An Indian Summer

I walk through the glass doors into the sweltering heat outside. The sky is a ferocious white, and the harsh sunlight reflected off the gray road surface burns your eyes no matter where you look. It doesn't help that I am coming out of an air-conditioned office. The air conditioner is a massive machine these days, and critical to survival. A few steps towards my car in the parking lot and I am already feeling nauseous, my skin rapidly flaking off in the heat, my lips cracked. A hot dry wind blows, the “loo” as it is called, only it has become hotter and drier over the years as summer temperatures have incessantly risen; from the inconvenience of 40 degrees Celsius when I was born, to an unbearable 50 degrees Celsius now.

Jyotsna had insisted on staying on in Delhi. “It reminds me of what I am up against”, she used to say. Some reminder this. I sit down in my car, switch on the air conditioning, and gulp down a whole bottle of water. My car is electric, thank God, the gasoline machines of the past have been phased out. With those beasts I would have been too guilt tripped to open the door.

As I slowly drive down the road I cannot help but notice how empty the streets are. Not that this is new. The whole “lower rung” of the population, the hawkers and the beggars and the street children, have all been driven away or killed relentlessly by, funnily, the weather. Delhi is a ghost town now, or rather a city of tombs: its inhabitants shut themselves in artificially cooled rooms, pretending access to a lifestyle that has been denied them a long time ago by Nature herself. Nature? No this was no doing of nature, this vulcan heat, the rainless summer and the monsoon that every year spread its rains over fewer and fewer days. This was no battle between man and nature, or if it was, nature had conceded defeat a long time ago. No, this was merely a species content to live in its own feces.

When I had first met Jyotsna,  as a boy of ten, the summers were much cooler, and we sat outside in the balcony of the house at night, mildly intoxicated by that heady smell of jasmine, drenched in the silver moonlight with an almost still breeze blowing through our hair. I am probably romanticizing quite a bit here, but that is what happens to childhood memories. Most of my life I have known Jyotsna, and most of my beliefs, most of who I am and who I have become, is a product of her influence on my life; it is but natural that even my earliest memories should have her shadow imprinted on them. She was that kind of a person. She left an impression. Even then, when she was hardly twenty five, she had that formidable combination of persistence and passion that she would carry throughout her professional life, and that would, ironically, alienate her from everyone around her. Even me. Especially me.

I have reached home. It is a lavish home. It makes me want to throw up. I pull into the garage, and the moment the garage door closes behind me the air conditioning kicks in. My house makes sure I don't come in contact with the air outside. I lock myself in and switch on the television, a massive, 3D thing that was supposed to be something to brag about. Only it is not 3D anymore because I have focused, obsessively, over the past few months, on demolishing everything extravagant about it. It still obstinately displays images, in weird distorted colors. I switch it on just to make sure it is still working, which means perhaps I can spend some time dismantling it some more.

The loneliness and the silence and the air conditioning make you do things.

***
July, 2012
A balcony. A cot, with two middle-aged women sitting and talking animatedly. A ten year old boy sits on the ground, assembling lego blocks. A young woman, in her twenties, sits on the edge of the cot, sipping a cup of tea, oblivious to the conversation happening by her side. She is staring intently at the sky where the full moon is now obscured behind clouds.

For the third time this week the evening has become cool. The scent of rain is in the air. There have been forecasts of a normal monsoon this year, but it is already the third week of July and the monsoon hasn't yet arrived...

“What are you studying Jyotsna?” one of the older women asks the younger one.
“Climate”, replies Jyotsna tersely. Jyotsna's mother, who is the other older woman, admonishes her. “Come on Jyotsna, you ought to be respectful towards your elders.  Give aunty more details about what you study.”
Jyotsna sighs, almost audibly. She is sick and tired of listening to inane remarks about the weather, and how they still can't say reliably whether it will rain today. She feels annoyed by the apathy and disdain that everyone around her seems to feel for her profession of choice, and she is frustrated at being asked by any and every concerned aunt why she “couldn't make it into Computer Science”.
“I study climate. Long term weather. Things like what the monsoon is going to be like a year from now, or five years from now. Things like how we've mucked around for the longest time and now everywhere the climate is changing, bringing with it droughts and famines on the one hand and storms and floods on the other. And sometimes things like why we still won't shut down the darned air conditioner when we don't really need it.”
She stares studiously into her cup in the ensuing silence, aware of her mother's glare. Sadistically, she hoped she had disturbed “aunty”.
“That is very interesting beta! Our meteorological department needs people like you. Their predictions are always so wrong..”
Nope. Never mind.
She drinks her tea in one gulp. It is a wee bit too warm, it burns her tongue. The fragrance of the dry earth thirsting for rain is overwhelming.
“It's going to rain”, Arun says, looking up from his lego blocks up towards the sky. As if on cue, lightning flashes, and a moment later the clouds thunder and the first big drops begin to fall. Jyotsna's thoughts are drowned in the joyous clamoring, as clothes are hastily pulled off the clothesline, Arun's lego blocks are gathered together, and all four of them hasten inside to watch the glorious monsoon unfold from the safety of the house.

