green indians

TOP-SLIP: Of horny bulls and other genial souls......

2011-01-15T00:03:00.000+05:30

Four. Four hairs poked out of his right nostril, but I was not going to chide him for his disregard for personal coiffure. I was more focused on leaping forward to escape the tip of his horn from perforating me. Yes, the perils of birding on foot can easily classify it as an extreme sport, the truth of which was being unravelled to me by the huge Indian Gaur bull in the Karian Shola rainforest of Anaimalai.

Gaur

Mr. Bos gaurus was watching us go down a slope towards a fig tree purported to be laden with Great Hornbills one wintry evening in January 2010, and decided to charge us for this transgression. My nimble footwork ensured that I am writing this report, and as the thundering hooves plunged down the hillock, I remember our guide Kethan emerging from the depths of a thorny bush into which he had wisely retreated, and congratulating me on my good luck.

“Last week, one of the tribals got squashed against a tree by a charging Gaur, saar!”, he added breezily, providing succour to my trembling innards. My wife Sarita, who was a few yards behind us, had a bird’s-eye view of the entire gory proceedings, and proceeded to inspect me for blood and gaur. Once she was satisfied that there was no damage to my vital installations, and that I could still use a fig leaf, we proceeded to the aforementioned Ficus.

Nilgiri Langurs

The Karian Shola is a amazing evergreen forest, deep, dark, untouched. Barely a couple of kilometres away from the Topslip camp, it makes for an easy walk through the moist forest floor. A White-eye Buzzard gave us the glad eye before we slipped under the canopy, and a group of Nilgiri Langurs were convinced that we were trying to ape their ways. The weather outside was nippy, but in here, the air turned muggy and musky. A sweet medicinal scent wafted through, and we soon broke into a sweat keeping up with Kethan. We reached a scenic clearing, with a gentle stream flowing past, and a small watchtower generally keeping an eye on things.

Flamethroated Bulbul

We were immediately rewarded by a Flame-throated Bulbul cozying up his to his old flame. A Crimson-fronted Barbet looked rather red-faced at the proceedings, and a pair of Malabar Grey Hornbills cackled derisively like judges in one of the innumerable Laughter Challenge shows. A Greater Flameback provided the drumrolls, but Kethan promised us that the best of the endemics was yet to come.

He swung us off the track into a thicket, pointed to a couple of dry leaves swaying in the breeze, and announced, “Frogmouth”. Sarita and I craned our necks, squinted into the foliage, and looked at each other – was Kethan puling a fast one here? I even put on my reading glasses, but to no avail. Kethan took a deep breath and sighed – the sigh he uses when he feels he’s dealing with particularly moronic guests, and pointed to the two leaves. I looked at them through my binoculars, and the leaves morphed into an avian form I had never seen before – a pair of Srilankan Frogmouths!

Srilankan Frogmouth

I set up my camera stealthily (unnecessary, said Kethan), and clicked away as Sarita discovered these brilliantly camouflaged birds which were barely three yards away (maybe I should’ve used my reading glasses right in the beginning). Rare, endangered, inscrutable – the very qualities they share with the Karian Shola, I observed.

I was up at 6 am the next morning, but Topslip was in dream sequence mode – misty and mysterious, with no movement of bird, man or beast, just the distant calls of a Common Hawk Cuckoo and a Malabar Whistling Thrush permeating through the blanket. A bare bulb burning outside our room had attracted all the local moths, and I gasped when I saw ‘Ikraan’ – a name borrowed from the movie ‘Avatar’, where a colourful Archaeopteryx-like flyer was so named. I quickly pulled Sarita out of bed to witness this spectacular creature, which I later learnt is called the Sonthonnaxia maenas, a rare moth from the Moon Moth family.

"IKRAAN"

An Atlas Moth snuggled nearby, carrying his own burden of being India’s largest moth, while scores of smaller moths sought solace from the bulb. A Malabar Whistling Thrush soon landed up to feast on the moth buffet (reminded me of the dialogue from Sholay – “ Moth tere sar pe mandraa rahi hai, kaalia!”).

Malabar Whistling Thrush

Seeing Sarita, he launched into an impromptu serenade (the little rascal), but left his wolf whistle for later. He made repeated forays till he had consumed the moth-er of all breakfasts, and faded away into the mist. A Grey Junglefowl announced that it was 9 am, and we proceeded for our breakfast.

Kethan suggested that we go downhill towards Ambuli, where the mist would lift soon, and we fell in line. The mist did start thinning out, and the bird activity picked up. A White-cheeked Barbet initiated the rabble-rousing, and a pair of Whitebellied Treepies tooted their approval.

Whitecheeked Barbet

Paradise Flycatcher

A male Paradise Flycatcher looked for heaven, not knowing it was firmly stuck to his backside. An Asian Fairy Bluebird waved her wand, and a pair of Blackheaded Bulbuls made their appearance. We startled a group of Sambhar deer basking on a rock, and we had unknowingly rocked their boat. A couple of Yellow-browed Bulbuls raised their brows in censure, though we couldn’t quite understand the Darkfronted Babblers as they were babbling. A large clearing beckoned, and we decided to explore its potential.

Malabar Parakeet

A few Malabar Parakeets foraged in a bush, occasionally screeching their disapproval at our unpalatable presence. A Pompadour’s Green Pigeon preened herself pompously, while a Malabar Woodshrike came to check if we had updated his new name in our birdlist. A Crested Tree Swift looked crestfallen, until he swiftly spied his mate hiding in a leafy branch. A female Orange Minivet looked for the apple of her eye, who seemed to have gone off after Scarlett. Several unidentifiable avians darted from one bush to the other, reminding me of the ‘here a chick, there a chick, everywhere a chick-chick’ part of the Ol’ McDonald verse. A flock of Blackthroated Munias landed on a shrub, but most seemed to be juveniles, not showing their true colours. We trudged back to boot camp behind Sergeant Kethan, and encountered the Draco, or gliding lizard right next to our digs. Two males were battling it out for the lone female, flashing their yellow throat appendage, and one eventually emerged with flying colours, and proceeded to take his maiden flight with the winsome lass. A Bronzeback Tree Snake impersonating a branch took a laidback view of his reptilian cousins’ dalliances, and forgave them as they were just working on the family tree.

Draco

A sounder of the local Wild Boar grunted their goodbyes as we pulled out of Topslip, and onto Parambikulam Wildlife Sanctuary, a long journey of 3 kilometres.

Parambikulam

Velvetfronted Nuthatch

Literally down the road from Anaimalai lies the small sanctuary of Parambikulam, falling in Kerala state, and like true Mallus, we contemplated kissing the ground after crossing the Anapadi checkpost (the elephant-dung strewn around made us wisely refrain). Three large dams create their backwaters which dominate the Parambikulam landscape, and we were to stay at Thunakadavu overlooking the water. Upon learning of our interest in birds, the helpful staff at the orientation centre suggested that we stay put at the Anapaadi Tented Camp, as it is apparently a known haven for birds, and is close to the local birding hotspots. We looked around, and as if on cue, an Orange Minivet, a Velvet-fronted Nuthatch and a Brown-capped Pygmy Woodpecker emerged from the woodwork to lend credence to the claim. Quelling our suspicion that these were from the Anapadi Marketing Dept., we checked into our modest tent.

Lunch was divine, given the liberal use of coconut in the curries (O Kerala!), and we were bundled into the camp bus for the evening’s outing. We passed a few ‘wayals’ or swampy meadows, where herds of Gaur boldly foraged – after the previous day’s tete-a-tete with the gaur bull, I refrained from looking them in the eye, and we moved on. Our first halt was at the Kannimara teak tree, a colossus amongst the teak trees dominating the area. Local tourists swarmed around, displaying their simian best, and we gestured to our driver to deliver us unto more peaceful climes.

Darter

The Thunakadavu reservoir was impressive, and a Darter stood frozen in the water. Rufous Babblers called from the labyrinth of a bamboo brake, but refused to reveal themselves. Greyheaded Fishing Eagles were promised, but were evidently casting their net elsewhere. We moved onwards up the hilly terrain to the Parambikulam reservoir, a gleaming sheet of water encased by impenetrable forest. We were bundled into indigenous bamboo rafts for a scenic boat ride, and we floated down the serene backwaters. A pair of Whitebrowed Wagtails cavorted on a floating log, and a flock of Litle Egrets did an elegant fly past. A small island passed by, one of its trees laden with Malabar Whiteheaded Mynas discussing their newfound freedom from the Chestnut-tailed Starlings. The boatman pointed out to a distant island called Veettikunnu emerging like an emerald isle from the blue waters – the Forest Dept. lets out one room on the island for adventurous guests wishing to emulate Robinson Crusoe, and provides Men Fridays too!

Parambikulam reservoir

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee propelled us into one of the stalls lining the road back at the Parambikulam settlement, and we indulged ourselves as the elderly lady manning the stall plied us with wildlife stories to accompany the brew. Elephants mill around the town square at night as if it were a social networking site, she claimed, but they had thankfully spared her stall till date. A Wild Boar sow with her ‘boarlets’ in tow chased off a terrified dog hovering around the stall to remind us that this was indeed a wild area, once the thin veneer of civilisation was off. Speaking of wild stuff, we were obliged to witness a tribal dance as part of the day’s programme – the all-woman cast put up a spirited show in spite of the desultory male percussionists.

Spotlights were employed on the drive back, and we saw several herds of Gaur enjoying a high-speed browsing experience. A Common Palm Civet trudged along the road in no haste, looking for some finger foods to start the evening with (who knows what we saw, it may have even been the near-extinct Malabar Civet – all cats and civets look the same in the dark, to borrow an old saw). An Oriental Scops Owl surveyed his prey base from a strategic perch, and we exchanged a friendly Ook....krook krook with him. A nightjar flew across, probably finding the headlights too jarring, and refused to reveal his ID. Blacknaped Hares leapt around, trying to keep pace with the tortoises, while unidentified rodents joined the rat race.

