somewhere below. And then, around a bend, it appeared. A bridge. Not built—grown. Braided roots—some as thick as a thigh, others slender and pale—stretched 53 metres across a river gorge, from one bank to another. They coiled and twisted through the air like something alive. This was no ordinary structure. It was a living root bridge—a marvel of bioengineering shaped by hand over decades, even centuries, using the aerial roots of the Ficus elastica tree. What began as a sapling on either side of the stream had been trained, over generations, into this bridge. No nails. No cement. Just bamboo scaffolds, time, and quiet resolve. Together, they formed a span that felt like the forest folding in on itself to offer passage. 'This one," says a voice ahead of me, 'is still learning to walk." Also read: Amid conflict, the lessons we can learn from the humanism of forests Morningstar Khongthaw, 29, is crouched near the bridge's edge, touching a pale, new root lashed to the bamboo guide. The founder of the Living Bridge Foundation, a community-driven initiative focused on preserving Meghalaya's living root bridges, points a few steps further to an older, hardened line of root now fused deep into the body of the bridge. 'That one, maybe 300 years. We don't build them. We raise them." Barefoot and slight in frame, Khongthaw moves with the precision of someone who knows every knot and creak. He explains how roots are selected, how they're fed with compost from the forest floor, how each one is trained over monsoons and winters, checked, re-checked, then left to grow in its own time. He isn't a scientist or a civil engineer. He is a Khasi conservationist. A guardian of knowledge that lives in the hands and memory of a fading generation. 'I was six when I crossed this bridge for the first time," he says. 'Back then, it was just one root and two bamboo poles. My father carried me on his back." That same bridge still stretches across the gorge—but it's no longer a single line. It has thickened with Khongthaw adding three or four new roots every year, each cared for until they fused into the structure. Now others cross it without hesitation. Tourists pose for photos. It's on the tentative Unesco world heritage site list. But he still remembers that first crawl: the way the root trembled, the river's sound below, and the quiet strength of his ancestors, and it's what drives him to save these living bridges. QUIET INHERITANCE As India nears its 100th year of independence, plans for highways, smart cities and bullet trains dominate the future narrative. But in the hills of Meghalaya, another blueprint persists; one dependent on strong roots. For generations, the Khasi and Jaiñtia tribes have grown bridges, living structures coaxed from rubber fig trees and passed down like heirlooms. But that quiet inheritance is at risk. Tourism moves faster than the roots. Policy arrives from the top down. And the knowledge— passed from uncle to nephew—is fading. Khongthaw is trying to hold the line. He set up the foundation in 2018 to care for the root bridges, preserve knowledge of living root bridge construction, which he calls 'living architecture", and help young Khasis appreciate their heritage of interconnectedness with nature. The foundation has around 10 core members, mostly volunteers from local Khasi villages. They fund their work through small grants, community contributions, and occasionally, support from organisations like UNDP India. 'Root bridges are perhaps one of the most elegant examples of ecological intelligence and cultural heritage intertwined," says Sameer Shisodia, CEO of Rainmatter Foundation, which supports community-led conservation projects across India, but does not fund Living Bridge's work. 'Morningstar's approach shows us that meaningful innovation often lies in quietly enhancing traditions rather than forcing external solutions." Also read: Social reform amidst a sea of poppies Root bridges are just one expression of a wider tradition. Depending on the terrain, Khongthaw and his community shape living ladders up cliffs, tunnels through the forest, and swings woven into the canopy. 'If it's a rock face," he says, 'we don't need a bridge. We build something to climb." In some places, the aerial roots become scaffolds for play—suspended like vines from a Tarzan story. 'It's not just engineering," he says. 'It's adaptation." A single bridge can take 25 years to mature, and once formed, it grows stronger, some lasting centuries. Today, more than 100 of them exist across the Khasi and Jaiñtia Hills. It begins with a Ficus elastica sapling—an Indian rubber fig—chosen for its aerial roots that descend from branches and seek the ground. If the terrain allows, trees are planted on either side of the stream or gorge. 