Mr Modi's space problem?

This week, my thoughts have turned to a subject I'm not very familiar with — outer space. Actually, I'm in the middle of a fascinating book, The Worst Journey in the World; it's about the first explorations of the South Pole and Antarctica by Shackleton, Scott and Amundsen.

The last quarter of the 19th century and the first of the 20th was the golden age for explorations and discoveries, on land and sea, whether it was Livingstone in Africa, Mallory on the Himalayas or Peary and Amundsen in the icy wastes of the North and South Poles, respectively. Whether it was driven by imperialism or colonialism is besides the point — the fact is that it showed human spirit and character at their best, and produced a race of indomitable men we sorely lack today.

Thanks to these explorers, there are no more worlds left to discover on this planet, except perhaps under the oceans and in outer space, and we appear to be making a royal mess of both. By the time we get to the ocean depths, the bottom of the seas would be carpeted with micro plastics and the bodies of drowned migrants desperate to get to Europe.

And as for outer space, it's destined to become a huge cosmic landfill: it is estimated that there are more than 9,000 tonnes of junk in the stratosphere, comprising 25,000 pieces more than 10 cm in size, 5,00,000 between 1 and 10 cm, and 100 million pieces of 1 cm. And that does not include the poop: in space, the shit doesn't hit the ceiling, it keeps floating for eternity, like the jumlas liberally dished out during elections.

The other thing of interest is that whereas the exploration of terra firma was driven by human grit, muscle and sheer dedication, the exploration of space is powered more by technology and science.

This is not to deny the undoubted courage and intrepid will of astronauts — it takes nerves of steel to launch oneself into a dark, infinite emptiness with an uncertain umbilical cord — but simply to underline the distinction between human and technological prowess.

The other difference is that whereas the earlier explorations were motivated by the passion and love of discovery, today's explorations are driven mainly by greed (deep sea mining for minerals) and/or geo-political hubris (why else would countries be scrabbling over rights on the dark side of the moon?) and sheer stupidity (looking for another planet to colonise after we have destroyed Earth — wouldn't it be much easier to save our own planet?).

Which brings me to this fortnight's news and updates about space.

Mr S. Somanath, the head honcho of ISRO, is a soft-spoken man who lived in the shadows until he became a star after the success of the Chandrayaan mission. And stars must make their presence felt, not necessarily by shedding light but by issuing statements. One such by Mr Somnath last month was that he would like to send our prime minister on a space flight — that would, presumably, be the apogee of his career, not the landing of a man on the moon.

Fair enough: each man has to set his own goals, even if they are self-goals. We shall also ignore the slightly seditious strand implicit in his desire to dispatch our head of government on a journey to nowhere, perhaps without a return ticket.

But I learn that this invitation has got Mr Modi really worried. For the timing of the invite was unfortunate; you see, Indian-origin American astronaut Sunita Williams has been floating around in space for the last three weeks with no indication when she can come back, due to a glitch in the Boeing Starliner which took her up. She is running out of patience, and more important, time. The current refrain in NASA is, "if it's Boeing I ain't going!" but that is cold comfort for Sunita.

So you see why the PM is uncomfortable? This is definitely not the best time to be considering a walk in the interstellar regions. Accepting Mr Somanath's offer, while it may enable Mr Modi to revisit his self-proclaimed celestial origins, a kind of ghar wapasi if you will, may end up with him doing an Argentine tango with Sunita Williams for eternity just outside the International Space Station.

Not accepting it, conversely, would show lack of confidence in our space programmes, something which President Xi would no doubt note before making another dash for the dark side of Mars or Saturn or the moon, depending on the prevailing rashi at the time. There is, therefore, a possibility that Mr Modi may transfer the invitation to Yogi Adityanath, thereby preserving his own skin and getting rid of a rival at one go — killing two birds with one asteroid, what?

Asteroid brings me to Mr Somanath's next Nostradamus-type statement — that a huge asteroid is likely to hit Earth next year. If it does, all life on the planet will be exterminated, and therefore we should prepare for extinction.

I understand that bit about extinction: after all, there have already been six mass extinctions, the last being that of the dinosaurs. I was hoping the next would be that of the bhakts, but Mr Somnath says it will be all of us, and who am I to quarrel with a man who can land a rover on a postage stamp a million miles away? But I do have a question for him — how does one "prepare" for extinction?

Preparing for death I can understand — ensuring that one has made all the nominations, executed a will, divided one's properties among all the slobbering descendants and an impatient Mrs Sitharaman, reminded the wife of where all the black money has been kept, have one last lingering look at that framed photo of Sunny Leone, return the Aam Aadmi cap to Mr Kejriwal, and so on. You get the drift, don't you?

One has to prepare for an orderly departure, provide for all those left behind, so that life carries on here even as you line up at the pearly gates hoping you'll take the lift going up and not be pushed into the trap-door with the sulphur fumes. But extinction? When there's no life left on the planet, no Puranikoti, no inheritance or inheritors, nothing but a final puff of smoke to indicate that a beautiful blue planet once existed here? How does one "prepare" for that, Mr Somanath?

I'm sure our rocket scientist will enlighten us on this point soon. But I'm not waiting. I've already decided on the details of my "preparation". I shall wait for that damned asteroid to appear on the horizon, give the wife a peck on the cheek, tell her to forget about the mangalsutra and the buffaloes, and retire to my study.

There, I shall pour myself a stiff single malt and tune in to the PM's latest Mann ki Baat. The former shall put me in the proper frame of mind to say "Howdy!" to St Peter, and the latter shall remind me that there are things worse than extinction. As my niece Mitali Saran has always maintained: a good sized asteroid is the solution to all our problems. Cheers, and amen!

Avay Shukla is a retired IAS officer and author of Disappearing Democracy: Dismantling of a Nation and other works. He blogs at avayshukla.blogspot.com