Prime Minister Narendra Modi once made a remark that revealed more about his attitude towards climate change than perhaps he intended. He said that people were feeling colder with each passing winter, not because the temperature was dropping, but because they were ageing, and their ability to withstand cold was diminishing.

The statement, though couched in ignorance, betrayed a dangerous denial — the belief that climate change is not a real crisis but a Western fad, "more Utopian than utilitarian," to borrow his own dismissive tone.

On the night of Diwali in Delhi this year, I found myself momentarily wondering whether the Prime Minister's theory about ageing and sensitivity had a grain of truth. My capacity to endure the twin assault of sound and smoke seemed to have evaporated. Otherwise, how could the night have felt so unbearable? This was my 52nd Diwali in North India since I first arrived here in 1973 — long enough to remember when celebrations were joyous, not suffocating.

As soon as the evening puja ended, the explosions began. Rockets hissed into the air, flowerpots spluttered in fountains of sparks, and strings of crackers crackled relentlessly. From my fourth-floor apartment, the noise was deafening; the acrid smoke hung thick and low.

By midnight, the city resembled a war zone. The air was so dense that the moon appeared like a faint smudge behind a smoky curtain. The burning in my eyes, the choking in my throat, and the heaviness in my chest told me that the Air Quality Index (AQI) had plunged into the "severe" category — even before the next morning's headlines confirmed it.

The newspapers dutifully reported that the AQI had crossed 350, but their tone was more descriptive than scientific. The photographs of Delhi's skyline, shrouded in smog, were striking, but the data seemed oddly curated. I could not help but suspect that the pollution control agency was instructed to "pause" its monitors for a few hours to dress up the figures — a hunch born not of cynicism but of experience.

After all, governments have been known to massage statistics to protect their image. Could the Delhi administration have done something similar to save face? Only God knows. But one thing I know with certainty: this year, Delhi's air quality suffered an enormous setback in a single night.

For years, schools and colleges have conscientiously taught students about the dangers of fireworks. Many young people have become genuinely aware of the environmental impact and have chosen to celebrate Diwali with lamps and candles rather than firecrackers. But this year, the momentum of that anti-cracker movement was lost. The new Delhi Chief Minister, Rekha Gupta, declared that it was necessary to "balance celebration with environmental protection." In other words, pollution could be tolerated if it came wrapped in tradition.

Until a few months ago, the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) ruled Delhi, and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) never missed an opportunity to blame it for the city's declining air quality. Now, with the BJP controlling both the Centre and the state, one expected better. But Gupta's government preferred to look the other way while residents indulged in a reckless display of fireworks. Enforcement was nonexistent. The police, perhaps taking their cue from political leaders, stood by passively.

Who bursts firecrackers, after all? Not the poor. The poor can barely afford to put food on the table, let alone spend thousands on pyrotechnics. The smoke-filled skies of Delhi, therefore, are not an expression of collective joy but an assertion of privilege.

The affluent create pollution outside and purify their homes inside with air purifiers. They breathe filtered air in their bedrooms, while their drivers and domestic workers cough their way through the smog. This is environmental inequality at its worst — the rich pollute, the poor perish.

Globally, too, the pattern is similar. The world's wealthiest countries are the largest emitters of greenhouse gases, while the poorest nations bear the brunt of rising temperatures and floods. Yet, just as Delhi's rich citizens flaunt their fireworks, the industrialised world continues to burn fossil fuels while lecturing developing countries about sustainability.

This year, Delhi introduced a new twist to its toxic tradition: the so-called "green crackers." The Supreme Court, which just days earlier had thundered at Punjab and Haryana for failing to arrest farmers who burn crop stubble, allowed the use of these supposedly "eco-friendly" crackers. The irony was hard to miss. Farmers were being threatened with jail for polluting the air, while city dwellers were given permission to pollute in the name of celebration.

Nobody really knows what makes a cracker "green." We are told that the packets carry QR codes that can be scanned to verify their composition. But who is scanning them? Are there officials posted at every corner of the capital checking whether the fireworks being sold are compliant? The answer, of course, is no. The "green" label is simply a convenient fiction — a fig leaf for collective guilt. I would love to meet a single person who was booked for bursting non-green crackers this Diwali.

We must be honest: there is no political commitment to fight air pollution in India. Every winter, we replay the same tired script. The courts issue stern warnings, governments announce token bans, and citizens briefly panic — until the next festival arrives, or the next smog episode subsides. Then we all go back to business as usual.

I recall visiting Beijing in the winter of 1994 on the way to Mongolia. The air there was dreadful; the city was enveloped in a grey haze that dimmed even the airport lights. China's rapid industrial growth had come at a terrible environmental cost. But three decades later, Beijing's story is dramatically different. Through consistent policies — strict emission norms, relocation of polluting industries, investment in public transport, and large-scale reforestation — the city has improved its air quality manifold. Visibility is better, and smog episodes are fewer. China's achievement proves that progress and clean air are not mutually exclusive — only political will makes the difference.