Flying Squirrel ;-)

Speaking of which, a sudden halt brought a little seen creature to light – a Chevrotain, or Mouse Deer, which hobbled away with a strange lope into the darkness. Our driver alerted us to watch out for leopards, but none could be spotted (though they are all spotted, but not always spotted). We passed one herd of Elephants before arriving at camp, and much like the aforementioned herd, trooped into the restaurant for dinner. We eschewed the post-dinner brandy-and-cigars routine for some Flying Squirrel spotting in the camp, but went to bed with a justifiable pain-in-the-neck for our futile efforts.

Black baza

Shanmugam is a fresh-faced young tribal boy, and one of the best bird spotters in Parambikulam. He cheerily roused us at dawn with coffee, and promised a rewarding session of birding on foot. He informed us that the major portion of the Karianshola evergreen forest lay in Parambikulam, and we didn’t need any persuasion to head there. Whitebellied Treepies welcomed us with raucous calls, and an Asian Fairy Bluebird pair engrossed us with a tale. A steep climb through scrubland, and we were at a well wooded area bordering the Shola. A pair of Oriental Honey Buzzards buzzed around, but Shanmugam’s attention was transfixed to a small black form settling into a high branch – “Baza!”, he shrieked, and we followed his gaze to see one of India’s most endearing raptors, the Black Baza. With a long, jaunty crest, a smiling face and a white-and-orange striped T-shirt , this must be a bird which kills softly, and we hopped about in excitement (no wonder my pictures are fuzzy). Shanmugam himself had not seen this bird here in the last few years, and he joined in our jig, so that we resembled last evening’s dance troupe.

Karianshola

The sighting boded well for the morning, and we pushed into Karianshola. Two massive trees stood as sentinels at the mouth of the Karianshola, and we entered with due reverence. One of these was a Bischofia javanica, much favoured by tigers to sharpen their claws, but no gouge marks adorned this one. Shanmugam mentioned that it was years since anyone encountered a tiger here, and we bravely marched ahead. The light dipped, and the forest was strangely silent. A Forest Wagtail made a quick recce to check us out, but was gone in a flash. A couple of Unidentifiable Flycatchers abandoned their roadside perches and sought to swat flies elsewhere. A sharp call to our left followed by persistent drumming announced the arrival of a Whitebellied Woodpecker. We left the track and descended through a tangle of branches to locate the origin of the sound, and there he was – a brilliant male, playing a soft drumbeat and pulling in his white belly to impress his girl. She was evidently not around, and he didn’t need to court us, so he let his belly sag and flew off.

Gladeye Bushbrown

Common Indian Toad

Shanmugam was quite keen on showing us some butterflies, and he zeroed in on a Glad-eye Bushbrown, almost invisible except for a large eye-spot glaring at us. An Evening Brown fluttered past, assuming that it was dusk, as the light had really fallen. Glassy Blue Tigers sought their glass of nectar, and a Blue Mormon enticed us to join the cult. A Southern Birdwing winged it out in a sou’- sou’-westerly path while we admired its wingspan, the largest in the country. We stumbled upon a toad, and before we could ask, “Wart’s this?”, our guide pronounced it to be a Common Indian Toad. Seeing that I had to use the flash for photographing him, Shanmugam suggested that we head back towards daylight. Frenetic activity at a clearing (aah, light!) boiled down to a Malabar Grey Hornbill and a Whitebellied Treepie participating in a mellifluous duet. A pair of Malabar Parakeets found the vocals rather grating, and fled the stage (they could have done with some introspection, I thought). A thick bush yielded the tantalizing calls of Rufous Babblers, but the birds chose to operate like undercover agents in spite of our best attempts to espy them.

Greater Rackettailed Drongo

We emerged into brilliant sunshine back on the road, and headed back to camp. A Mugger, or marsh crocodile shed tears for our luck with the light, and slipped into the waters of a small check dam. An Indian Pond Terrapin basking on the edge thought it prudent to follow the mugger into the murky water rather than face our scrutiny (known devil, etc., etc.......). Shanmugam suggested a brief exploratory walk along a water tunnel transporting irrigation water from the Thunakadavu reservoir. Greater Rackettailed Drongos were creating their usual rackets, fighting with their Bronzed cousins. A pair of Blackhooded Orioles chased each other through the canopy, and an elderly Malabar Woodshrike followed their dalliance with a reprimanding look. A Greybreasted Prinia called in titillating fashion, but refused to make a clean breast of herself from among the reeds. Shanmugam promised to show us some interesting Tits in the vicinity of camp, and we pressed on.

The camp precincts yielded a heart-stopping moment in a Heartspotted Woodpecker doing his morning cardio, and all able hands were called upon to assist in tracing his ECG-like flight path. A tiny black-and-white bird up in the canopy challenged our birdbrains, and we realised that it was a tit like no other – a Whitenaped Tit, which is generally found in the Acacia forests of Gujarat – reflecting, perhaps, the Gujaratis’ penchant for travel! Shanmugan mentioned that they were perplexed too, and have been seeing this visitor since the last few weeks: I consoled him by saying that if the Gujaratis have discovered this place, more of their ilk will follow, and obviously, the more tits the merrier!

Malabar Giant Squirrel

A Malabar Giant Squirrel high up on his perch of a Dalbergia latifolia waved us a cheery farewell, and we returned his greeting with a satiated burp from a superlative lunch. The Parambikulam staff had lined up a couple of Jungle Babblers, one Scarlet Minivet, and an Ashy Drongo to sound the farewell note, and accompanied by the drumrolls of the resident Blackrumped Flameback, we pulled out of Anapaadi towards our next bird haven – the Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary at Thattekad, a few kilometres away as the Large-billed Crow flies, but a good six hours away as our weary wheels would carry us....

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Whistler on the roof...

2010-04-14T09:40:00.008+05:30

Hi folks,

He believed in starting early as, to borrow an old saw, the early riser gets the worm (but hey, the early worm gets eaten!).

The whistling by our window began at four in the morning. Initially, I thought it was a dream - well, it couldn't be my husband Subbu who had suddenly decided to serenade me all over again after 17 years. In the fourth decade of my life, I’m hardly entitled to catcalls and whistles from road side Romeos, I guess...

The rather mellifluous intruder persisted with his vast repertoire of whistles through the misty morning at the beautiful Topslip tree house, in the Anamalai Wildlife Sanctuary. The mysterious mist refused to leave us, but through the haze, I caught a quick glimpse of the imp - a brilliant blue bird with iridescence on his forehead and on the wings. He fixed me with one eye, while the other was firmly focused on a stunning Indonesian Moon Moth perched on our window sill (whom we promptly nicknamed Ikraan, after the dazzling ‘bird’ in the movie Avatar).

As I neared the window he flew onto the neighbouring tree house. A furtive glance at me, and he decided I was worth another whistle. Hey, it is true life begins at forty, and I was being serenaded by the Malabar Whistling Thrush (MWT)!

I decided to play along ... Well, a li’l flirtation was not one of the deadly sins, I hoped! I hid behind the curtains and promptly saw the MWT's curiosity get the better of him. He came back to our window and wooed me again. A softer and long drawn whistle, almost set to a Hindi film song, or was it just my imagination..?

Nothing better than a strange admirer to arouse jealousy in a harried husband! Subbu’s quicksilver action would have done a Commando proud, as he lunged to shoot the poor bird. Ever ready with his SLR, he snapped away, clicking some fabulous shots of this wonderful bird.....

As we walked through the early morning mist towards the decrepit canteen for breakfast, we were unsure if we should have left Ikraan so close to its nemesis, the MWT. On our return, sadly, we discovered that my dawn paramour had devoured the beautiful 'Ikraan', leaving behind only its tail.

I have kept the marvellous tail as a bookmark in my bird guide featuring the MWT, as a grim reminder that life can be beautiful and heart-rending on the same page!!!

The Hibernation ends!

2010-04-02T08:55:00.004+05:30

Like all self-respecting beasts, Green-indians were enjoying a well deserved hibernation from the harsh climes of the blogosphere. We're now back with that mad look in the eye (we're dentists, after all!), and with a bagful of wildlife images from the pristine wildernesses of our country. One of the earliest Chinese imports was a saying which went, "one picture is worth ten thousand words", and we've decided to happily sacrifice our zeal for churning out text at the altar of laziness. What will follow on a regular basis (promises, promises...) is blatant exhibitionism....oops, sorry, an exhibition of images we've liked from our sojourns.

We begin the series with a dazzling beauty from the dark world of moths - an unexpected guest to our lodgings at Topslip, Anaimalai.

It was a dark, misty January morning outside our treetop hut at Topslip, Anaimalai, Tamil Nadu, and the dense fog threatened to disrupt our quest for wildlife. We peeped desultorily out of the window, and one of the most breathtaking sights greeted us: a moth of unparalleled beauty, with iridiscent colours and streamers which prompted us to nickname him "Ikraan" after the eponymous creature from James Cameron's Avatar.

Experts in the field helped us identify him as Sonthannaxia maenas, a relative of the Indonesian Moon Moth, but would you mind if we continue calling him Ikraan?

A chat by any other name..............

2010-01-05T23:35:00.004+05:30

During our Greater Rann of Kutch trip in Jan 2009, we had finally diagnosed a bird in the Naliya grassland as a Common Stonechat. Adesh Shivkar called us up last week with the results of his research - the bird we had seen was a Stoliczka's Bushchat, and we can now add one more to our tally for the GRK trip (not to mention a lifer for us!)

