On a cold December morning in 1995, the second-year students of one of Delhi University’s premier women’s colleges, bundled in coats and jackets were en route to a much-anticipated picnic. The destination was Damdama Lake, near a small village of the same name on the outskirts of Gurugram (Gurgaon then), along the road to Sohna. Cradled in the folds of the ancient Aravalli hills, the lake had long been a favourite escape for Delhiites, a place where water, forests, and sky met in timeless tranquility.
Back then, it was a three-hour journey from Delhi University— long before expressways shrank distances and Gurugram transformed from a sleepy town into an almost entirely urban landscape. The first hour of the journey passed in morose silence as icy winds streamed in through windows that refused to shut, numbing hands and cheeks alike. As the sun climbed and warmth slowly seeped in, the mood shifted. Potato chip packets were torn open, dips passed around, and laughter replaced silence. Soon the bus rang with songs, jokes, and cheerful banter. Among the students, four friends joined in the banter, not yet knowing how dearly they would come to hold this day.
After navigating congested city roads and jolting across a dusty kaccha rasta (unpaved road), the bus at last arrived at its destination - the Haryana Tourism guesthouse overlooking the lake. The students spilled out, relieved to stretch their stiff limbs. They settled in the gardens overlooking the water, where gentle undulations of the land mirrored the soft waves lapping at the lakeshore.
The four friends set out to explore their surroundings. From the guesthouse terrace, they took in the panoramic sweep of the lake, then eventually meandered down to the lakeshore, where boats bobbed gently on the water. Beneath a tree right beside the lake overlooking the moored boats, they paused. The college photographer, accompanying the class, took their photograph—four faces frozen in time. They did not know then that this one image by the lake would come to define their bond.
In that instant, for the friends, Damdama Lake became more than a scenic backdrop. Its placid waters and the tree near which they posed became intertwined with their shared memories. The lake, like their friendship, seemed timeless and unchanging. Yet, as life drew them in different directions—one to the US the following year, the others moving on after graduation—the lake’s waters, too, quietly began to recede.
Shortly after New Year this year, the four friends reunited in Delhi after nearly 30 years apart. The years fell away quickly—laughter came easily, old jokes resurfaced, and memories of college days came rushing back. Drawn by nostalgia and an urge to repeat the same experience that had once bound them so closely, they decided to return to Damdama Lake.
Driving to the Haryana Tourism guesthouse, a strange hush settled over them, as if each was privately preparing to meet her younger self. The moment they stepped out of the car, memory surged. Without a word, they walked into the guesthouse, drawn instinctively towards the familiar. The staircase to the terrace was still there, the steps they had once rushed up, eager for their first glimpse of the lake.
From the terrace, the view opened—and with it came a collective pause. The lake was still there, but it was smaller. They stood shoulder to shoulder, letting the silence speak. No one needed to explain what they were feeling. They wandered through the gardens and down towards the lakeshore, retracing paths they had once taken without thought. Together, they searched for a marker from the past—a tree near where the boats had once been tied. After a few moments, one of them stopped and pointed. There it was. The boats, however, lay distant now, withdrawn by the shrinking waterline. In their old photograph, the boats were much closer. The distance between the tree and the boats spoke quietly of time, change, and loss.
Standing there, past and present overlapped. Time and neglect had altered the lake, much like they had changed the course of their friendship. Yet the essence remained—of the place, and of their friendship.
Damdama Lake, where the friends now stood, lies along the foothills of the Aravalli range and is spread across Abheypur and Damdama villages in the Sohna block of Gurugram district. It was commissioned by the British in 1947 for rainwater harvesting. The surrounding landscape forms part of the Sohna Undulating Plain, shaped by rocky offshoots of the Aravalli range. In addition to the lake, the area contains 10 smaller ponds and was once rich in flora and fauna, supporting a wide diversity of species.
Over time, however, rapid deforestation, developmental pressures, mining activity, and heavy groundwater extraction have degraded the lake and its catchment, prompting a restoration project through a tripartite agreement signed in December 2022 between GuruJal, the Haryana State CSR Trust, and the EY Foundation. The project has been structured into four phases, with lake restoration planned over four years and the development of a 500-acre biodiversity park envisaged over a 10-year period. The park would encompass the lake and part of its catchment area, spanning the three villages of Abheypur, Damdama, and Kherala.
In June last year, GuruJal had submitted a detailed ecological restoration plan for the lake and the proposed biodiversity park, based on an assessment of eight key parameters: climate, land, hydrology and hydrogeology, biodiversity, archaeology, waste management, social assessment, and governance.
The study shows that the lake is fed by a catchment area of about 24.5 square kilometres. The proposed Biodiversity Park lies partly inside and partly outside this catchment. Within the catchment, 26 depressions were identified—four of these hold water throughout the year and are natural, while the remaining 22 are believed to have been created by mining activities.
Two main streams, which eventually merge into one bring water to the lake, but mining has severely disrupted their natural flow. In some areas, stream paths have reduced by up to two-thirds, while silt from mining has blocked smaller channels and altered water flow directions. As a result, much less water now reaches the lake, and it has shrunk dramatically. After the monsoon in 2011, the lake covered about 108 acres. By June 2019, it had shrunk to a mere 1.49 acres, before partially recovering to around 46 acres by December 2023. Despite occasional heavy rainfall, the lake no longer expands as it once did due to disrupted flows and sustained groundwater extraction. The Damdama Lake region consists of loose, wind-blown deposits from the Thar Desert that accumulate at the Aravalli foothills. These soils allow water to infiltrate easily, which is why groundwater in and around the lake is found at shallow depths of about 5-15 metres.
Despite years of degradation, biodiversity surveys recorded a remarkable variety of life - 262 plant species, including 40 trees, 20 shrubs, 167 herbs, and 35 climbers. However, Vilayati Keekar (+Prosopis juliflora), an invasive species introduced in the 1990s under the Aravalli Project to increase forest cover and provide fuelwood, is now widespread and dominates parts of the landscape. Wildlife surveys recorded 13 species of mammals, 41 species of butterflies, numerous insects, eight species of snakes, five lizard species, three turtle species, three frog species, and 117 species of birds. Archaeological surveys uncovered prehistoric stone tools dating back 600,000 to 800,000 years, along with rock art, revealing the region’s deep cultural history.
The restoration plan recommends constructing check dams and gully plugs to slow water flow, reduce erosion, and enhance groundwater recharge; promoting rainwater harvesting in surrounding villages, including the use of abandoned borewells; implementing soil conservation measures; removing invasive species and restoring native vegetation; and strengthening waste management to prevent pollution of the lake. Despite GuruJal submitting a detailed ecological restoration roadmap in June last year, work on the ground has yet to commence.
Still, Damdama Lake holds promise, much like the bond of four friends that endured distance and silence before finding its way back. Standing once more beneath the tree by the lake shore, the four friends sensed that the lake, like their friendship, could be renewed with care and attention. What had receded could return; what had lapsed could be rekindled—through patience, commitment, and shared responsibility. The lake is not a passive witness to lives as they unfold, but a living presence, awaiting restoration through human understanding and engagement. This understanding is echoed in Amitav Ghosh’s latest book Ghost-Eye, where the world of human existence coexists with parallel realms in which mountains, rivers, lakes, and forests are alive and capable of purposeful interaction with people. Damdama Lake belongs to such a realm, communicating with humankind through subtle signs and silent urgings. It calls upon the people of the National Capital Region to remember the joy it once offered and to recognise their responsibility to care for it, just as one nurtures friendships shaped by shared moments and lasting bonds.
Ritu Rao works with Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (INTACH) on various natural heritage projects
Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth