I’m scared to death by admin. An area where credit-card glitches, travel booking glitches, endless calls and paperwork collide. This is my hell, along with concrete jungles, overflowing dustbins and lack of footpath space. Add jet lag after a 14-hour flight next to a screaming baby, and you can understand my mental state when we landed in New York City.
So, my teenage son and I decided to take a walk. We donned scarves, hats, gloves and thick coats; The temperature was below zero and the wind was blowing strong. Outside, we were soon avoiding tourists looking at Christmas decorations on Fifth Avenue. The night before, over dinner, a cousin had mentioned the local rules about separation and composting. As I walked, I was surprised at how much waste holiday decorations would create.
A brisk walk of about 20 minutes took us to Central Park. Christmas-themed, horse-drawn carriages and rickshaws with neon lights reminiscent of the ’80s were gathered near the entrance. The brokers asked if we wanted a tour, oblivious to the fact that the park’s founder wanted it to be free of commercial concerns. We declined, and passed by stalls selling magnets and posters, nuts and drinks under snow-covered trees.
The sun was starting to set, even though it was only 1.30 in the afternoon. As we proceeded deeper into the park, I felt calm, even a little hopeful. Whatever Central Park was doing to me, it was doing to others too. Another day, we visited the Carousel, a spectacular carousel of 57 wooden horses built in the Tsarist style, hand-built by Jewish Russian immigrants in 1908. (The carousel is shown at the end of The Catcher in the Rye as the embodiment of childhood hope.)
Soon, we heard music and walked down a few steps towards it, as the sun was setting, the surroundings were bathed in golden light. A woman in a red velvet ballgown, bare shoulders, unconcerned by the cold, was adding drama to the tableau. In the biting cold we came across two old men, one playing the violin and the other playing the cello. His melodies were joyful and bitter. We placed a token in his basket and left.
As I later learned, it was the Bethesda Terrace, one of the park’s most famous features, a reflection of the philosophy of its designer Calvert Vaux: “Nature first, second and third – architecture a little later.” We passed a huge statue of an angel, before reaching a frozen lake surrounded by trees on the far shore, where ducks were standing on the ice waiting for food. Suddenly, something startled them and they flew into a moment of extreme beauty; No ballet could ever hope to be more beautiful or more contemporary.
We walked back through a carefully tended summer forest, and my son saw a performance taking place across the road. Three young men were dancing to a fast, infectious tune; Music is a permanent element of the park. On another trip, in the snow, we saw a man playing it with his drums. Concerts are organized here regularly. Today, the dancers were attracting audiences that included tourists from New Zealand, France, Nepal and Texas, all part of the 42 million who flock to the park each year in search of beauty or solace in the heart of New York City.
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How did this park come into existence?
This park is more than 150 years old. In the 1840s, as the city exploded northward, wealthy New Yorkers feared that Manhattan would become as overcrowded and unhealthy as industrial London or Paris. He insisted on a large public park – not just for recreation, but to harness the redemptive power of nature. After three years of debate, the government authorized one in 1853, between 59th and 106th Streets. The park was constructed in several phases between 1858 and 1873.
The land was not vacant. A small portion of it was confiscated from Seneca Village, a mixed-race community – a permanent stain on the place that was imagined to belong to all New Yorkers. Over the next few years, thousands of workers, including German gardeners, Irish laborers, and Yankee engineers, transformed this marshy, rocky land into a retreat that today features forests, several fields and lakes, a skating rink, a fountain, and old-fashioned wilderness trails.
The park has survived the Civil War (1861-65), the Gilded Age (circa 1870-1900), two world wars, the hippie era, the birth of the Internet, and, dare I say, will survive the age of AI. The secret of its success is its adaptability: it began as a playground for the rich, with carriages and promenades. As transportation networks expanded, New Yorkers from all walks of life came and it became the city’s backyard. In 1870, the Metropolitan Museum of Art rose next door, reflecting the 19th-century belief that nature and culture together could enhance taste (and increase land values). Together, they represent an ideal, a space that is democratic in access, if elitist in concept, that transforms the social and spatial geography of the city.