JAMNAGAR – Birds on a platter

2009-12-16T08:57:00.039+05:30

The naval sentry stiffened to attention as a clutch of shadowy men clad in fatigues slipped out of their convoy of vehicles. They headed purposefully towards the perimeter wall, scanning the top of the wall with powerful binoculars. Prudence dictated that he shouldn’t engage the enemy when he was obviously outnumbered, and he held his fire, focusing instead on the operational manual which the suspects were referring. The title of the manual swung sharply into focus in his field glasses, and it dawned upon him that these were fundamentalists of a different league – the Grimmetts they were referring to indicated that they were elite commandos from Nature India whose leader Adesh Shivkar was much hunted in birding circles!
Ports of call
We were actually gawking at a group of Grey Francolins which were gambolling at the top of the compound wall of the INS Valsura, a naval establishment on the outskirts of Jamnagar, our first halt on Adesh’s Nature India trip. Being a grey area, the sentry shooed us away, but the sighting epitomised what was to follow in the next two days – birds, birds and more birds in the most unlikely places, in complete disregard to their habitat preferences. Flamingos in a village pond, Pochards in a city tank and Ruffs on the road (but sadly, in true Gujarati style, no chicken on the plate!)
Enroute to the port of Rozibunder (perhaps named so for the thousands of Rosy Starlings monkeying around), a Western Reef Egret in a dark mood posed like an eastern mystic. A Great Thick-knee had us going weak kneed, even as a Grey Heron knelt to bag a fish. The road was lined on both sides by shallow salt pans, and a walk along one of the bunds yielded good views of flamingos, gulls and sandpipers. A lone Dalmatian Pelican was spotted (aren’t all Dalmatians spotted?), and Adesh highlighted his punk hairstyle (the pelican’s, not Adesh’s!) to help differentiate it from the Great White Pelican. A strident call (later identified as belonging to Dr Vaibhav) led us to a spotting scope set up to feature a Red-necked Phalarope. The sun was beating down, and we ourselves were pretty red-necked by the time we hit the road again towards the port.
Rozibunder offered us good sighting s of large decaying ships looking like beached whales, and some wailing in the distance was attributed to a Eurasian Curlew, whose criticism of our intrusion was rather thinly veiled. Crab Plovers were sighted in the distance, but we were promised swarms of them at Narara beach scheduled for the next day. A juvenile Redshank impersonated a yet-undiscovered wader (Tringa subramaniamensis?) before he was unmasked and classified as a delinquent. A Sand Lark posed for a lark, saying it's the dune thing. Mandar, Adesh’s co-conspirator, suggested that we move on to another waterbody at Dhichda before the light faded, and we ditched Roziport for what promised to be a rosier wetland.
Sunset, Sundowners and Sunrise
A tiny pond on our right was well concealed from view by about a thousand godwits and ruffs in a Miltonesque ‘they also serve those who stand and wait’ approach. They felt their interests would be best served by fleeing in a hurry at the approach of St. Avinash The Snapper and his apostles. Dhichda itself comprised large shallow waterbodies lining the road, with several small islands providing a foothold for spoonbills and terns. Great White Pelicans painted a rosy picture as they waited for clearance to land, and the harsh cries of Common Cranes rent the air as they circled in search of rented accommodation. A huge orange orb hurtled towards the horizon in the west, but the orbital features of a Common Ringed Plover wandered into our orbit. We tried to absorb the characteristics of this rather uncommon visitor in the fading light till it dissolved into the gloom. A Lesser Pied Kingfisher slapped on his night-vision gear and hovered around, but we decided to not follow suit and took off for our presidential suites.
Aperitifs were sought before dinner, but prevailing conditions being rather dry, we had to cry into our glasses of buttermilk. Whispered voices offered to procure a nip of moonshine, but the fear of not seeing another sunrise allowed prudence to prevail. And it was a glorious sunrise at the Khijadia Bird Sanctuary on a nippy morning, with an opening flypast by Demoiselle Cranes. The mademoiselles glided past on gilded wings, with the golden glow of the sun catching their highlights. Croaks and squawks filled the air, and our gleeful chortling added to the din. An observation tower was observed, and a tahr would have viewed the rickety stairs with consternation. We clambered up with ease (having tarred the reputation of abovementioned tahr), and spotting scopes were set up. Expansive waterbodies stretched as far as we could see on all sides, with the odd island peeping shyly out of the bog. Adesh informed us that this was a unique wetland, with dykes barricading seawater from freshwater, so that ducks and drakes hobnob with petrels and boobies (for the record, no, we didn’t see petrels, and shame on you, no boobies too, thank you).
Kunal Joshi, our local expert, advised us to keep a watch for the Great Crested Grebes, which have been found to breed here. Sure enough, we saw a pair of them (not trying to breed, thankfully, as there were kids around), and they ventured fairly close to the shore so that we would not be crestfallen. Greater Flamingos and Blacktailed Godwits stood tall in the background, while Eurasian Wigeons and Common Coots ducked into the foreground. A Marsh Harrier flying low over our group noticed Adesh’s hands trembling as he zeroed the scope in on a suspect – “Golden Eye!” he exclaimed, as we fell over ourselves to sneak a preview. A black-and-white duck swam into focus as I tried to eye this elusive bird which was rarer than gold. Other eyes, more trained, strained to identify the errant avian. Some sombre nodding and rueful glances indicated that all was not well with the diagnosis, and the misleading floater was downgraded to a Semi-albino Coot.
Of blue bulls and bulbuls
My instincts were now honed to lookout for impersonators, and my expert eyes quickly spotted two large life-forms wading through the marsh. A quick flip through my Krys failed to locate anything similar till one of them swam up to an island. Voila! A huge male Nilgai detached himself from the water and waited for his crony to catch up, and the pair tried their best at being birds of a feather. I thought I should chide Adesh on this unscheduled introduction of mammals on a birding trip, but who would take a bull by its horns?
Speaking of which, a pair of (horny?)White-eared Bulbuls cavorted in a thorny bush, and a Clamorous Reed Warbler clicked her tongue in disapproval. A young Blue-cheeked Bee-eater cheekily imitated a Blue-tailed, for which an Isabelline Shrike had a tongue-in-cheek comment to make. A pair of Cormorants had a jingoistic dialogue on their nationality – one of them turned out more Indian, the other just a Little. A small flock of Rumbling-bellied Birders was spotted near the food baskets, and breakfast was announced.
The Ranjitsagar Dam gave us a close-up view of the freshwater v/s marine divide. On the salty right, Eurasian Curlews fretted about the huge bills they had received, while the Left parties were brought up by Purple Herons and ditto Swamphens preferring a fresh approach. Darters, well, darted in both directions, and a harried male Marsh Harrier flew low to avoid his mate’s radar. Further ahead, a large bund on the left was fashioned into a birding trail, which was announced to us by a female Paradise Flycatcher. A female Black-naped Monarch sat around swatting flies, which brought up the question – where were the males, and what were they doing with their flies?
Time flies, and the midmorning sun was getting fierce. A diverse group of birds kept their distance, and the spotting scope revealed Comb-ducks, Spotbilled Ducks, Painted Storks and Blackwinged Stilts. An Unknown Snipe was observed, and a solitary Whitetailed Lapwing fell into our laps while snooping around. By now, we had lapped up all that was on offer (dam it!), and a brilliant suggestion was mooted – lunch!
A bird in hand
The Brahmaniya turned out to be a small dining hole (pardon my Gujarati accent), but the food dished out was delicious, barring an Oily Okra which resembled the Exxon-Valdez spill. The waiter looked disapprovingly at me at my request for oil-less chapattis, but dismissed me as just another migrant, perhaps even a vagrant. Some more buttermilk (sob!), and we were off to Narara beach.
Being nearly 50 kilometres off Jamnagar, the drive afforded an opportunity to sleep off the five-course meal. The result: most of the birders were caught napping by a group of five coursers, and for those who rued the absence of dessert, these were unfortunately not Desert, but Indian Coursers. They were traversing a dry field to our right, and we tried to keep on course, but as is par for the course, they outran us by a fair bit and vanished into the heat haze. A Variable Wheatear arrived to insert variety into the proceedings, while a Bay-backed Shrike wondered what the baying was all about. Closer to Narara, the fallow fields lining the road gave way to salt pans. Dr Vaibhav’s scope panned the landscape, and rested on a solitary Red-necked Phalarope pickling herself in the brine. Keeping a respectful distance were a group of Black-necked Grebes who seemed rather averse to our peeping down their necklines. Further down the road, a dead bird lay by the wayside, evidently a Sand Plover. A closer examination revealed it to be a Lesser Sand Plover, and we concluded that a bird in hand is worth two in the book.
Narara beach was in super low tide mode, the rocky beach stretching till what looked like Dubai, but it turned out to be the Gulf of Kutch. A lone Painted Stork seemed to have lost her baby-delivering job, and was moping around looking for comfort food. Adesh had promised huge congregations of Crab Plovers, and in the distance, we caught a glimpse of nearly two-hundred Crab Lovers – i.e. a bunch of school kids out on a science field visit! That put paid to our hopes of good sightings, but a few waders kept us going. Sand Plovers and Kentish Plovers made up for their crabby cousins’ absence, while Dr Vaibhav unravelled some Great Knots for us. A Terek Sandpiper sought tips on coping with rising bills, and a Curlew Sandpiper was seen advising him on how to keep it down. It was now time to test the waters, and we slipped into amphibious mode.

On the rocks
We found ourselves wading in ankle-deep water (the homo-calidrids?), and Kunal proceeded to do a Ruddy Turnstone on us –a beautiful world lay revealed as he upturned the drab rocks. Bright red patches of live coral gleamed in the sun, while tiny crabs scurried for cover. Starfish clung on like limpets (?), and Sea Cucumbers played dead to escape landing up in a salad (or a soup, for that matter). Sponges were soaking it up in style, and unidentifiable arachnids tried logging on to the web. A brain coral teetered on a small boulder, and Kunal declared it brain-dead, as the resident polyps had long since departed. Adesh hunted for brittle stars, but they were acting tough, although he left no stone unturned in his quest. A frond of kelp made me yelp, and it turned out to be a Pufferfish. He quickly slunk away in a puff of dust, mistaking me to be a fugu enthusiast. The odd anemone tried to spread its tentacles, while for sheer numbers, there was no beating the billions of blue blistering barnacles immortalised by the inimitable Capt. Haddock. We had a whole new world at our feet, but as is Mother Nature’s wont (and her will), it was a humbling experience.
The sun was setting on yet another glorious day, when we realised that we had waded out a fair bit. Time and tide wait for no man, woman or beast, and we headed back to shore so that the sea didn’t end up having us on the rocks (oh, my kingdom for a malt!).
Photo-shoot, forsooth!
Dhichda at dawn was the last morning’s programme, and it was as though Adesh & Co. had prearranged a modelling shoot. Most Hindi movies now have a song sequence wherein the entire gamut of Bollywood stars makes a “special appearance”, gyrates and thrusts for ten seconds, and melts into oblivion. We witnessed pretty much the same, with a Gadwall pair in the opening gambit. Common Teals flashed their green eyepatches, Northern Shovellers arrived when push came to shove, and Northern Pintails brought up the tail. A Blackheaded Ibis observed the parade while tending to his whiteheads, and Western Reef Egrets played a double role – the virtuous light-phased twin, and the dark villain. Spoonbills forked in their breakfast, while Lesser Flamingos pranced shamelessly in the pink. A Temminck’s Stint tried to do a little stint, but nature intervened with a PG rating. A Ruff tried to do some smooth talking, to which a Blacktailed Godwit prayed that may God be with him. We were developing some serious finger fatigue snapping up these moments, and Kunal recommended that we leave for Lakhota Lake before the sun got up too high.
What can one see in a large tank in the centre of Jamnagar town, with a 24/7 temple, urine-soaked retaining walls, and “gathiya”-gobbling crowds thronging the causeway? Well, one can see Spotbill Ducks, Common Coots, Brown and Blackheaded Gulls, Terns, Eurasian Wigeons, and Pochards – yes, both Common and Tufted! This was truly the effortless birding that the Nature India flyer had promised, and we had to raise a finger only to release the shutter! A low-flying Gull-billed Tern whispered to me that it was time for me to fly off, as I had a late morning flight back to my roost. As I walked up the steps to the aircraft, a flight of ducks overhead caught my attention. Was it just the sunlight glinting off an eye, or did I see a Common Goldeneye?

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This Rann is for the birds

2009-02-08T20:41:00.037+05:30

Day 1- 21st Jan 2009
The first lesson I learnt in Kutch is that a good pair of tits is very hard to come by, and you could spend the better part of an evening looking high and (occasionally) low for them! Adesh had promised to show us the endemic Whitenaped Tits, but the birds were playing their cards very close to their chests.
Our local guide Mohammedbhai, however, regarded them as his bosom buddies, and assured us of a sighting. We were ambling along the scrubland at Phot Mahadev on the evening of the 21st of January, the day Adesh’s Nature India kicked off its Kutch tour.
The first flush yielded
Greynecked Buntings, and we developed eye-rings similar to theirs while peering through the spotting scope. A pair of Marshall’s Ioras conferred atop an Acacia, and having marshalled their thoughts, flitted away. A pair of Mallards played ducks and drakes as they circumambulated us in the skies overhead, and having eyed a couple of quacks in our group, faded into the background (we doctors are immune to these barbs – in fact, it’s just like water off a duck’s back). Neil, our dermatologist-cum-herpetologist narrowly missed squashing a bird, which took off with a whirring of wings. When the poor bird alighted at a safe distance, it revealed itself to be a Painted Sandgrouse which had escaped by the skin of its teeth.

A few Indian Robins foraged around for an Uthappa, but the Whitenaped Tits refused to play ball. A procession of long faces descended from a vantage point, and was heading back to the vehicles when Mohammedbhai suddenly experienced ‘tit-elation’: he had heard the unmistakable call of the W. Tits, and we rushed in a stampede behind him. In a small clearing ringed by thorny acacias, a tiny black-and-white bird emerged to lend colour to our cheeks. A Whitenaped Tit peeped out through the cleavage of the acacia trunk, and set our pulses racing. We followed its antics till the light faded, and wound our way back. A blind snake was encountered on the road, and was seen asking Neil for directions. Adesh had arranged for other light ‘snakes’ for us, which manifested as a large fruit platter awaiting us on our vehicle’s bonnet.
Day 2 22nd Jan 2009
It was pitch dark as we left the hotel, with just a trace of light in the eastern skies. We were heading for Fulay village, the favourite feeding grounds of another winter visitor, the Grey Hypocolius. The village afforded good clumps of Meswak, a big hit with the hypocolius. Our quest for this elusive bird was interrupted by the appearance of a buzzard, and the big daddy in the group pronounced it to be a Longlegged. Its legs did seem to be a foot long, and we ourselves had to tiptoe past to prevent it from flying away.
White eared Bulbuls dominated the proceedings, and Common Babblers seemed, well, quite common. A wall of thorny bushes impeded our path, but Mohammedbhai spotted some movement through the chinks. ‘Hypocolius!’ quoth he, and we braved our way forwards, ignoring the Prosopis bushes which had become a thorn in our side. A pair of darkish birds darted in and out of the treetops, and a quick look through the binoculars revealed a large bulbul-like bird with a long tail. The male had an intriguing black mask, while the female felt no need to observe purdah. Adesh explained that these birds visit from the Middle-East, showing that any gulf can be bridged by determined migrants(as a Keralite, this reverse migration seemed hilarious to me, as I am more used to seeing large swathes of the Mallu populace headed for the ‘Gelf’!)
We spotted the Hypocolius pair which made intermittent appearances for over an hour, while the Whitecheeked Bulbuls rendered the long commercial breaks. A pair of Common Stonechats could be seen chatting (both obviously female – the males were probably stoned), perhaps about their travel plans to Siberia. As our group migrated back towards the village, my wife Sarita and I lost sight of them, busy as we were in tailing a Sirkeer Malkoha (which was already endowed with a rather long tail). A pair of Green Bee-eaters offered to show us the way, but we let them be. My unerring sense of navigation would have taken us well past the Pakistan border, and I prudently chose to follow Sarita’s instructions to be soon reunited with the group.
Our next halt was for another special bird, the Rufous-tailed Wheatear. A small, rocky hillock loomed out of the flat plains, and was deemed the perfect place for a ‘pee and tea’ break. A solitary wheatear patrolled the slopes, and in true wheatear fashion, seemed to have a favoured perch – on the rocks, much like the single malts I adore (Kutch is very dry, and so is Gujarat, so I must desist from such thoughts). Mohammedhai informed us of the presence nearby of a fossil-strewn patch, and we took the small detour. For over an hour, we combed the zone like carefree beach bums, picking up bits and pieces of fossilized molluscs and gastropods which inhabited this nook eons ago. Sarita felt that she was already married to a fossil, and that these specimens seemed fairly modern in comparison. It was decided that no samples would be collected, though it seemed that most of the larger fossil specimens would have been carted away by collectors over the years.
We moved on to the Banni region, a huge expanse of dry scrub interspersed with grass. The sun was blazing by now, and the terrain seemed devoid of life. We encountered a few groups of Common Cranes which lifted our spirits. A large raptor nest was sighted, and a shy fledgling peeped out over the edge. “Tawny Eagle”, said Adesh, and we decided to keep a safe distance from the nest to avoid spooking the baby. Some in the group wished to go closer to tickle the tot’s toes, but for their souls we can only ‘prey’!
Hodko is a small village nestling amidst the Banni grasslands, and a local initiative has helped recreate a traditional village setting, the Hodko resort. Mud-plastered walls inset with mirrors (the famed ‘lippan” of Kutch), authentic round grass-thatched dwellings (the Bhongas), and great ethnic food give the visitor an original slice of the region’s attractions. Our focus, as ever, was on the birds, and over lunch and a well-deserved break for lazing, we did catch a glimpse of the Variable Wheatear, which, it seems, is invariably found foraging atop the Bhongas. The White-eared Bulbuls were extremely bold, and we could view them close enough to see the wax in their ears.
It was still very hot and sunny as we made our way back, and bird sightings were conspicuous by their absence. We did chance upon a large herd of poor One-hump-in-a-lifetime Camels for dessert, and their herders thought we must have gone crazy in the heat to be out there in the desert. As the sun dropped lower, our eyes started focusing again, and we chanced upon a pair of Steppe Eagles, which stepped away rather quickly. Another pair materialized soon, who were probably Russian roulette enthusiasts, as they hung on till our vehicles were almost upon them.
The long drive carried on through dusk, and we kept our ears and minds open to Short-eared Owl sightings, but alas! - no hoots of joy were ordained for us. A Desert Cat crossed our paths (could have been unlucky for him if he hadn’t been quick), and apart from some suspicious eyeshine (spiders) and some dreams of moonshine, nothing exciting lay in store for the rest of the evening.

Day 3 23rd Jan 2009

The route to the Naliya grasslands turned out to be more productive than the final destination. A Short-toed Snake Eagle perched atop a distant tree greeted us in the golden morning light. A small village adjoining the road seemed to have found favour with several Peafowl, with one cock proudly upright on a treetop (A Chief Erection Commissioner, perhaps?). A Rufous-tailed Shrike climbed up a Euphorbia to get a closer look at this blatant exhibitionism, and a group of Yellow-eyed Babblers took a rather jaundiced view of these indiscretions.
Up ahead, a small clearing near an intersection provided a large number of species to swell our species count – Indian Bushlarks singing the top 10, Grey Francolins which refused to dye, cocky Prinias with tails cocked, a Southern Grey Shrike coping with the rigours of learning Gujarati, and lesser numbers of Greater Short-toed Larks . I moved away from the group towards a small track leading away to the left to answer a different call, and came back having only flushed some larks. In the meantime, a whoop of joy had been heard, and was traced to the sighting of a Eurasian Wryneck. By the time I could reach the aforementioned spot, the bird had flown off (with a wry grin, I suppose), and I developed torticollis searching for it.
Further on, a small group of Common Cranes foraged languidly amidst a ploughed-up field, seeking non-vegetarian delights in a vegetable patch . A staccato call sounding like a discharged cartridge from yonder was put down to a Black Partridge, and the spotting scope revealed a resplendent male calling with (gay?) abandon. Some errant participants who had wandered away towards the Rajasthan border had to be lured back into the jeeps with the promise of hot food, and we headed off for a small pond for some bird-and -breakfast.
This pond turned out to be quite a surprise – Northern Pintails, Common Teals, Gadwalls, Garganeys, Spotbills – we had to duck for cover under this barrage! A Greater Spotted Eagle took in the gist of the proceedings from his vantage point atop a tree, trying to spot his lunch. A Bluethroat did wonders to banish our blues, and a pair of White Wagtails spelt it out in black and white to us. The pond was surrounded by an interesting patch of scrub, which yielded a pair of Little Minivets, and a Bay-backed shrike wondering if he could impale the pesky pair. Over breakfast, it was decided to explore another larger waterbody slightly off our route.
This seemed like the backwater of a dam, and we were on a small hillock overlooking the water. The first treat was a flock of Chestnutbellied Sandgrouse landing at the water’s edge to indulge in a communal drinking spree. Several ducks patrolled the waters, and Glossy Ibises were seen keeping their bills down to keep expenses under control. A Spotted Eagle soared overhead, and lo! Another large raptor, distinctly larger than the Spotted Eagle loomed over it.