***
It was a warm June evening. The four of them were walking in the park: Arun, Jyotsna and their respective mothers. The two older women walked ahead, talking about the kind of things that occupy typical adult minds: the house, the loans, the ups and downs of their service jobs. It was approaching twilight, and the white sun of the day was now a crimson smear in the west sky.

“So you're done with all your exams?” Jyotsna asked of Arun. She usually refrained from exam-talk: she thought no one in their right minds would find an exam not traumatic. But Arun had a penchant for giving exams. He was the only person she had seen who would come off an exam feeling positively delighted: something that amused her every time they met after his exam.

“Yep” he replied, “I think I did pretty well.”
“I'm sure of that”, she said, smiling. “Do you have any idea what you want to study after school?”
“I am not sure what I want to”, he replied thoughtfully, “but I think I'll just end up studying computer science”.
“Why so?” she said, frowning. That was, of course, the answer you expected out of anyone beginning his or her college life in India, but it frustrated her. There was a pecking order among scientific disciplines; a pecking order defined mostly by the amount of money one could expect to make after graduation. She hated that metric, and she was somewhat annoyed that Arun would subscribe to it.
But then, which twelfth grader knew what he or she wanted to do in life? She herself had just stumbled through aimlessly, following a boyfriend into physics and spending a couple of years feeling sorry for herself before finding her calling. In hindsight, she thought this is where she would have wanted to end up, but things always made sense in retrospect.

“Well, that is what my mom wants of me, anyway”.
They walked silently for a while. She had taken a class in atmospheric science in her second year, along with a couple of friends who wanted an easy credit. Her friends had drudged through what they had felt was an immensely boring class, but she was hooked: the secrets behind the wind she felt everyday were much more enticing than the equations behind electrons she could hardly see. That class was the beginning of one long, passionate love affair.

“You should think of what you want to do, you know”, she said gently. “If you do what you love it will save you quite a lot of pain.”
“But I don't know what I want”, Arun whined. Jyotsna laughed. “Maybe I can tell you what you actually want. And convert you”, she said conspiratorially, “to the dark side”.
***


Why am I still in Delhi? It is a question I have often asked myself. In the fights that I had with my wife in the days leading up to the divorce, this was a constant refrain. “It's because of that woman, isn't it? It's because of Jyotsna”.

Not true, not really, although it is hard to tease out the parts of my life that don't have her imprint on them. No, I stayed in Delhi because I wanted to remind myself of what it had become. To remind myself that the choices I made have led up to this. If only I had the courage to do what is right, instead of closing my eyes and assuming things would right themselves. Mankind has a love-hate relationship with inevitability: we are afraid of fate, but we are even more afraid of changing it.

On the wall in front of me hang a couple of framed certificates, hung lovingly by my wife back when we actually cared about each other. One of them is an award for the best thesis project, the other is my bachelor's degree. I could say that I was young then, but that is an excuse for recklessness, not for fear. Or greed, for that matter.

It was an innocuous enough offer. A fresh startup, created in the turbulent time of a rapidly worsening climate situation which no one knew where it would go. The idea was that we would offer advice: advice on where your factory would be safe from floods. On where the climate is supposed to become more stable, so you could construct a hotel there. Adaptation, right? The world is changing, so businesses need to adapt. We would provide them with the means.

I was one of the second or third round of employees, and the first to have significant exposure to climate science. In the years that followed we made it big. With extreme weather becoming the new norm, the cost of being unprepared was huge. People were willing to pay humongous amounts for an accurate prediction. And our predictions were accurate. Extremely accurate. I became an associate in no time. We bought a big house, here in one of the most posh areas of the city. Things were going too well.