'First, you look at the stream," Khongthaw says. 'If there are no trees on either side, you plant." In the rainy season, when the roots are soft, they are gently bent and guided across the span using bamboo scaffolds, hollowed areca palm trunks or ropes. The bamboo structures are replaced annually as they decay. The roots are lashed in place with whatever is available: natural fibres, plastic cords, even aluminium wire. 'You don't touch the roots too early," he says. 'They'll snap. Three or four months old, they're too fragile. One or two years— that's when they become candidates." Guiding the root is not a one-time action but a sustained relationship. The team returns each monsoon to weave, check growth, and layer compost. 'Rotten leaves, branches, old wood… we place it under the roots like something precious. That's how we feed it." There are no blueprints. No manuals. 'One uncle to another," he says. 'You grow up near a bridge, you start helping and grow more of them." Also read: A new book takes a deep dive into rubber's living legacy A bridge is never finished. It may take 10 years before it holds weight. Twenty-five to be strong. Fifty to endure. 'We don't stop weaving," Khongthaw says. 'Even after you walk on it. Even after it holds." Every bridge is a collaboration—not just between roots, but between people. One person starts. Another finishes. 'It's inheritance." In Khasi myth, there's a golden bridge of roots, jingkieng ksiar, which once linked earth to heaven. Khongthaw gestures toward the trees. 'It's in the stories," he says. 'When a bridge grows weak, we plant a young ficus on top of the mother tree. When she dies, the child is already growing." Even endings, here, are designed to carry on. TURNING POINT In 2013, when he was still a school student, a Doordarshan crew arrived in Rangthylliang to film the elders and their stories. Khongthaw was asked to help. For the first time, he saw the bridges through a different lens. They weren't just crossings. They could be destinations. Other places were already being promoted—the double-decker in Nongriat, the one in Mawlynnong. 'I thought we could do the same here," he says. But the more he explored those tourist sites, the more unsettled he became. The noise. The footfall. The bridges roped off and rotting under crowds. The visitors who came for photos, not stories. 'It became a turning point," he says. 'Before we promote, we need to learn how to protect." He started visiting elders again—for instruction. How did they guide the roots? How did they feed them? 'I learned the ficus is a keystone tree," he says. They help the water table, prevent landslides, and act as both anchor and climate shield. 'Even a lone ficus supports life—birds, squirrels, insects, people." From a boy chasing a tourism dream he became a quiet conservationist. 'I wanted to protect what we had," he says. But it all came together sometime in August or September 2018 when he heard about a bridge that had fallen. The tree in Pynursla, a neighbouring village, belonged to Ba-Bli Khongthani, nearly 90 and bedridden. Since the bridge had fallen, they were considering cutting the tree. Khongthaw knew what he had to do. He drafted an agreement to formally transfer ownership of the tree and had it typed up. That evening, Khongthaw, a village elder, and Willem Betts, a Canadian friend, walked to Ba-Bli's home. Khongthaw described his vision—to nurture the tree as a symbol for future generations. 'If you really want to take care of the tree, then it's yours," Ba-Bli said with a smile. Without ceremony, Khongthaw presented the agreement. Years later, he would laminate this document and preserve it like an heirloom. That day Khongthaw felt a profound sense of relief. Yes, a bridge had fallen— but something deeper had been strengthened. Ownership had passed from one generation to another, with a promise and trust. Also read: This women farmers' network envisions a feminist future for agriculture Another giant ficus has changed his life. 'It was going to be cut for charcoal," he says. The tree was over 400 years old. Its aerial roots had been guided into two bridges. But the family that owned it needed money. 'I couldn't let it go." He borrowed ₹5,000. 'That's all it cost. A sacred tree. A living bridge." The canopy now hosts a bamboo ladder that rises into the branches—a vertical scaffold, temporary, handmade. This time, the roots won't be guided down into a bridge. They'll be shaped inward, into a circle. 