In the 1930s, upgrades to the city water system drained the obsolete lower reservoir and, with President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal labor, it was transformed into the Great Lawn and Turtle Pond, cementing the park as a venue for mass culture, hosting concerts by artists ranging from Paul Simon to the New York Philharmonic. The park has also served as the inspiration for many books, plays, and films over the decades.
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The 70s saw a decline in urban budgets. Park maintenance collapsed; Garbage piled up and the crime rate increased.
To fight back, citizens formed the Central Park Task Force, which led to the Central Park Conservancy, a public-private partnership that now runs the 843-acre space. A mix of private funding and professional restoration revitalized the neglected paths, landscapes and monuments, transforming it from a symbol of urban decay into a model of civic pride and stewardship. Their website claims they invest $100 million annually into the park to generate $1 billion of economic activity, which is a great return on investment.
Why am I writing about Central Park?
Because green spaces make cities climate-resilient.
Concrete and asphalt absorb sunlight and radiate it back, creating urban heat islands that make cities hotter than their surroundings. Green cover breaks this cycle by reducing the amount of heat absorbed in the first place, by cooling the air through evapotranspiration (think, plant sweat) and by shading and reflecting sunlight.
Studies show that greenery can reduce urban temperatures by 4 to 24 degrees Celsius, depending on scale and context. Yet a recent World Bank report showed that 14 out of 24 Indian cities studied have less than 0.5 square meters of green open space per capita – a fraction of the WHO recommended minimum of 9 square metres. (Incidentally, New York City has about 13 square meters of green space per capita.)
Next, water. India’s rainfall is unusual: far more seasonal than most places, and concentrated in very short rainy days. This reality shaped the design of ancient Indian cities, but was largely ignored by modern ones, resulting in floods and droughts. Early Indian cities were filled with lakes, often man-made by damming low-lying areas to collect rainwater, which seeped underground and supported groundwater in dry seasons.
The Sundaram Climate Institute (which I founded and lead) found that urban reservoirs, especially those with surrounding green spaces, keep local groundwater levels higher by about 200 feet. In ancient times, communities lived at the center of these lakes, where festivals and stories kept people engaged. This worked until we forgot, and started turning these lakes into neighborhoods, offices, and garbage dumps.
Finally, as I can personally attest and as science shows, nature in cities serves as greenery for the soul, something that is increasingly being tested as climate changes.
According to the World Bank, India’s urban population will almost double to 951 million between 2020 and 2050, while more than half of the new infrastructure and buildings have yet to be constructed. Green space should be at the heart of this infrastructure, which is where the lessons from Central Park come in handy, as studies highlight declining green cover in Indian cities.
Take the Mehrauli Archaeological Park in New Delhi, where every step crosses centuries of history. When I was there a few years ago, it was in urgent need of love, some of which has now arrived. Delhi is relatively lucky. Even more tragic is the fate of hundreds of urban lakes scattered across India, many of which serve as garbage dumps. Although the recent census of water bodies in 2023 was a welcome step, much still remains to be done.
Part of the challenge is incentives: Officials are transferred frequently, leaving them little time to take ownership or build lasting community engagement. This is where, like Central Park, public-private partnerships can help. The park needs to bring together art, performance and music, reiterating the ideal that nature and high culture can heighten emotion and attract crowds. Meanwhile, the Sundaram Climate Institute found that a properly maintained urban lake alone can support dozens of livelihoods through maintenance, tourism and local food vendors.
In New York, my son and I brushed snow off our coats after a snowball fight. Laughing, we passed a man who was blowing huge bubbles into the air, their giant shells creating a psychedelic rainbow. I felt lighter, able to put my “trials” in perspective. I mentioned this to my son, and he said, “This is using nature, not exploiting it”.
(Mridula Ramesh is a climate-tech investor and author at Watershed. Contact via tradeoffs@climaction.net. Views expressed are personal)