Quick cries of “Imperial Eagle” rent the air, and its markings were clearly appreciated. We abdicated to let him tend to his empire, and proceeded to Tera village, where the Kutch Ecological Research Centre is situated. We drove through narrow roads generous enough to accommodate a bicycle, plastering the poor villagers to the wall, and driving some of them up it.
The KERC is a branch of the Corbett Foundation, and apart from some developing and managing some wonderful Community Health and Social Welfare projects, they are very active in Wildlife Conservation – in fact, they were instrumental in getting the Great Indian Bustard Sanctuary established in Naliya. The Foundation’s Director, Mr Agnihotri and Dy. Director Mr Bhavesh Thakkar explained the scope of their activities over a simple lunch, and wished us luck in finding the bustards.
It was scorching outside, and we had a fat chance of spotting the bustards, though some in the group felt that our chances were quite slim. We sped over dusty roads, raising a haze which could probably add to global warming. What can one see from a vehicle travelling at seventy kmph, through the dust haze, and a post-prandial stupor?
Mohammedbhai’s answer – a Great Indian Bustard!
He called for an emergency stop, and with copious screeching of tyres and squealing of brakes, we ground to a halt. A lone ‘gaando-baaval’ tree stood in a barren field, and Mr. M felt that the GIB was lurking behind it. We filed onto the field, and a closer look revealed a shadowy form crouching behind the bush. The wary bird had sensed our approach, and even as we lined our binouculars on him, he proceeded to take off like a heavy cargo plane, and was soon airborne. Our gasps of admiration subsided as he shot an irate glance at us for interrupting his siesta, and filed a flight path for the Lala Bustard Sanctuary nearby.
Overcast skies, salt-laden trucks and a bold Grey Heron welcomed us to Jakhau Port for the evening programme. The road was lined by salt pans on both sides, with the Lesser Flamingoes, Dalmatian Pelicans and Darters monopolising the ‘Gazer’s’ Strip, while the West Bank was dominated by Western Reef Egrets and Large Egrets. Terns and Gulls flew overhead, and Adesh gave us the lowdown on IDing them – how to separate the Slenderbilled Gulls from the Gullbilled Terns, and such other simple stuff! As for me, I was left with the humbling knowledge that gulls will be gulls, and that one good tern deserves another. As if in concert with this thought, a bevy of local beauties (the Slenderwaisted Girls) walked past, amused at our unconventional preoccupations.A Painted Stork and a Eurasian Curlew later, we headed back when a Border Security Patrol flagged us down. Some of the group looked suspiciously like migrants from across the border, and we had to flash our IDs to convince him that we were Resident Migrants. Thankfully, he did not insist on evidence of breeding, and we were let off with a cheery wave.
Chhari Dhand is a huge, brackish waterbody famed for the congregation of thousands of flamingos, and the early morning light revealed a sea of pink feeding in the slime. Sandpipers, Plovers and Greenshanks rendered the side orders, and one wader had both Adesh and Dr. Vaibhav flummoxed (after much consultation, it was eventually identified as a Greenshank in non-breeding plumage). Adesh remarked that owing to poor rainfall, the water had receded quite a bit, and consequently the bird numbers were not as high as expected. A lone Wolf was seen on the horizon, though some felt it was a Jackal – we let it pass, as none of us was dogged enough to hold on to our conviction. The scrubland around Chhari Dhand did produce a Common Kestrel, a couple of Steppe Eagles and a Marsh harrier which held us rapt.
Fulay village was a brief stopover, not for the Hypocolius this time, but for some local craft. A wizened artisan displayed his wood lacquering skills while the colourfully dressed kids gave us some brilliant photo-ops, and for once we were clicking juveniles whom we could identify!
A stony hillock surrounding a small pond formed the perfect foil for Neil’s late morning reptile hunt: a Brooke’s Gecko and a couple of Fat-tailed Scorpions appeared as he left no stone unturned in his quest. A Skink slunk away, and the die-hard birders suggested we do likewise. A Rufousfronted Prinia advised that we head back to our hotel, and we concurred.
Damn the evening session, said Adesh, and we quickly proceeded to a large dam nearby. He suggested that we split up into two groups to explore the area (reminded me of the jailor in Sholay saying “Aadhe yahaan se........etc.”), and one group proceeded to the water’s edge. The wiser ones (i.e. our group) checked out the scrubland around, and followed the telltale signs of a Eurasian Eagle Owl’s presence, but ended up owl-less. Grey-necked Buntings, Peafowl, a pair of Little Minivets and a White-browed Wagtail offered their commiserations, but a couple of Rose-ringed Parakeets subtly reminded us using the Marathi phrase “Popat zhala!” Our only consolation was that the second group also seemed to have had their fair share of ‘popat’, but were rather tight-lipped when invited to discuss it!
Day 5 – 25th Jan 2008
The last day of the trip, and everybody was in the mood to chat – to be precise, as Thomson and Thompson of Tintin fame would put it, the Stoliczka’s Bushchat. We set off for the Naliya grasslands again, this time without any scheduled breaks enroute. A small waterbody did, however, detain us for a moment, as a motley assortment including a Painted Stork, a Black-crowned Night Heron, a Eurasian Spoonbill and some Egrets had decided to enjoy a spot of fishing. They fled at our approach, thinking that we were out phishing for their vital info.
Our entry into the Naliya grasslands was marked by a pair of Black Francolins, whose trail led us to some Chestnutbellied Sandgrouses resting on the ground. Adesh cautioned us to be on the lookout for what looked like female Common Stonechats, as that’s what the Stoliczka’s Bushchat resembles. Soon, a suspect flitted by, and like our investigating agencies, we had convinced ourselves that this was the real McCoy, and had slapped the charges on the unsuspecting soul. After viewing the purported culprit from several angles, and after much thumbing of the Grimmetts and fingering of the Pamela Andersons (not the Baywatch babe, naughty!), it was concluded that the poor girl was indeed a Common Stonechat, and some sanity returned.
Naliya’s larks and pipits couldn’t engage us for long, and we moved on to the Kunathia grasslands, where the grass was anecdotally greener. A dozen Yellowwattled Lapwings socialising in a rocky patch greeted our arrival with stony stares. Well-fed Spinytained Lizards retreated into their lairs upon seeing Neil, whose tales of reptile-grabbing had reached the saurian world. We encountered birds to the right and birds to the left, posing for the camera – Variable Wheaters, Stonechats, Common Babblers, Crested Larks, all turning up in strength to see us off. A Jungle Cat and a Common Mongoose represented the mammalian farewell party, and all that was missing was a Swan song.
An alert Nightjar would have observed a tired but happy group of birders leaving Bhuj by the night train, and it is rumoured that the engine’s hoot was echoed by a Shorteared Owl sitting near the signal post.

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Mumbai's terror

2008-12-09T09:24:00.001+05:30

The dark events of November 2008 are not directly related to the theme of this blog, but we are compelled to speak up against this outrage. Our country’s intellectuals would certainly have thought of several measures to pre-empt such strikes, but here are a few random suggestions which come to mind:
A. DIRECT ACTION
1. Our borders seem so porous that sneaking across seems ridiculously easy. I’m sure this porosity works both ways, so why not send covert operatives across to target terrorist camps surgically and destroy them? Create a crack force, furnish them with the necessary forged papers, and train them to disappear after the attacks, much like what the terrorists do. Declaring a war is pointless, and can incur huge casualties on both sides, and only the arms dealers and other commercial interests will profit. Our war on terror needs to be played using the same ground rules of terrorism, so that our losses are miniscule, and the gains immense.
2. Choke the fidayeen by choking their local logistics – the terrorists don’t mind dying, but the people who house, feed and transport them do. Reserve the death penalty for such supporters, and hang them (preferably in public) to instil fear in potential supporters.
3. Terrorists and their supporters on death row can be made to compensate for lives taken by harvesting their organs before execution – several lives may be saved with their kidneys, heart, liver, corneas, skin, etc. If their families object, tell them they are morally responsible for the terror deaths, and that they are welcome to trade places in the organ donation programme.
4. Most terror attacks see to involve Islamic militants, who perpetrate these crimes in the name of jihad, and as a guaranteed ticket to Jannat (heaven). Can the highest religious authority in the country, such as the main Imam in India, not publicly denounce these criminals, and issue a fatwa or religious decree that they will not ascend to ‘heaven’?
5. Terrorists seem to be still very fond of their families, and to ensure that their kith and kin get financial support after the suicide attacks. Can we not detain their family members and use them as leverage against the terrorists – put them up on national television, ask them to make an appeal to their son/brother/ward, ask them to surrender as they are fearful of their lives? Yes, they may be innocent, but their appeals could save hundreds of other innocents who may get killed/maimed in terror attacks.

B. CORRUPTION at all levels is a great ally of terror – just pay money to touts to get a birth certificate, ration card or election ID card, all these being documents which can help a terrorist pass off as a common citizen. Similarly, you could get a huge consignment of RDX through the legitimate channels, and the right incentives can ensure that the Customs people look the other way. Corruption at ministerial levels ensures that substandard armaments and equipment gets procured, compromising our security forces. A bullet went through Mr Kamte’s helmet, remember?

C. Z-GRADERS

Why do our politicians need security? I don’t remember the Mahatma ever having a bodyguard, though he was a leader of immense stature. Yes, he did get shot, but people in public life need to accept attacks and death as an occupational hazard, as it is with our brave soldiers. If they don’t have the balls for that, let them relinquish their posts. Don’t bask in the glory of people-funded security – hire your own, as you have enough money to do that (check their balance sheets submitted to the Election Commission – our leaders are truly rich, even by the figures they declare!). This will free at least 50 % of security forces for their actual duty, i.e. that of protecting the country and her citizens.