But who am I kidding? The shadow hung, as always, over my supposed joys, over the luxuries I was amassing. Jyotsna visited us, a couple of times, but then no more. She was shocked initially, by my decision to join the startup, and my email to her telling her about the job elicited only a terse “Congrats.” But a year later she came over for dinner to our house, and at that time she showed no signs of being disturbed by my supposed “defection”. Or so I thought: hardly a few weeks later we had a furious tiff. It is something I rather not remember.

Not right now, at least.

I walk around the house like a ghost, savoring the silence. The company still exists, I am still an associate, but is it surprising that I lost the stomach for it? This has been a bad decade, the last one. The scale of the disaster is overwhelming. For some years we all thought, well, it's all getting a little bit warmer, so what, the rains are still coming, the monsoons still come and go. As a nation we were somewhat complacent.

But if you knew anything at all, you would have been worried. In the late 2020s temperatures were rising rapidly, as they had been for the last two decades. The Ganga basin was already a hellhole in the summer, with heatwave after heatwave killing several hundred people each year. Thankfully, the late 2020s were an extended La Nina, that time when the monsoons are supposed to be especially bountiful. But this was transient: it would soon be followed by an “El Nino”. And when that happened, all hell would break lose.

Because the heat waves were only part of the problem. Crop yields depended on temperature too, and the most fertile parts of the country were being subjected to the most damning temperatures. Crop yield was falling, and so were the stocks of grain, although the strong monsoon hid the deficit somewhat. But what would happen when the monsoon failed? I am sure some obscure editorial in some obscure newspaper probably skirted around the right answer: a nationwide famine.

2031. That was the year. The first year the monsoon failed completely, and the temperatures stayed high for the entire duration of the monsoon. Expectation turned to surprise, surprise to terror, terror to agony, and agony to despair. In October, it was a crisis. With the winter crops failing too, it was a catastrophe.

And what a famine it was, when it struck. At some point all of us in the company just sat there staring at the television screen as channel after channel talked of the widespread drought. The entire Gangetic valley. A searing hot summer and a monsoon without rain, and dead crops and starving people. And the monsoon wouldn't recover for another three or four years.

And so the riots followed. Year after year, for four straight years. Few wars can bring a nation to its knees the way a famine can. A nation billion-strong, where the vast majority had no means to protect themselves against the behemoth that swept them away like a stream of water washing away little ants. Hah, water. Water was our undoing.

Am I exaggerating? The numbers seem small, a hundred dead here, a few hundred dead there. That's all it is to you isn't it? That's all it should be to me. Sitting in my air-conditioned room, watching the news on a 3D television. Have you ever seen tragedy in 3D? Those summer months were trauma. I would stand in the bathroom in front of the mirror, trying to throw up. Trying to imagine what was happening, trying to imagine the force that was being unleashed upon us.

Us? No, them. We, we were safe in our little air-conditioned cocoons. The disaster only struck them, those outside, without 3D televisions or air conditioners, they, whom we left out of our plans. That was when I began to hate the house. The life I had built for myself. Every part of it.

And do you know what the most damning thing was? I had known all along that this was coming, and I did nothing.

Nothing.

***


The conference room was small. She found it somewhat stifling. That did not however diminish the importance of the dignitaries present. She felt herself swelling with pride. This is our best work yet, she told herself.

To be sure she wasn't breaking any new ground. The area was still climate modeling, a field that had progressed by leaps and bounds the past few decades under the pressure of an imminent catastrophe. But the techniques were new. They were a mix of physical and statistical, and an order of magnitude more accurate than the best so far. What's more, they were accurate now even for those climatic phenomena that were incredibly hard to model: especially the one she was most interested in: the Indian monsoon.

Arun came in dressed in a shirt and trousers. And a tie. She had to hold back her laughter. Poor guy, she should have told him that academics don't dress like that. The frayed jeans and obscenely colored t-shirt that he usually wore should have been fine. She was glad to be working with him. It was rather fortunate that he should end up in the same college she was teaching in. The boy was brilliant, and he had an eye for math that she had never had. She had only nudged him in the right direction; the entire technique he had come up with himself.  For an undergraduate, he was among the very best.

