Summer is the season of amaltas in Delhi. The yellow-flowering trees, also known as Indian laburnum, burst into bloom as temperatures climb. They offer a gentle reminder that even amid relentless urban expansion, air pollution and shrinking green spaces, nature persists.
It also reveals itself in many other ways in the city: a peepal tree growing through a crack in a wall, fireflies lighting up to mate, foxes hiding in the city’s gardens, or a dozen coppersmith barbets calling from a tree outside a window.
It is this Delhi that Neha Sinha wants readers to experience in her latest book, Wild Capital: Discovering Nature in Delhi. In these pages, she shares years of field research on the city’s biodiversity and offers personal anecdotes about nature’s foundational role in her life, presenting a compelling case for looking at Delhi from an ecological perspective.
Dialogue Earth spoke to Sinha about Delhi’s ecological richness, the importance of restoring native habitats, and the attention that the city’s natural life needs.
The interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Dialogue Earth: Delhi is often associated with poor air quality, the polluted Yamuna river, and endless concrete. But your book compels readers to look at the city differently. As a conservation biologist, what do you hope people see when they look at Delhi?
Neha Sinha: The Delhi Bird Atlas was launched last week. Delhi has more than 400 bird species. Yes, we always talk about Delhi in terms of concrete, and there is a lot of that in the city. But I also want people to appreciate what we have so that we might be able to protect it better.
We still have a massive ridge forest, especially compared to other large metropolitan or capital cities. We have two rivers – the Yamuna and the Sahibi, many wetlands in and around Delhi, and most importantly, thousands of people who are interested in [protecting and maintaining] the city’s nature.
Right now, we are sitting in Lodhi Garden [a city park], and there is a group of birdwatchers behind us looking at the Oriental pied hornbill. It’s just after office hours, yet people have found the time to come. And as the Aravallis [an ancient mountain range flanking the city] are under threat, people come together to raise their voices for them.
Beyond its monuments and old buildings, Delhi has historic trees and ecosystems, whether it’s Mangar Bani or the Central Ridge Forest. I want people to appreciate this natural heritage.
I’m also talking about birds that migrate here. Believe it or not, some birds migrate to Delhi to nest and raise their families. Right now, species like the Indian pitta and the Indian paradise-flycatcher are nesting here. We are also close enough to the Himalayas to receive many Himalayan birds.
Delhi is incredibly rich [in biodiversity]. My fear is that if we don’t see that richness, we won’t value it. That’s why my book is a kind of manifesto for protecting the native ecosystems and wildlife we have and restoring more of them. I want people to appreciate not just how resilient the city is, but also how nature can come back if given a chance.
Cities like Delhi are going through a severe crisis of shrinking green spaces and disappearing water bodies. At a time when it all seems so grim, what motivates you to continue looking at the city through an ecological lens?
Honestly, we need nature in cities much more than nature needs us. Cities are crowded and congested. We are surrounded by people, buildings and infrastructure, which is why we need nature so much. Apart from helping create cleaner air through trees and water bodies, it helps us lead healthier lives.
There is also a growing urban mental health crisis, and many studies have shown that access to green spaces supports recovery, wellbeing and mental health. There’s also an epidemic of loneliness in urban areas. Nature can help mitigate some of that; beyond sustaining life, it can help us find purpose and meaning.
Today, thousands of people in Indian cities are engaging with nature through birdwatching, cycling, running groups, nature journaling, tree walks and other outdoor communities. And that is motivating to me.
People are also speaking up for their green spaces, whether it’s to save banyan trees, protect a green belt, or oppose destructive development. I think governments are beginning to recognise that these issues matter to people.
We have inherited the idea that concrete equals development. But a new understanding is emerging: development also requires natural spaces. We need a combination of built infrastructure and natural infrastructure.
Natural infrastructure means the systems that nature already provides. If water naturally collects in a low-lying area and creates a wetland, we should protect that wetland. Resilient cities are ones that adapt to climate change through nature-based solutions. We should strengthen natural hydrology, support native vegetation, and plant trees that are adapted to local conditions.
As the planet warms, nature-based solutions are no longer a luxury or an aesthetic concern. For a long time, green spaces were treated as decorative. Today, they are about survival. Climate resilience comes from supporting natural infrastructure.
Nature plays a deeply personal role in Wild Capital, which includes several personal anecdotes, some of them emotionally challenging. When did you realise nature would become such an important part of your life – not necessarily as something that solves problems, but as something that accompanies you through them?
When I look at wildlife, I see how interesting, tender, secretive, challenging and difficult their lives are. It always manages to put my troubles into perspective. We all have problems, but when you place them in the context of a larger ecosystem, they become less consuming.