D. ELECTORAL REFORMS are unacceptable to all political parties, because the existing system serves their interests well. Therefore, it will be an uphill task, and the likes of a Seshan are required in the Election Commission to change the ground rules. Here are some thoughts -
a. It is truly wonderful that we have a system of universal franchise, i.e. one vote per person, irrespective of their age, sex, education, social status, etc. Let’s pause to think here for a moment – has this ensured that good people get elected to rule us? NO!
This is because an educated, thinking voter is hugely outnumbered by the illiterate masses that are recruited in hordes to cast their votes by their local goons. For example, in Mumbai, the average middle-class voter is totally irrelevant in the electoral process, as the slum votes make the ‘leaders’. Slumlords use the carrot-and-stick approach to get voters to turn up and cast votes as directed. Money exchanges hands, and thinly veiled threats of withdrawing essentials such as water connections, or simply the roof over their heads, ensures that they do not default. Is it any surprise, then, that the average flat-dweller rarely gets a glimpse of the local candidate, as they are busy in door-to-door campaigns in their slums?
b. The way out? Well, at least in Mumbai, which is our financial hub, let’s have differential weightage for each vote. A tax-paying, educated voter should have more leverage over the slum-dweller who pays no taxes, survives on illegal land, illegal dwellings, and illegal water and electric connections. Tax-payers can be rewarded on a slab basis, i.e. the more tax you pay, the greater number of votes you are entitled to. A graduate or post-graduate gets more voting power than an illiterate/semi-literate voter. As a boost to the national population policy, debar those who have more than 2 children from contesting elections, or from voting in them. Reward those with one child or none with greater voting power.
c. Can we not have bare minimum standards for our politicians who wish to contest elections? Even a peon or clerk has to satisfy educational criteria to apply for a post. Our leaders need to have at least a graduate degree (earned, not forged), and an impeccable social record. Even a shadow of suspicion regarding involvement in a crime should debar them, leave alone the current scenario where several of them have criminal records as long as the arms of the law.
d. What about a probation period for all elected candidates, wherein they deliver good performance, or relinquish their seats for non-performance? In any job, that is the norm, so why should it be different for political jobs? The appraisals can be conducted by a non-political committee of eminent persons and/or an audit firm who evaluate them on the basis of transparent criteria – these criteria, in fact, can become a road map for any politician wishing to do his or her job well.

E. AUTONOMY FOR POLICE

Why did the NSG perform their task brilliantly ? They have great training and equipment, and most importantly, they are unhindered to a greater degree from political pressures. Can our police forces not do likewise?
They need to become an independent central body, taking decisions based solely upon security considerations, and not out of fear of reprisals from the various ministers and ministries. Officers should have tenures of at least three years to enable them to do their jobs well, and no transfers should be effected prior to that, save in exceptional conditions. All posts need to be filled, and funding for the police should be a part of our defence budget (war, after all, is now in our cities too, not only at our borders).
A local state force can assist this central police in local liaisons and investigations, and can do non-critical stuff like ‘bandobust’ for rallies, processions, politicians’ visits, sports events and such.

F. RESERVATIONS

I am a strong advocate of social equity, but reservations for the underprivileged cannot be carried to absurd levels where it endangers lives.
Give the traditionally oppressed sections support in obtaining good education, and give them economic support, but keep reservations out of jobs – a job well done needs capable people, not those who get employment through reservations. A doctor, architect, policeman, fire fighter, motorman, pilot, nuclear scientist and bureaucrat – all of them need to be capable, as they can make life-or-death decisions that can affect hundreds or thousands of people. Reserving jobs for candidates only on the basis of their caste amounts to being callous towards human lives – just another instance of how political expediency rules over the common weal.

Well, there is an adverse fallout of the terror attacks on the environment too – politicians of every fold have felt the need to express their sympathy and condole the deaths of the brave officers who died in the terror attacks. Some posters even have the mugs of the politicians grinning down at you, cheek-by-jowl with the pictures of the dead officers. Every street corner and other available space has been hijacked, and reams and reams of ‘flex’, a vinyl material, have been used to carry these messages. What happens to this non-biodegradable junk after a few days is anybody’s guess.

Nannaj - getting high on grass!

2008-09-21T16:08:00.017+05:30

What’s in a name? Much, if one were to go by the lament of the Great Indian Bustard. The poor bird lost out on the competition for the national bird by a vowel’s breadth, even though the winner had a ‘pee’ and a ‘cock’ working against him – some fowl play, perhaps!
Adesh wrote in that it was raining bustards and larks in Nannaj, and we jumped onto the bandwagon (viz. the Siddheshwar Express) which deposits you in the squalid town of Solapur. The town seems oblivious to the presence of one of the most endangered birds in the world in its neighbourhood, and the local celebrity is the ‘Shenga-poli’, a sweet peanut –roti.
A convoy of three jeeps led us from our digs towards the Jawaharlal Nehru Maaldokh Pakshi Abhayaranya, (a.k.a The GIB Sanctuary) at Nannaj. Enroute, a couple of Grey Francolins invoked a former cricket superstar (to the uninitiated, their strident calls of ‘Kapil dev…kapil dev…’), unaware of the equations having changed in favour of the Ishants and the Pathans. A small herd of Blackbuck saw us being herded out of our jeeps, but any notions of approaching them were precluded by the presence of one and a half Bishnois in our pack. Smoked Salman, anyone?
The persistent “quick-quick” calls were traced to a Rain Quail strategically perched on a rock. Nannaj is in a rain-shadow – while Mumbai was being drenched, it was bright and sunny at Nannaj, and thankfully so, as we would certainly have quailed in the presence of rain (while still on the subject, Yogesh to please note – we really had a fine glimpse of the Rain Quail when you were skulking amidst the reeds at Hipparga!)
Barring a few, most of us had a glimpse of a pair of Barred Buttonquail, while a Sykes’ Lark kept us and his mate entertained with his display flight. Closer to the sanctuary gates, a Shikra kept vigil on his shikar (anagrams, anyone?), but a more vigilant Adesh had zeroed in on something more spectacular – the first glimpse of the Great Indian Bustard!
Beyond a low stone wall outlining the sanctuary area, a small white speck bobbed in the grass, and the spotting scope revealed it to be the holy grail of grassland birds – a magnificent male Bustard, eyes heavenwards, perhaps praying for a mate who has become very hard to come by. Considering their fragile numbers, forget us seeing the Bustards, it’s probably been a while since one Bustard saw another!
We trooped into the sanctuary, and headed towards a roundhouse which offered a great view of the undulating grassland. On the 70 mm panorama, the melodrama played out – not one, not two, but six Bustards starred in the cinemascope thriller.
The dashing megastar, an alpha male, strutted his stuff, and it is only a female Bustard which would find his display sexy – an enormous pouch dangling like an embarrassing hydrocele, and a cocked-up tail resembling a large excrescence piggybacking on the bird. Beauty, truly, is in the eye of the beholder! We struggled to locate the females, who maintained a low profile, and blended superbly into the duns and the browns of the grassland. And prudently so, as a Lone Wolf appeared over the horizon, scanning the scenery for a mid-morning snack (a caramel bustard, perhaps?).
Several junior artistes played bit roles – a Southern Grey Shrike, having starred in many steamy blockbusters down south, adorned the sidelines. A Scaly-breasted Munia explored medical options (wouldn’t you, if you had a scaly breast?), and a flock of Large Grey Babblers derided the Munia’s decision with a clamorous chorus. Having said that, we were no quieter than the babblers, and the Bustards soon took a bow. Mr. Bhagwat Mhaske, a dedicated officer from the Forest Department, fielded some queries about Nannaj, and revealed that the Bustards’ diet comprises lizards, insects and small snakes. Some rumbling calls were identified as emanating from hungry stomachs, and we proceeded to ‘Nisarg’, a local specialty restaurant. Enroute, our lunch was delayed, and thankfully so, as a band of Indian Coursers performed a ‘rasta roko’, and we spent much time following their course along the scrub patch.
Aptly, a multi-course meal awaited us, and the sumptuous lunch meeting was presided over by the Chief-guest, the ‘Shenga-poli’, and ably supported by the ‘Dhapates’ and the ‘Khava-polis’, while the ‘Thecha’ was awarded the ‘Best actor in a Villanous role’. We exited as soon as our abdominal pouches started resembling those of the Bustards’, and wended our way to Kegaon.
A narrow canyon with precipitous walls greeted us, and Adesh explained that this was prime Eurasian Eagle Owl country. He exhorted us to scan the cliffs to locate the birds, which we did – i.e. we scanned, but no owls leapt into our field of vision. A pair of raptors circling overhead was put down to a Bonelli’s Eagle, and a Short-toed Snake Eagle. Since there was no snake in its talons, I was left to identify the latter by its short toes!
We returned owl-less from our foray, and were almost back at the road when Adesh gave out a screech – perched on a slender Neem branch, swaying in the light breeze, and caring two hoots for our presence, was a Eurasian Eagle Owl catching his siesta. A mad scramble at the restraining walls of the canyon caused much consternation to the owl, who opened one eye to investigate. Having judged that we were not prey, he prayed that we would leave him to enjoy his slumber. Adesh promised more Bubo bubo on the other side of the road, and we hastened thither. Two juvenile shikras indulged in some sibling rivalry, and had got to the stage of mutual destruction when our arrival stalled the mayhem, and they departed with noisy protests.
The grassland was greener on the other side, and this was borne out by the fact that the canyon across the road was far more picturesque than the first one. Adesh declared that since we had seen the EEO, and knew its habits and habitat, we should be able to spot one much more easily. Binoculars were pressed into service, and all the nooks and crannies were explored. Total Owl count: NIL. A sudden exclamation from the north-north-east corner yielded information on Spotted Owlets, which had hitherto lain, well, unspotted. Three Owlets clung to the cliff face, and one wise guy darted into his pigeonhole (?) when he found us staring.
While we lavished out attentions on the owlets, the Eagle-eyed Shivkar had quietly spotted the big daddy, and had trained his scope on it – we fell in line for the ‘darshan’, and the field of view afforded a glimpse of an EEO crouching under a Neem clump. It was far enough to be labeled as being in ‘Pandharpur’, Adesh’s euphemism for distant birds (a Vithal statistic, no doubt).
We continued our leisurely saunter along the path edging the canyon, and were rewarded with a pair of Little Minivets – this species chose to flaunt its specie amidst the dull-coloured habitat, in the manner of the nouveau-riche showing off their bling. One Swallow, which obviously did not make a summer, identified itself as a Red-rumped ( the earthy aphorism of ‘khud ka laal karna’ springs to mind), and a Wire-tailed one followed suit. The latter, evidently, was a more tech-savvy customer, as he had chosen to go wire-free!
A sloping path led to the base of the canyon, and I tiptoed down this to approach the aforementioned Neem clump purported to contain the Eurasian Eagle Owl. I must have made about 120 decibels of din, with my tripod clanging and keys jangling, which resulted in the Owl getting flushed out to escape the noise pollution. I admired its huge wingspan, and its silent flight, and its demeanour suitably chastened my thoughtless intrusion.
As dusk fell, we exited the canyon, where the disgruntled owl was again seen at the mouth of the canyon, and seen mouthing expletives directed at me.
The next morning saw us setting off to explore another facet of Nannaj, i.e. the rolling plains on the opposite side of the road. Near the sanctuary, a Fox was hounding a Blackbuck herd, and upon our approach, decided to pass the buck. Adesh suggested a short village walk through Nannaj village, which rewarded us with Grey Hornbills, Indian Silverbills, Prinias, Bayas, and lots of human droppings. A Tailorbird nest was spotted by Julius, and the female seemed to be getting hemmed in and needled by our presence.
Crossing the road from the sanctuary, a vast expanse of grassland and scrub stretched for miles, and seemed devoid of any fauna. To defy our perception, a flock of Chestnut-bellied Sandgrouse circled overhead, and soon disappeared into the distance. We also heard a Muttered Grouse about not being able to see the GIBs. Indian Coursers were seen as a matter of course, and the nest of an Ashy-crowned Sparrow-lark was located. Adesh’s strong advice to stay clear of it (i.e. Laakh mana karne par) was heeded, and we circumvented it.
A post-lunch excursion brought us to a wetland called Hipparga, which yielded Grey & Purple Herons, Whiskered Terns, Ibises and Painted Storks, all of which were in ‘Pandharpur’. A quick mental calculation put the overall bird tally at around 85, and we realized our incredible luck for having spotted no less than seven Great Indian Bustards. With the impending denotification of parts of the sanctuary, these prized birds will face more pressure from human activities. We can only hope and pray for their wellbeing, as the human juggernaut rolls on.

Bagh ko do kaudi

2008-03-09T14:55:00.005+05:30

Dear PC Sir,

My name is Bagh, and my stripes are fading. My extended family brings in millions of dollars in tourist money, and I was looking forward to your budget proposals for schemes to keep this golden goose ticking.
I managed to catch some parts of your speech on the 29th, somewhere between my frugal breakfast (thanks to a falling ‘deer-ness’ allowance) and my midmorning stroll to check my family’s physical deficit.
As Nani Palkhivala is not around any longer to decipher the budget, I had to do some hard thinking to figure out how it impacts me. These are my observations:

A. Farmers seem to have found lots of favour, with nearly 60000 crores ( Rs. 600 billion) of bad loans waived off. Just proves that farming is economically utterly unviable – why not just import food from other countries, and return some of the land to us? Forests disappear for farming, rivers are dammed for farming, groundwater is depleted for farming, pesticides poison everybody, so where’s the logic? Imagine the money saved – no subsidies, no spending on fertilizers and agrochemicals, no power wasted on pumps, no wastage of land, no dams, and most cost-effectively, no Agriculture Ministry!
B. Small cars just got cheaper, so I can expect more crowds at all our National Parks – they will, of course, blare their horns, play their loud music, and leave their mineral water bottles and plastic packets back for us. PC Sir, I’m getting a headache!
C. I’m sure you must have been updated on another alarming figure – the national tiger census. Shorn of all the window dressing going on for years, the actual figure stands revealed at around 1400. Like other sectors of our local economy, we are under pressure from the Chinese as well. I expected some serious protection, such as provided to our domestic industry for eons. The verdict – a paltry 50 crores (half a billion) rupees provided for a Tiger Protection Force. Assuming that this largesse is distributed over more than 25 tiger reserves, each gets about 2 crores (do kaudi?) , which is sufficient to meet just their ‘chai-paani’ expenses for 6 months.
PC Sir, I would rather make a deal with the Chinese and the poachers, assuring them of uninterrupted supply if they regulate their activities, in the manner of the Bakasura story. After all, we still remember the Sariska holocaust, and the culprits haven’t even been identified yet. My suggestion is, PC Sir, please keep the 50 crores – you may need it as petty cash for the coming elections. Why waste it on a segment which doesn’t have voting rights, us dumb animals?

BHIGWAN - A small ode to the big one

2008-02-06T09:03:00.000+05:30

I had heard of Bhigwan way back in 1986 from my buddies in Pune, and true to my nature of prompt and timely action, I visited the place in 2008! I must thank MBC (The Mumbai Bird Club) for flushing me from my perch, and giving me a short toe-hold on the Bhigwan bus for the trip on 2nd / 3rd Feb 2008.
The long, bumpy bus ride lasted all of 7 hours, by which time, had I been indifferent to my carbon credits, I could have been in the Antarctic observing the Emperor Penguins shuffling to work! The motley group grew closer through the journey, thanks to the narrow aisle of the bus, if not anything else.
After a sumptuous meal where several domestic fowl were consumed, we oozed back into the bus to head for Diksal, our first waterbody. On a road designed for two motorcycles to pass each other with caution, we hurtled down with abandon, forcing a fair number of locals into the acacias, and occasionally into the gaggles of geese (though our final checklist didn’t record any ganders).
The expansive waterbody, the backwaters of the Ujani dam, was bristling with quills (ducks and waders, actually), and Adesh gave us ample scope to identify them – what I would have previously dismissed as “Oh, just some ducks”, metamorphosed into wigeons, garganeys and gadwalls. Plovers and sandpipers patrolled the shores, while glossy ibises ensured that their sheen doesn’t rub off. Several yellow wagtails approached us and, well, wagged their tails, while the grey and purple herons chose to put some nautical miles between us. A pipit came in close, and requested us to help find its identity, as it was confused after reading the Grimmett. A distant line of pink turned out to be a large congregation of flamingoes, each greater than the other, and only us lesser mortals vying for a glimpse. A male Brahminy Duck was seen making lascivious advances towards a female Ruddy Shelduck, and she had to remind him that she was Brahminy too.
Adesh, the MBC co-ordinator, crawled on his belly towards some wary waders, and was successful in going up to a pair of Little Pratincoles and tapping them on the shoulder. We chose more normal means of locomotion to advance on the aforementioned road, and were privy to a Brownheaded Gull snatching a huge fish the size of a whale shark (OK, maybe slightly smaller), and flying off towards the sunset.

Some of us caught a glimpse of a Common Kingfisher in the fading light, and Adesh promised to show a Bottled Kingfisher back at the hotel for those who couldn't.After photographing a pair of Great Tits hanging around (serious!), we elected to return to our roost at Baramati, and proceeded for our bird-baths.
The next morning, the sun was well up by the time we reached Kumbhargaon, as we were detained at a small waterbody enroute by a White-tailed Lapwing. Adesh and Dr. Vaibhav, the expert from Alibag, squealed with delight and did some fine displays, and we learnt that this bird has probably never been sighted here before, hence the hoopla (not as in Upupa epops).
Kumbhargaon has a large wetland on one side, and an interesting scrub patch on the other. It was in the latter that we saw a Short-toed Eagle being rudely asked to leave the area by a Falcon, evidently a redneck. Lesser Whitethroats and Ioras flitted about, and a Bay-backed Shrike looked for thorns to impale his lunch. A lark was out for an, um…. lark, and resisted attempts to be photographed. A pair of owlets was spotted, and they were Spotted.

We moved to the wetland to catch a glimpse of a Wooly-necked Stork looking sheepish, and a pair of Openbills ruing the slip between the cup and the lip. A large flock of swallows had us gulping, and we developed cervical spondylitis trying to distinguish the red rumps and the streaked ones.
Dalaj was further ahead, and we bumped along a dusty road (?) for a while before sighting open water. Painted Storks fed in a phalanx, picking fish at will. Somebody sighted a White-browed bulbul which was far enough to be in Kerala, and a large brown fruit on an Acacia on the far side turned out to be a Greater Spotted Eagle.

A juvenile Brahminy Kite waited patiently by the water’s edge to become an adult, and some adults in our flock had to be reprimanded for behaving in a juvenile fashion. Dalaj gave us the best glimpse of the Greater Flamingoes, and to our utter delight, many of them did a flypast in our honour. However, they seemed to be dogged by controversy, just as their cousins at Sewree in Mumbai.

Our last halt was for seeing the roosts of several hundred Painted Storks – our guide Maruti led us on what seemed like an hour’s trek through scorching terrain, and we had a fine bird’s eye view of the colony. A couple of Malabar Crested Larks posed for our trigger-happy mob, and soon, the mob itself posed for a mugshot. Some quick back-of-the-envelope calculations revealed that we had seen nearly 135 bird species in less than 24 hours, and a few more imaginative ones which had to be struck off the list.
This unassuming wetland had proven to be a surprise package, and I wish that human pressures will not alter its character – we did see lots of human fishing activity, and a Long-legged Lady washing clothes. Bhigwan is an unsung haven, and a Big One, and I hope it doesn’t succumb to small minds.

FIG-uratively speaking!

2007-11-15T22:43:00.000+05:30

Talk about figs, and the most common association that springs to mind is the proverbial fig leaf, our ancestral lingerie. In the bird world, however, figs are the manna that enthrall and enchant. Plant a fig in your backyard, and you invite, by default, a large cross-section of the avian world to your domain. Frugivorous (fruit-eating) birds are drawn to them like a magnet, and several species of birds descend on these trees in fruiting season, resembling hungry guests at a banquet. While in their feeding frenzy, you could tickle their toes, and they wouldn’t notice. Compared to the gusto with which these wild figs are dispatched, our cultivated ‘anjeer’ seems like a bland also-ran.