“Instead of simply averaging estimates from the model ensemble, we learn a separate linear combination for each time step”, Arun was saying, his eyes constantly flitting to Jyotsna. Jyotsna nodded slightly, smiling. It could have been awkward, Jyotsna mused, given that they had known each other for, what, ten years now? But Jyotsna had always found him a joy to talk to, and now she found him a joy to work with too. And the fact that they shared a passion for this field made it all the more better. She was reasonably sure that Arun would go on for a higher degree; but she wondered if she could convince him to stay here.

“Your technique does seem to make accurate predictions, but does that mean anything at all? Does it give any insight into the actual mechanisms, or is it just a hack to get better numbers?”

Arun fumbled. Jyotsna sighed. “Well”, she began, ignoring any pleasantries, “we have reached a point now where prediction is paramount. Mechanisms and the physics behind climate are important, definitely. But at the same time we need to be able to make decisions now; we want the science to inform policies. That is, first and foremost, the goal we are working for”.

Silence.

“Any more questions?” she asked. She knew she was confrontational, but she really had no patience for debates about philosophy. There were enough people debating what the right thing to do was, and not enough people doing things. The world is changing, and changing fast, and we need tools to know where the heck we are going, she thought.

“Did the talk go well?” Arun asked, his voice tremulous. She looked at him and smiled. “It was great. Do you want to listen to this new idea I had?”

***

As Jyotsna walked into the restaurant she was acutely aware of the difference in temperature between the inside and the outside. It was only March, and the heat outside was already unbearable. Temperature increase had accelerated three fold over the past few years, a rate of increase that was slightly above what they had predicted. With such high temperatures things were beginning to break down : many of her acquaintances had already evacuated Delhi, heat waves  now killed several hundred people in northern India every year, and there was almost no way you could survive in Delhi without constant, ubiquitous cooling. And this was just what was reported in the media: she knew other things that were breaking down too, slowly but surely, that the media was oblivious to. Agricultural yields were falling, and with it the wealth of the farmers in most parts of the country. Water tables throughout the nation were falling as more and more water was pulled out to compensate for the sweltering heat. The flora and fauna were dying, or at least whatever little was left of them.

She shook her head. She was thinking such thoughts now almost every moment she spent awake. She couldn't help it, she thought. In almost thirty years of work she had explored every aspect of this; she knew like the back of her hand every disaster that was waiting to happen as the land warmed. Heck, they had been issuing warnings for so long now. All of her career starting from the moment she graduated she had always hoped that at some point governments would be alarmed enough to act. That the limit of  2 degrees warming, then 4, then 6, would not be reached. But what was optimism when she was young had morphed into anger, then horror, then despair. She couldn't believe it: in spite of the fact that they knew where they were going, and had more or less known for half a century, they had been unable to stop mankind's reckless march to oblivion.

She found herself sitting among immaculately dressed people, young men and their wives. Her t-shirt and jeans felt remarkably out of place. She found Arun sitting beside her. “Hi Jyotsna, glad you could make it!”

Why was she here again?

While she didn't think of herself as an introvert, she found it hard to enjoy most company. Conversation was almost always inane and pointless. She could not understand how one could talk for an hour on what one did the last weekend, even as all around them the world was slowly but surely coming to an end. She blamed this attitude for where they were now: this “ability” of people to block out the future and just continue to muck around in the present, as if the future was some far-away unattainable land.

Which would have been fine, she mused, if the future was something you could not change. If you had to die tomorrow, might as well live today. But to have the reins in your hand, to have the ability to change the future, not just of one man or woman but of the whole damn world, and yet to ignore it completely, was something she could not understand. And then people had the gall, the audacity, to take advantage of the situation; to make money off the plight of millions of people around the world, even as they held, and ignored, the power to change that plight.

How could she respect such company?

And she felt quite sad that this was the case with Arun too. It seemed only a few years ago that Arun discovered for himself where they were heading, and came to her equal parts tormented and horrified. At that time she had said to him, smiling, “But that's what makes this field so awesome: you have an opportunity to change the world!”

Now she could muster none of that optimism. And Arun had joined the ranks of the others, inured to the darkness of the future and even building their lives off it.

She found herself surprisingly bitter.