'Not for people to look at," he says. 'For us to stay. Sleep. Live in." He calls it his 'Avatar Tree", in reference to the Hometree in James Cameron's Avatar. THE CHALLENGES Despite the community's involvement and understanding of their unique heritage, there are challenges. He recalls one bridge being cut down because a man didn't want it near his farmland. In another clearing, a half-grown bridge was slashed after a feud between neighbours. Khongthaw doesn't argue. He returns with stories. He sits with the elders and asks, 'What did the bridge do wrong?" He reminds them to watch the forest more closely. How roots seek each other, how they grow stronger by holding. 'The bridge never divides. It connects." The loss of his mentor was another hit. 'Jalong Khomola dedicated his whole life to root bridges," Khongthaw recalls. Their relationship began in 2015 at village meetings near Khomola's orange orchard. Khomola moved barefoot through the forests, scaling ficus trees to gather saplings, each destined to become a bridge. He also married tradition with innovation, using plastic irrigation pipes instead of open bamboo scaffolds to water the roots and help them grow faster, and patiently taught Khongthaw all these techniques. In October 2022, Khomola, nearly 80, fell from a tree. He died shortly afterwards, but Khongthaw is carrying on his legacy. Khongthaw's original team of 30 has thinned to five. 'Some needed jobs. Others wanted faster change. This work doesn't offer either." In 2022, the monsoon came early. Rivers swelled. Five bridges were washed away. Khongthaw didn't mourn. 'When a bridge falls," he says, 'you don't ask why. You start weaving again." So far, Khongthaw and his team have mapped 133 bridges across Meghalaya. 'Still more to discover," he says. Many remain unnamed, tucked inside forests. THIS IS MEMORY In 2019, the state government came with a proposal to put Meghalaya's living root bridges on Unesco's World Heritage list. On the surface, it looked like recognition. To Khongthaw, it sounded like a warning. The plan barely involved the people who raised the bridges. No elders were consulted. No weavers invited. 'How can you write policy," he asks, 'if you don't even know what inosculation is?" he says, referring to the natural process of two trees fusing and growing into one. Also read: 'Loal Kashmir' review: Stories of love and longing from Kashmir What troubled him wasn't heritage recognition, but how it was imposed. A template from elsewhere, dropped on to a landscape with its own rhythm, its own sacred groves. 'We already had rules," he says. 'Our clans made them in 1939. You cut a tree, you paid a fine. We didn't wait for Unesco to tell us what was sacred." He refused to endorse the plan. Instead he gathered elders, youth and landowners from eight clans. He asked them to look at the bridges and the way they grow. 'No root dominates. No hand forces. We all weave." To make his point, he referenced the jingkieng ksiar story every Khasi child knows. 'This isn't tourism," he says. 'It's memory. It's instruction. It's ours." Officials called him difficult. Some said he was politicising trees. But Khongthaw wasn't against recognition; he was against erasure. 'We don't want fences," he says. 'We want responsibility. That's what makes a bridge last." COMMUNITY EFFORT Khongthaw bends over a sapling barely a foot tall. Around it, bamboo scaffolds rise like skeletal bridges-in-waiting. This is where his Project 2047 begins. Project 2047 is Khongthaw's vision to plant and nurture 30 new root bridges across Meghalaya by 2047, when India will mark 100 years of independence. He involves the larger community—village elders, students and volunteers—in planting, maintaining and documenting these bridges, aiming to pass traditional knowledge to younger generations and revive Law Kyntang, the sacred groves protected by community law and oral memory. 'It takes 25, maybe 30 years (for a root bridge to mature)," Khongthaw says. 'So we start now. When India turns 100, these bridges will be strong." Since 2022, 30 bridges have been planted and raised with the help of village elders, students and barefoot engineers. Khongthaw calls it 'design, build, grow". A phrase he repeats often, sometimes to schoolchildren, sometimes to funders sceptical of a project whose return lies decades ahead. 'The bridge doesn't belong to me," he says. 'It belongs to the child who will cross it when I'm gone." He's working with local schools, encouraging students to adopt nearby bridges, guiding them through root weaving, asking them to track growth and sketch what they see. 