Assam floods: There’s something called gravity

Every monsoon, Northeast India performs its most enduring tradition. No, not Bihu, Wangala, or Ambubachi. It’s the annual game of “Whose Water Is This Anyway?” Assam looks uphill at Meghalaya and says, “Could you kindly stop sending us your water?” Meghalaya looks back and replies, “We’re not sending it. Gravity is.”

Somewhere in the middle, Sir Isaac Newton quietly wonders why he’s being dragged into state politics three centuries after his death. Let’s be fair. Meghalaya sits on a plateau. Assam is downstream. Water has a habit of flowing downhill. It has been doing this long before either state had chief ministers, municipal corporations, or people arguing on social media with satellite images they barely understand.

Imagine living on the first floor of an apartment and filing a complaint because the rainwater from the roof keeps reaching the ground floor. That’s essentially the argument. Of course, the story doesn’t end there. Cities expand. Hills are cut. Wetlands disappear. Drains get clogged with everything except the water they’re supposed to carry. Rivers fill with silt. Then, when the monsoon arrives exactly as the weather department warned it would, everyone suddenly acts surprised. It’s like removing the brakes from your car and then blaming the mountain for being too steep.

Politicians, meanwhile, have perfected the ancient art of hydrological diplomacy. “If the other state did something…” “If only they hadn’t…” “If they stopped…” The rain listens patiently before continuing to fall on everyone equally. Perhaps it’s time for a revolutionary proposal. Instead of holding press conferences aimed at each other, Assam and Meghalaya could hold one aimed at gravity.

While we’re at it, maybe we should ask the Brahmaputra to take a U-turn and politely queue behind traffic signals. Nature is wonderfully democratic. Clouds ignore state boundaries. Rivers don’t check administrative maps. Rain doesn’t stop at interstate checkpoints waiting for permission from the border police. The monsoon has never once said, “Ah, this is Assam. I’d better behave.”

In the end, floods don’t care about political speeches. They care about drainage, planning, forests, wetlands, river management, and whether humans have left enough room for water to go where water has always wanted to go. So yes, blame Meghalaya if it makes for a satisfying headline. But don’t be shocked when the next heavy rain ignores the editorial and continues obeying the one authority it has always respected: Gravity.