“Why are you so quiet, Jyotsna?” This was Arun's wife. What was her name again? She was pretty, but also cloyingly sweet.
“This is not an atmosphere I am used to”, she said, forcing a smile. “I am usually much more at home in my lab.”
“But you should get out of your lab more. Arun tells me that you are in the lab till 10 in the night sometimes. That is not really healthy.”
Healthy? She shrugged. “There is quite a bit of work to be done. I don't really mind. In fact I actually enjoy..”
But Arun's wife was continuing with her complaint. “You know I always think that work can wait. It is much more important to spend time at home, and you know, enjoy yourself. Arun works quite a bit himself, you know, as do I, but we always come home early in the evenings so we can spend some time together and go somewhere. This other day we went to...”
Jyotsna found her temper flaring. “Some of us”, she said through clenched teeth, “can't find it in our hearts to enjoy at the expense of others' lives.”

The silence was palpable. Arun's wife said icily, “What do you mean?”
Arun was staring at her, astonished. Jyotsna stared right back at him. “Care to explain, Arun?”
“I.. am not sure what you mean, Jyotsna. What is this about?”
“What is this about?” Jyotsna said, her voice rising. “Go out, Arun, into the heat outside and tell me you don't know what this is about. Why, I say you very well know what it's about, Arun, because I'm sure every day you stare at the same data that I do, make the same conclusions as I do. Tell me you don't know the decade-long El Nino that's supposed to start any time soon. Tell me you haven't seen the kharif yield fall by 7% the last five years inspite of high rainfall and that you haven't worked out the link in excruciating detail between crop yields and temperature. Oh, you probably know a lot more than me, I am sure”, she sneered, “It's not that you don't know, Arun, it is that you don't care.”

She fell silent, glowering at Arun.
“Tell me Arun”, she continued, in a cold, low voice, “that you haven't figured out that the life you are building is based on money you are making out of a disaster.”
She threw down five hundred rupee notes on the table to cover her dinner, and began to walk out.

“You are wrong, Jyotsna”, Arun whispered, “I am doing my part, we are all doing our parts. We are all in the same boat”.

“Prove me wrong then, Arun.”, Jyotsna said softly, her hands on the door handle.  “There is a whole planet that is waiting for you to do so.”

As she walked out the door,  Arun suddenly felt very, very cold.

***



I sit down at my laptop, the television blaring obscenely behind me. There is a folder called Clairvoyance. I open it, for the umpteenth time this month. It is something I have been working on for the past month or so. In secret, at home, of course, because I can't let the company know. The excuse I have given them is code clean up. Being so high up makes it easier. Much of it is what I wrote, so checking it out of the repository doesn't raise any suspicions.

Now it is complete. Everything that I ever worked on is in that folder, on my machine. When they discover who did this, as they soon will, I will almost surely be fired. But I have realized that at some point in time you need to burn your bridges, and for me that time has come.

I pause for a moment and look around the room. This is the last time I will see it. Thank God. The gasoline can stands right next to the couch where I put it a week ago. I am not sure why I planned it this way; I could, presumably, just go on living here even after I make the code public and get fired. But then, I don't really like this place. It makes me nauseous, as does the high paying job that allowed me to buy it.

This house will make a great bonfire, once I am done with it. What then? Maybe I'll take the train down south. Or east. Find a refugee camp somewhere, give out some stuff, walk again. The less you carry, and the less you want, the easier the journey.

For one last time, I read the last mail that she sent a year ago.


“Hello Arun,

I know it has been a while. I am sorry for having disappeared from your life so abruptly, and I am sorry our last meeting was so vitriolic. There are many days that I regret all those things I said to you. You were, after all, the best friend, colleague and student I ever had.

Age has mellowed me somewhat. Time slows when you age, and old grudges seem smaller and smaller. And the past slowly grows to overshadow the future. When I was young, I hoped for a different world than what is now. I had hoped that things would change, that climate change would be stopped, and that, proud as I was, I would have a role to play in it. Somewhat like a superhero, albeit an extremely geeky one. But over time I got to realize that I was tiny and insignificant, and mankind's juggernaut will not stop till it destroys itself. I did my best, but the fact is that we are now beyond salvation. All we can hope for is to save as many lives as we can.

I retired from my position at the university. I am too old, and woefully out of date. If you were around, perhaps that could be rectified, but never mind. I am spending time at an NGO now that works with climate refugees, helping them identify areas of greatest need. My health no longer permits travel, so I sit in an office all day. The people here tell me often that they find me extremely valuable, but I lost trust in humanity's value judgements a long time ago.