'Not everyone will stay," he says, referring to migration from the region for work and studies. 'But some will. And that's enough." Traditionally, only old, unmarried men were allowed to plant ficus trees. 'You had to be over 50," he says. Khongthaw ignored it and planted 25 saplings. 'Belief is important," he says. 'But belief in yourself is more important. My legacy is the belief that young people can shape tradition. That we don't have to wait until we're 50 and alone to start planting trees. We can begin now—and someone else will finish." He walks the hills almost daily—sometimes alone, sometimes with visitors, often with a bundle of bamboo tied over his shoulder. He greets elders. He checks saplings. Project 2047 is a slow, quiet defiance in a world too quick to build and too reluctant to tend. 'When they ask what development looks like," Khongthaw says, 'we can point to this. A root in the ground. A bridge above a river. Still growing." Pankaj Mishra is a journalist and co-founder of FactorDaily, reporting on the intersections of technology, environment, and culture. Also read: A new exhibition spotlights the impact of heat stress on informal workers
India.com
28-04-2025
- India.com
6 Mind-Blowing Natural Phenomena To Experience Near Shillong
Shillong, known as the 'Scotland of the East', is a city located in the green hills of Meghalaya and is surrounded by serene lakes and breathtaking rolling hills. In addition to its picturesque beauty, the region surrounding Shillong is home to some peculiar natural phenomena that capture the attention of travelers and locals alike. From living root bridges to completely illogical caves, here are some of the most astonishing natural wonders to observe nearby Shillong City. 1. Specimens of Root Bridges at Cherrapunji Sohra lies about 50 km from Shillong. It is one of the world's wettest regions and that characteristic is most marketable for tourism. Living root bridges are highly engineered construction that marks this region. The Khasi tribes use the Ficus elastica tree's roots to cross rivers and streams, allowing them to grow and strengthen them over time. Over time some of these bridges have exceeded 100 feet in length, which is sufficient to carry the weight of a dozen people. The most famous of these is the double-decker root bridge located in Nongriat. It has the most picturesque view. Similar to a fantasy novel, their appearance is unlike anything you've seen. The entire process of creating these bridges consumes up to 15 years and once grown, they do not require much maintenance. 2. The Enigmatic Caves of Mawsmai Mawsmai Cave is one of the most accessible and intriguing caves in Meghalaya, which has some of the deepest and longest caves on the planet. What's truly puzzling is the water-sculpted limestone formations. These breathtaking formations take millions of years to form. When you go deeper into the cave, you will meet narrow walking ways, towering stalactites, and still glowing stalagmites. The cool damp air and the occasional dripping water creates an eerie atmosphere. The local folklore adds more of a mystery to an already awe-striking natural wonder by claiming that spirits inhabit the caves. 3. The Balancing Rock of Mawlynnong Mawlynnong, which is referred to at times as the 'cleanest village in Asia', is yet another place to explore close to Shillong. While the village is a textbook example of community cleanliness and sustainability, it also boasts of a strange geological phenomenon called the Balancing Rock. This huge boulder sits on top of a smaller rock and seems to defy logic, gravity, and reasoning. For centuries, the rock has stayed in place and survived heavy monsoons and earthquakes. Even though the rock seems to be in a precarious position, locals argue that it is held in place by a higher power. This makes it a symbol of resiliency and balance for the people of the region. 4. The Umngot River is a place with crystal-clear waters. The people of Meghalaya, especially the residents of Umngot in Dawki close to Shillong, consider the river's clear waters a treasure of nature. On a clear and windless day, the water surface looks like a huge mirror reflecting the sky and the surrounding hills, and boats moving on that surface look like they are floating in the air. It is no wonder that the keen eyes of nature observers will spot a cliff beneath the water surface even when it is 15ft to 20 ft below because of minimum pollution the river experiences and absence of silt. One of the cleanest rivers of India does capture these wonders without debate. The crystal beauty of the River Umngot serves as a backdrop for an annual boat race, held on the river which expresses the cultural value of the stunning river. 