India, by contrast, continues to grope in the smog. The government proudly proclaims that we are the fourth-largest economy in the world and possess the third-largest defence forces. Defence Minister Rajnath Singh recently boasted that every inch of Pakistani soil, from Karachi to Gilgit, lies within the range of our BrahMos missiles. But why does the same government fail to ensure that the air our children breathe is safe, the water we drink is clean, and the food we eat is unadulterated? The answer lies in priorities.

Our policymakers view pollution not as a crisis but as a seasonal inconvenience — something to be managed, not solved. The Ministry of Environment, Forest and Climate Change admitted in Parliament this March that it had used less than one per cent of the $100 million allocated to it for pollution control. One per cent! When an agency charged with cleaning the air cannot even spend its budget, it reflects apathy, not incapacity.

I learnt about this not from an Indian newspaper but from a New York Times report that takes pollution seriously. It explains the phenomenon in this manner: Delhi's topography, admittedly, makes matters worse. The city lies in a bowl-shaped plain surrounded by mountains and plateaus. During winter, cooler air traps pollutants close to the ground, forming a toxic blanket. But topography is not destiny.

What aggravates the situation are human choices: unregulated construction, poorly maintained vehicles, and unchecked industrial emissions. Studies show that stubble burning accounts for less than 21 per cent of Delhi's winter pollution; transport, industry, and waste burning are far bigger culprits. Yet, the farmer remains the favourite scapegoat.

The Supreme Court's recent suggestion that some farmers be arrested "to set an example" betrays a lack of empathy. The court's exasperation is understandable — the smog is unbearable, and someone must be held accountable. But punishing farmers is neither fair nor effective.

Most small farmers in Punjab and Haryana cannot afford the machinery needed to dispose of stubble responsibly. They are aware that burning residue pollutes the air, but they have no viable alternative. Hiring labour or renting specialised equipment eats into their already meagre, declining margins. Farming, for them, is not a business but a gamble — one monsoon away from ruin.

Arresting farmers will not clear Delhi's skies; it will only deepen rural despair. Jail terms mean broken families and rising debts. Instead of punishment, they need support — subsidies for straw management machines, access to cooperative services, and better crop prices. Encouragingly, data from Punjab show that incidents of stubble burning have been declining gradually. Awareness campaigns and government schemes are beginning to bear fruit. What is required is persistence, not policing.

While the court talks of jailing farmers, it remains silent on urban polluters. No one suggests arresting those who build illegal constructions, drive smoke-spewing SUVs, or light fireworks by the tonne. The bias is glaring. Rural pollution is treated as a crime; urban pollution as culture.

The truth is that Delhi's real enemy is not the farmer but our own indifference. The city's public transport network remains woefully inadequate. According to the Centre for Science and Environment, Delhi has just 45 buses per 100,000 people — barely half London's ratio. The odd-even vehicle scheme, which had shown promising results, was abandoned after a few weeks under public pressure. Meanwhile, car ownership continues to surge, and roads remain clogged with traffic.

Politics, as always, is the thickest smog of all. For years, the BJP at the Centre and the AAP in Delhi traded accusations about who was responsible for the city's pollution. Now that the BJP rules both, there are no more excuses. But instead of decisive action, the new government diluted the firecracker ban. Rekha Gupta's statement about "balancing" tradition and environment summed up the hypocrisy of our times — pollution, when done festively, becomes patriotism.

Meanwhile, Delhi's doctors are seeing a rise in asthma, bronchitis, and even cardiac complications linked to pollution. The elderly and children are the worst affected. Every breath in November is an act of courage. The city, home to millions, is slowly gasping towards death, and the rulers remain serenely indifferent.

When I first came to Delhi in 1973, winter meant mist, not smog. One could stand on the terrace and watch the morning sun burn through the haze. Today, the haze does not lift; it thickens. The light is not golden but grey. The joy of festivals has been replaced by the fear of suffocation.

The government takes pride in building expressways, airports, and statues taller than skyscrapers. But none of these achievements matter if citizens cannot breathe freely. The right to clean air is as fundamental as the right to life. If the government can monitor every mobile phone and satellite, it can surely monitor the factories, vehicles, and fireworks that poison the air. What is missing is not technology, but sincerity.

We must stop blaming farmers and start confronting the real polluters — unregulated industry, vehicular emissions, construction dust, and political apathy. Fighting smog requires science, coordination, and above all, compassion. Farmers should be partners in this effort, not prisoners.

If China could reclaim its skies, why can't we? If our missiles can reach every corner of Pakistan, why can't clean air reach every child in Delhi? Until our leaders treat pollution with the same urgency as national security, we will remain a proud but breathless nation — mighty in arms, weak in lungs. The message this Diwali should have been simple: light lamps, not lungs. But that would require wisdom that burns brighter than fireworks — and, alas, that is in short supply.