I hope you have a good life Arun, wherever you go. I wanted to share with you a poem by Walt Whitman I have always liked:

'O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless―of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light―of the objects mean―of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all―of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest―with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring―What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here―that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.'

Sounds relevant, doesn't it? I think you know where you are going and how you want your life to be, and I don't want to be presumptuous, the way I was that day, in telling you what to do. But I do hope you spend some time finding your verse, so to speak; I am sure it will be beautiful.

Jyotsna”.

I sigh. It's all set up. One command and the entire collection of code and data is out in public. I send out a mail, containing the link and little else, to the five reporters I had talked to in the early stages of the company. They showered us with praise then. I hope they think kindly of me now.

It's time to reply to Jyotsna. It's only a short mail, a lot shorter than the reply she deserves. But I think she won't mind.

The gasoline can is waiting for me.


“Hi Jyotsna,

I think I found my verse.

This is the sum total of everything I have worked on since I graduated. It contains not just climate and meteorological models but also models from sociology, psychology and economics, all combined into one big system. A unified suite of code that we used to predict the entire chain reaction from the failed monsoon to the famine and the drought to the riots that followed. I hope you find it useful, as also others around the world.

I am calling it Clairvoyance, and it is dedicated to you.

(The link: …)

Arun”.





Endnote  -  The Science
I am not a climate scientist, rather obviously. Whatever little science is there in the story I have accumulated by just reading around on the internet. Being a grad student, albeit in a completely different field, does help in reading papers though.

I got background about climate change mainly by following the site skepticalscience.com. A Coursera course on sustainability helped quite a bit in getting the bigger picture. The general consensus about climate change and global warming is that it is happening (and has been for the past half a century), and it is caused by human activity. The impacts, apart from the rising (on average)  temperatures, include a higher frequency of extreme events, and the possibility of more severe droughts around many of the drier parts of the world, like Northern Africa, Europe and North America.[1]

It was kind of harder to get information specifically about India, and the Indian Monsoon. The vagaries of the monsoon are closely tied with El Nino and La Nina (the El Nino Southern Oscillation or ENSO), and it seemed, reading one paper[2] that the ENSO will probably go on as it is. So India isn't likely to get any drier or wetter. Not by much anyway. But the ENSO is incredibly hard to model, apparently, so this is far from settled.

But temperatures are rising, and it was not good to know that the unbearable temperature in Delhi is not just a local artifact of cars and concrete but a harbinger of the global warming to come. [3] do a pretty good job of showing what is in store for India. High temperatures, probably, increasing much faster now. They also suggested that high temperatures have a negative impact on agricultural yield, although I don't really know if that is certain. I decided to use it in the story anyway.

Because climate is this huge, non-linear system, there are many things that can have potentially drastic effect. There is methane, a highly potent greenhouse gas, stored in permafrost close to the Arctic. The Amazon, one of the largest carbon sinks, can become dry and suddenly become a carbon source, adding a huge positive feedback. I didn't get into any of this here. I also didn't get into the impact of sea level rise, which might presumably inundate densely populated areas such as Bangladesh, or increase the impact of storms such as what happened with hurricane Sandy. And so on and so forth.

And finally, the stuff about statistics and climate science is somewhat real, although not really. What Arun was talking about in his “talk” is (almost) a blatant rip-off from [4]. I don't know if there is any tension in the field of climate science between statistical methods and physically-based methods. I assumed there was because it helped the story at that point.

Last but not the least, this is a story and not a paper. To paraphrase Randall Munroe of xkcd fame, if you base your policy decisions on a story found on the internet, you have only yourself to blame.




References


1.Drought under global warming: A review. A. Dai. In Climate Change, 2011.
2.El Niño/Southern Oscillation response to global warming. M. Latif and N. S. Keenlyside. In Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 2008.
3.The once and future pulse of Indian monsoonal climate. K. Krishna Kumar, K. Kamala Balaji Rajagopalan, Martin P. Hoerling, Jon K. Eischeid, S. K. Patwardhan, G. Srinivasan, B. N. Goswami, Ramakrishna Nemani. In Climate Dynamics, 2010.
4.Tracking climate models. Claire Monteleoni, Gavin Schmidt, Shailesh Saroha. In Statistical Analysis and Data Mining, 2011.