The images from Pashan Lake this week — of dead fish floating along the edges — felt disturbingly familiar.
Not because this is the first time the lake has seen trouble, but because Pune has seen this pattern before. A sudden ecological shock. Emergency visits by officials. Samples collected. Swift action. And then, gradually, the city moves on.
This time, the Pune Municipal Corporation (PMC) has responded quickly and in an unprecedented way. Officials, including the executive engineer, have been suspended, the sewage treatment plant (STP) near the lake was found shut, and both civic authorities and the Maharashtra Pollution Control Board have begun probes. Water samples show a drop in dissolved oxygen — a key factor behind fish deaths.
The response signals urgency, but it also raises a quieter question: why do Pune’s lakes keep reaching this stage?
Pashan Lake is not an isolated case. The condition of other lakes in the city tells a similar story. The historic Peshwa-era Katraj lake and the upper Katraj lake have, over the years, battled neglect, sewage inflow and heavy growth of water hyacinth. Jambhulwadi lake has seen similar phases, where stretches of water disappear under thick green cover.
Hyacinth has almost become a seasonal feature in many of these water bodies — including parts of the river.
{{/usCountry}}Hyacinth has almost become a seasonal feature in many of these water bodies — including parts of the river.
{{/usCountry}}Every year, crores are spent on removing it. Machines are deployed, heaps of vegetation are pulled out, and for a while, the water surface looks clear again. But the problem returns.
Because hyacinth is not the root issue. It is a symptom.
It thrives where nutrient levels are high — often due to untreated or partially treated sewage entering the water. The plant spreads quickly, forming dense mats on the surface. Beneath it, the story is less visible. Oxygen levels drop, sunlight is blocked, and aquatic life struggles to survive.
In that sense, hyacinth is not just an aesthetic problem. It is quietly choking the ecology of these lakes.
The Pashan incident brings this cycle back into focus.
Officials have pointed out that the lake receives far more water than the STP’s capacity, including inflows from nearby areas. When such water carries pollutants, the lake becomes a holding space for a larger, unresolved issue.
And when conditions tip — like a sudden drop in oxygen — the impact is immediate.
What also stands out is how lakes are positioned in the city’s larger planning.
The Mula-Mutha river has, in recent years, received significant attention. There are long-term plans, regular reviews, and the ambitious riverfront development project. The idea is to reshape how the river flows through the city — both as an ecological and public space.
Lakes, however, do not feature with the same urgency. They remain smaller, localised, and often reactive projects.
Some lake beautification plans have been discussed for years. Compared to the scale and pace of river projects, lakes appear to move more slowly.
Yet, they are closely linked.
What enters a lake does not stay there forever. It eventually connects to the larger water system. If lakes remain stressed, the river cannot fully recover either.
The recent action by PMC — including scrutiny of the consultant and possible accountability for officials — may address immediate lapses. But lakes need something more consistent: everyday attention.
Functioning STPs. Control of sewage inflow. Regular monitoring. Clear responsibility.
Because lakes do not fail suddenly. They reflect what has been building up over time.
There is also a quieter, human side to this. Many of Pune’s lakes sit within growing neighbourhoods. They are part of daily routines — morning walks, bird sightings, monsoon overflows. For most people, they remain in the background until something goes wrong.
Pashan Lake has now come into sharp focus again. The question is what happens after.
For now, the city has acted. The samples are being tested. The inquiries are underway.
But Pune’s lakes — from Pashan to Katraj to Jambhulwadi — are still telling the same story.
And it is one the city has heard before.