Chapter 6: Mansi (The Woman at the Clinic)

Tarun met Mansi Deshmukh on a Thursday — the Thursday being the day he drove to Pune for a follow-up with Bhushan and stopped at a pregnancy counselling centre on MG Road because the stopping was: the investigation's lateral move, the lateral-move being the reporter's instinct to look sideways when the forward path was blocked.

The forward path being blocked because: the science had stalled. Bhushan and Sharma's data confirmed the what — the what being "ecosystem degradation across the Western Ghats" — but not the why. The why being: the cause, the root cause, the singular thing that was producing the cascade of anomalies and that the singular-thing remained unknown after six weeks of investigation and the unknown being: the wall that the investigation had hit.

The pregnancy counselling centre was relevant because: Tarun had received a tip from a doctor at KEM Hospital Pune — the tip being: "You should check birth rates. Something odd in the data." The odd-in-the-data being: the reporter's catnip, the catnip that pulled Tarun off the main highway of the investigation and onto the side road where the centre was located.

Jeevandaan Pregnancy Centre — the centre that occupied the ground floor of a commercial building on MG Road, the ground-floor being the accessible position that the centre needed because the centre served walk-in clients and the walk-in requiring ground-floor accessibility.

Mansi Deshmukh was the centre's director. Twenty-nine years old — one year older than Tarun, the one-year being irrelevant to the professional interaction and relevant to nothing else (at this point). She was from Nagpur originally — the Nagpur being audible in her Marathi, the Nagpur-Marathi having the particular cadence that distinguished it from Pune-Marathi, the distinguishing being: vowels held slightly longer, consonants slightly softer.

"Tarun Gokhale? Herald wale?" Mansi — recognising the name, the recognising being: Tarun's articles had become widely read enough that professionals in adjacent fields knew his byline.

From the Herald?

"Ji. Dr. Patkar ne refer kiya — KEM se. Unhone kaha ki aapke paas birth rate data hai jo unusual hai." Yes. Dr. Patkar referred me — from KEM. He said you have birth rate data that's unusual.

Mansi's office was small, organised, the organised being the particular arrangement of someone whose profession required order — files labelled, desk clear, the clarity of space reflecting the clarity of mind that counselling work demanded.

"Unusual hai — haan. Lekin main sure nahi hoon ki yeh aapki story se related hai." Unusual — yes. But I'm not sure it's related to your story.

"Main decide karunga ki related hai ya nahi. Aap batayein data kya hai." The reporter's gentle pushback — the pushback that said: let me assess the relevance, you provide the information. I'll decide if it's related or not. Tell me what the data shows.

Mansi pulled a file. The file being: the centre's quarterly statistics — conception rates, pregnancy outcomes, birth rates, the data that the centre tracked as part of its operational mandate.

"Last three months — July, August, September. New pregnancy registrations: down 34% compared to same quarter last year. Miscarriage rate: up 18%. Premature birth rate: up 12%." The numbers delivered with the clinical precision that the data demanded and the emotional weight that the data carried — each number being: a person, a family, a hope altered.

"34% drop in new pregnancies?" Tarun — the question being the confirmation, the confirmation being: make sure I heard the number correctly because the number was significant.

"34%. And it's not just us. I've spoken with colleagues at other centres in Pune — same trend. Fewer conceptions. More complications. Something is affecting fertility." Mansi — the assessment that was professional, measured, the measured-assessment being: the counsellor's training applied to population data.

"Something — kya?" Something — what?

"Mujhe nahi pata. But maine aapki articles padhi hain. Wildlife disappearing. Ecosystem changing. Agar environment change ho raha hai — agar water quality, air quality, food quality change ho rahi hai — toh human fertility pe effect hona possible hai. We're part of the ecosystem. Whatever affects the ecosystem affects us."

I don't know. But I've read your articles. Wildlife disappearing. Ecosystem changing. If the environment is changing — if water quality, air quality, food quality are changing — then an effect on human fertility is possible. We're part of the ecosystem. Whatever affects the ecosystem affects us.

"We're part of the ecosystem." The sentence that Tarun wrote in his notebook — the sentence underlined, the underlining being: this was the connection. The connection between the wildlife anomalies and human health. The connection that expanded the story from "environmental" to "existential."

He spent two hours at the centre. The hours being: reviewing data, interviewing staff, the interviewing producing additional observations — nurses reporting that clients complained of fatigue, headaches, the fatigue-and-headaches being the non-specific symptoms that could mean anything but that in the context of the anomaly meant: potential human health effects.

Mansi walked him to the door. The walking-to-door being the courtesy that extended the professional interaction by three minutes — three minutes in which:

"Aap Bhushan Kulkarni ko jaante ho?" Tarun asked.

"Naam suna hai. Ecology professor. Aapki articles mein unka naam aata hai." Heard the name. Ecology professor. His name appears in your articles.

"Unse milna chahiye aapko. Aapka data unke research se connect hota hai." You should meet him. Your data connects with his research.

"Arrange kar sakte ho?" Can you arrange it?

"Kar dunga." The promise being: the reporter's particular function — connecting sources, the connecting that produced the network and the network being: the investigation's infrastructure.

I will.

He drove back to Mumbai that evening. The drive through the Ghats — the Expressway cutting through the Sahyadris, the Sahyadris visible on both sides, the visibility showing: brown. The brown that was deepening. The brown that was the drought's signature on the landscape.

The landscape that was once the greenest place on Earth. Now turning the colour of surrender.

Tarun thought about Mansi's data. About the 34% decline. About the sentence: "We're part of the ecosystem."

If the ecosystem was collapsing — if the mycorrhizal networks were degrading and the monsoon had stopped and the wildlife had vanished — then humans were next. Humans were part of the ecosystem. The taxonomic sequence had gone: insects → amphibians → birds → mammals. Humans were mammals. Humans were in the sequence.

The sequence that was descending through the biological kingdom. The sequence that would reach humans not because humans were special but because humans were biological and the biological was what the anomaly affected and the affecting was: non-discriminatory.

He pulled over at a dhaba near Lonavala. The dhaba being the highway stop — the stop where truck drivers and commuters ate vada pav and drank chai and the eating-and-drinking being the particular sustenance of the Mumbai-Pune highway.

Vada pav — the Mumbai street food that was comfort and fuel. The vada hot, the pav soft, the green chutney sharp with coriander and green chilli. The taste that was: normal. The taste that was: the world as it should be.

But outside the dhaba, the Sahyadris were brown. And the sky was blue where it should have been grey. And the birds were absent from the neem tree that shaded the dhaba's outdoor seating.

Normal food. Abnormal world.

Tarun finished the vada pav. Paid. Drove. Reached Mumbai at 10 PM. The Bandra flat. The ceiling fan. The bed.

He lay in the dark and thought: We're part of the ecosystem. Whatever affects the ecosystem affects us.

34% decline in conceptions. 18% increase in miscarriages. The numbers that said: the anomaly was not just environmental. The anomaly was human. The anomaly was: us.