5. The mists of Shillong Peak Shillong Peak, in addition to being the highest point in the city, is also one of the most splendid places to visit. It is well-known for its panoramic beauty. One of the major attractions of this place is the 'whispering waves.' On certain days, visitors have claimed to hear faint sounds that resemble waves form the hills themselves. The views at this peak are breathtaking, and the whispering waves make it even more surreal. 6. Nohkalikai Falls Rainbow View Located near Cherrapunji, Nohkalikai Falls is 1,115 feet tall making it the tallest plunge waterfall in India. Falls are usually strange, but this one is special as there is a rainbow at the base of the waterfall and the electricity mixed with the water makes it rank amongst Earth's holy beauties. Breezy days amplify the rainbow as the misty waterfall interacts with the sun's light. Along with this beauty, the pool is a mysterious green color which enhances the beauty of the Falls. A local folklore tells the heartbreaking tale of a woman named Ka Likai, whose sorrowful eyes were the reason for this beautiful camera trick. Waterfall is called Nohkalikai which means 'where the woman jumped', as it signifies the beauty behind the sorrow. Final Thoughts The phenomena of nature available in the vicinity of Shillong City provides evidence to the civilization's anthropological and geological heritage. The living root bridges, magnetic hills, crystal clear rivers and the sound of the waves speak of the magnificent wonders of nature's forces. These all are extraordinary for nature lovers, and even strange travelers, and for all the other people that seek the marvelous, the region surrounding Shillong guarantees a memorable phenomenal experience. Thus, get your bags ready, let your imagination run free and prepare for the observation of the most breathtaking natural wonders in the world.
Irish Times
27-04-2025
- General
- Irish Times
Why are my rubber plants looking so unhappy?
I thought that rubber plants are supposed to be indestructible but mine has started losing a few leaves and looks unhappy. Please tell me what I'm doing wrong? – C Finnegan, Waterford Hailing from parts of south Asia and Indonesia, this tropical evergreen species (Ficus elastica) has long been a popular houseplant with a reputation for being exceptionally unfussy and hard to kill. Its common name of 'rubber plant' or 'rubber fig' comes from the milky white, sticky latex it contains. The species aside, various cultivated forms are available, including the smartly variegated Ficus elastica 'Tineke' and the larger-leaved Ficus elastica 'Robusta'. While it's certainly a tough, resilient species that can tolerate quite a degree of neglect, there are certain things that the rubber plant will turn up its nose at. Sudden changes in its growing conditions, such as an abrupt change of temperature, exposure to icy drafts, or long exposure to direct bright sunshine, can all cause its foliage to curl, droop and drop. So can overwatering. Large houseplants like this, especially if growing in a communal office or reception area, can also fall victim to what I like to call 'crimes against horticulture', where plants die as a result of half-finished, hot beverages being regularly tipped into them, or worse. READ MORE To keep your rubber plant happy, make sure to give it a bright spot, but one that's out of direct sunshine, away from hot radiators and from any windows that are regularly opened. While it will happily tolerate warm temperatures between 18 and 30 degrees, it dislikes being in a cool room where the ambient temperature regularly falls below 15. [ Which varieties of willow and bamboo grow quickly? Opens in new window ] Overwatering is another no-no. Done regularly, this causes the plant to drop its leaves. Underwatering, on the other hand, typically causes the edges of the leaves to roll inwards. Aim to water roughly once a week at this time of year and less in autumn and winter when the plant isn't in active growth, allowing the compost to almost dry out between waterings. A monthly liquid feed during the growing season will also be beneficial, as will gently wiping down your rubber tree's large, glossy oval leaves with a damp, clean sponge to remove any dust that's accumulated. Repotting every three years is also recommended, using a slightly larger pot and fresh compost.