As long as I can remember, I’ve been noticing wildlife, trees and habitats around me. It’s always taken me out of my immediate circumstances.
There’s a passage in the book on how I don’t know the name of the tree I’m looking at. I want to embrace what I call “bad birding”, or being a bad naturalist, which is not knowing exactly what you are looking at. The important thing is to notice and to pay attention; as they say, attention is the highest form of love.
The birds around us are as much citizens of the city as we are. They’re companions in this journey called life. I think life would be extremely lonely if it were just people. More-than-human relationships give us access to values that are important – struggle, innocence, survival and family.
The book also traces an arc of loss. The vultures I saw in my childhood are gone. I see far fewer earthworms than I did as a child. Abundance has gone down.
[Nature is] all of these things. It’s love, loss, and solace outside a purely human context.
Much of conservation is built around preventing loss. Your book also seems interested in recovery and return. What could ecological recovery in a city like Delhi look like?
I am coming from the conservation side of things, and one of our basic principles is that if you restore habitats, wildlife will follow.
We need recovery to support more biodiversity. Delhi is already doing some good work through its biodiversity parks, including the Aravalli Biodiversity Park and Asita Park along the Yamuna. These places have become habitats for incredible birds, including migratory waterfowl, and offer a template for other cities.
Instead of creating generic parks with generic plants, we should restore land according to its native ecosystem. If it’s a riverside landscape, restore it as a riverside ecosystem. Go back to the origin of a place and restore its native vegetation.
The book talks about decolonising the mind and embracing native trees. Native ecosystems aren’t just aesthetically important; they perform functions. They’re better for birds, bees, butterflies, mammals and the larger ecosystem because these relationships evolved together.
Every balcony and garden can become a native patch [of flora], creating connectivity for wildlife and providing food and shelter
One of the most gratifying things after the book came out has been hearing from readers who have gone out, found native plants and brought them home. Every balcony and every garden can become a native patch. That creates connectivity for wildlife and provides food and shelter without our having to intervene constantly.
In one part of the book, you talk about language and creating a richer vocabulary for the overlooked elements of nature. What role can language and naming play in conservation?
When I was writing the book, I kept thinking about how many cultural references we inherit from elsewhere. We know phrases, poems and associations linked to plants and animals that aren’t from [India]. I would love for us to have similar idioms and cultural references rooted in Indian plants, animals and landscapes.
Often, I meet young people who know what a grizzly bear is, but don’t know about the sloth bear found in India. They know Yellowstone National Park, but may not know the sanctuaries that exist [locally]. That is one reason I wanted to create a vocabulary rooted in the wildlife around us.
The book touches on words [Indians] may have forgotten – falsa, jungle jalebi [both native summer fruits], jugnu [fireflies]. These words carry associations and memories. They connect people to seasons, landscapes and ways of living.
The point is that we cannot afford to lose our connection with nature. The flowering of amaltas or palash [flame of the forest, which blooms in spring] are also ways of telling time. They help us understand the seasons and how the world around us is changing.
Many of the ideas you’re describing – attention, observation, slowing down – run counter to the way modern life is structured. Is that characterisation accurate?
I’m an advocate for slow, meaningful living. That doesn’t mean moving slowly all the time. It means being deliberate in the right moments: finding out that this is the season when the amalta flowers, locating a tree near you, observing and paying attention to it.
In a world of endless distraction and consumerism, being out in nature is a small but significant act of resistance
Many people are turning to nature observation as a form of resistance against the hyper-capitalist society we live in. Nature asks something different of us: attention. In a world of endless distraction and consumerism, being out in nature is a small but significant act of resistance.
You write about ‘recolonising’ cities with native species. What does that look like in practice, and how can city dwellers build a more meaningful relationship with the wildlife around them?
The first step is to restore native habitat at whatever scale is possible.
If you have a garden, plant a few native species. If you live in a housing society, encourage [growing of] native trees and plants. If you’re able to influence municipal decisions, advocate for [establishing] native habitats there as well.
Plants are the foundation of ecosystems. Whether we’re talking about forests or wetlands, plants come first.
The second step is using our voices to advocate for nature. Let’s ask for parks as well as parking lots. Urban land tends to become commercialised, but public parks remind us how much people value these spaces.
What natural spaces offer is the capacity to be surprised. You might suddenly see a bird you’ve never noticed before, encounter a flower from your childhood, or discover something entirely unexpected.
Memories you make outdoors are very different from the ones made elsewhere. Once those memories exist, the connection [to nature] becomes much harder to lose.