On our recent trip to the Pench National Park near Nagpur, we were fortunate to come upon a wild fig in full fruiting glory, and the tree was laden with figgin’ Coppersmiths!

A brown-headed Barbet and a red-vented Bulbul joined in the revelry, and we were subjected to unhindered avian gluttony

Is it any wonder, then, that our wise forefathers (where are they?!) revered these fig trees and worshipped them? The banyan and the peepul still stand unharmed amidst the general tree-genocide that humans perpetrate on a daily basis, which makes me think: Can we find, in our religious texts, a tangible link to protecting our forests and their denizens? Maybe that’s the only hope for our conservation efforts, as man seems more susceptible to the fear of the hereafter, today be damned!

A Tigress and 2000 humans

2007-11-04T09:10:00.000+05:30

Two front page articles in HT on 2nd November appeared side-by-side: one about the tigress in Maharashtra's Chandrapur District, who has allegedly killed 7 people, and is now on death row, and the other about the fight for justice by the Godhra victims. The inference - kill 2000 people, and go scot free, or at worst, land up with a life-sentence, which can still be appealed against. You killed on ideological grounds, you killed with official connivance, you killed in retaliation.
The hapless tigress killed because she was hungry, she killed to feed her cubs, she killed humans as they had felled the forests where her prey roamed. In the new order of things, her guardians are the Forest Department. What is their response? Shoot her at sight, says the Wildlife Warden. He is impotent against the pillage of forests, he is impotent against the blatant encroachment of forest land, he is impotent against poachers and those who poison the animals. So, how does he regain his manhood? Easy - do what the Brit officers did during the Raj to feel powerful - shoot a tiger, or a bunch of them, or better still a tigress. What better way to gain the accolades of land grabbers, the timber mafia, the poisoners and the poachers?

Le roi est mort - the king is dead!

2007-10-18T09:38:00.000+05:30

The very concept of a Zoo in today's space age of entertainment is medieval and in a perverse manner, primordial. The recent death of the lonely lion, Amar, in Mumbai's reprehensibly maintained zoo is further testimony of our inability to understand and care for nature's beings. Once you see a lion in the wild ( the above picture is of Ramzana, a wild lioness in the Gir National Park), you will feel ashamed to visit a zoo, and see the king languish.

Let us first wonder whether there is a need for a Zoo in the first place. The theory proposed by our governing bodies is that we need to showcase the animals to people, especially children and the underprivileged. It is not like they don't have other forms of entertainment, like the 100 channels on television, cricket, movies, our innumerable cultural and religious festivities, and so on. Can we justify and continue to perpetuate a crime against innocent wild animals, which are captured and separated from their homes for the sake of entertainment? One justification I was given is that not everyone can afford to go to wildlife sanctuaries to see the animals in their natural habitat. Does a zoo exist only because of our economic backwardness? The very fact that prosperous, developed western countries have zoos is proof of the flaw in this argument.I am sure there are many in our country who cannot afford to see the many historical or natural wonders of our country - the Taj Mahal or the famed Sun temple of Konark. Should we then relocate these monuments to Mumbai as the poor ‘janata’ of Mumbai cannot travel the distance?

How many of us have taken the time to visit art galleries, or have taken our children to the Museum? Have we ever admired the menacing gargoyle's adorning the CST building? Mumbai has a full fledged National Park within its municipal limits – one needn’t go far to be in the thick of the jungle, but a miniscule percentage of urban residents bother to visit it. Our city truly has much to offer, and a terrible zoo needn’t be part of the itinerary.Cramped cages littered with excrement, emaciated animals living a desultory existence, ruing their fate, insensitive visitors teasing the animals – the conditions for animals are inhuman. The authorities need to improve the pathetic conditions, and definitely stop getting any more animals to the Zoo. Wild animals belong in the wild, and if at all they need to be in captivity, it needs to be in a rescue centre for rehabilitation, and not as a vulgar spectacle in a filthy zoo.

Expanding and modernizing the zoo is a complete waste of taxpayers’ money, and an insult to proud creatures of the wild. The money would be better spent in securing the future of our magnificent forests, which are being decimated at an alarming rate. Let us ring the death knell on zoos, and not their inhabitants.

׀׀‘Ganeshotsav, Pudhchya Varshi Lavkar Yeoo Naka’׀׀

2007-09-23T23:28:00.000+05:30

Dear Ganesha,
Today is Ganesh Chaturthi, and my humble obeisance to you, lord. You have always been my favourite deity with whom I have shared many confidences, and I need to speak my mind about something that has been disturbing me.
I welcome your advent every year, and my mind races back to my childhood, when the Ganesh Chaturthi meant a lot of fun - everybody at home pitching in to sculpt a rough clay idol, scouring the neighbourhod to pluck specified flowers and ‘durva’ grass for the ‘puja’, gorging on home-made ‘modaks’, and finally bidding farewell by immersing the clay idol in a nearby well.
Of late, I feel a strange dread when I contemplate the onset of the Ganeshotsav. First come the extortionists – goons from every kerbside ‘mandal’ donning a religious mantle, and persuading you to part with the moolah for their obscene displays of devotion. Any refusal to sponsor them is followed by thinly-veiled threats, and lots of muscle-flexing. Shopkeepers who don’t toe the line are threatened with disruption of business, and thus the mandals’ kitties swell.
They then use your money to light up vast swathes of the city, a brazen misuse of a scarce resource – electricity.
Last summer, I remember suffering through several hours of load-shedding in Maharashtra’s Chandrapur district, and my whining about the heat was met with scorn by the locals. They squarely blamed Mumbai and her wasteful ways for their daily power woes, revealing that even farmers could operate their pumps only for brief periods during the day, while Mumbai blazes under a trillion hoardings and a billion ‘mandals’.
Ganesha, people have been complaining that, in recent years, their prayers are not being heard. I know that you are not to blame, it’s your worsening deafness that is the problem. All that exposure to mega-decibel noise can turn an adder deaf, what with colossal speakers belting out remixed ‘aartis’ in discordant voices with no trace of devotion. The plethora of processions follow, with their own mobile bands cloning the Safri Duo, preceded by pelvis-thrusting dancers more suited to a South-American Carnival. To add some bonus decibels, there’s the incessant honking on already narrow roads, further constricted by invasive pandals whose blatant encroachment leaves me speechless. Any residual tatters of your sensitive ear-drums which may have survived this onslaught are vapourised by the unending strings of firecrackers set off at any self-respecting ‘mandal’.
Ganesha, my eyes hurt during the Ganeshotsav – imagine being subject to the not-so-pretty mugs of ‘leaders’ of every hue and colour staring down at you from every street-corner, ‘welcoming’ all Ganesh devotees to their fiefdoms. Such is their megalomania that their images dwarf yours, and very often, you occupy an insignificant corner in these mammoth cut-outs. Talk about playing God!
My dear Lord, did you know that your festival sounds the death knell for millions of fish and other aquatic life in our water bodies? Your idols, made of insoluble Plaster-of-Paris, and painted with toxic colours laden with heavy metals, find their way into every water body, from modest wells to the vast sea. They don’t disintegrate fast, but their toxic paints leach out to choke fish, and piscine holocausts are a regular feature. Your broken idols, mauled and mutilated, litter the riverbeds and ocean floors, forming pernicious reefs over the years. I always thought elephants love water, but little did I know that an adorable elephant-faced God would end up poisoning those very waters!
My omniscient Lord, a friend mentioned in jest that you quietly take a sabbatical during Ganeshotsav, and probably flee to Afghanistan to avoid all the chaos! Jokes apart, for the sake of your hearing and my eyesight, for the sake of the fish and the ponds, for God’s sake, could you please accept my entreaties, and not come too soon next year?

Salman's sentence

2007-08-27T15:30:00.000+05:30

As ardent nature-lovers, we were justifiably pleased to note that the long arm of the law had finally nabbed Salman, the deer-hunter. His sentence, however, with due respect to our honourable courts, has set us thinking on whether justice could be better served by a combination of conventional and alternate punishments. Our penal code is a relic of the Raj , and most laws have not seen fresh air in several decades. Considering the sorry state of wildlife, and the impoverished state of conservation programmes, why can we not utilise this opportunity to bail our wildlife resources out of the doldrums? Even if Salman were to spend fifty years in jail, instead of the five that he has been sentenced to, it is debatable wheter it would make an iota of difference to crimes against wildlife. Instead, the sentence could be split in a more productive manner. Here are some suggestions:
1. Let him spend a year or two in jail, as the correctional element has its merits, and gives him lots of time to think, ruminate about his follies, and perhaps, regret his actions.
2. Fine him heavily - media reports indicate that nearly 300 crores of rupees ride on him, so a fine of even 50 crores is something he can easily cough up. Set up a joint committe of dedicated NGO's and the Forest department, and utilise this corpus for wildlife protection. Buy guns, uniforms and good shoes for forest guards, who are our foot soldiers against wildlife crimes. Recruit more guards, and give them decent accomodation. Develop the villages around key wildlife areas, so that the locals are sympathetic towards conservation, and are not waging a quiet war on the forests. Build fences around vulnerable forest areas, and provide better patrolling facilities.
3. Get Salman to do a year's community service with the Bishnoi. With the inevitable glare of the media following Salman, the Bishnoi's commitment and approach towards conservation will hog lots of airtime, and can sensitise the entire nation, if not the world, towards wildlife issues. The Bishnoi will greatly benefit, as the local administration will be in the limelight, and this can catalyse all sorts of dormant government schemes which have been slumbering for eons.
Justice can take many forms, but in this version, there may be no losers.

OIL'S NOT WELL

2007-06-26T15:19:00.000+05:30

In a metropolis like Mumbai, where the Premier Padmini cab seems primitive, take a look – you can still encounter a blast from the past, the humble bullock cart. Not carrying farm produce, mind you – they are pulling small oil tanks, supplying petroleum products like kerosene and lubricants. What could be more incongruous than to see the names of high-profile oil companies emblazoned across these tanks, even as they are being moved by emaciated cattle?
We encountered three such carts on the roads yesterday, all of them drawn by weak bulls, struggling to negotiate the Mumbai traffic. Their sedate pace changed to a strained trot whenever they received a few sharp whips – I even witnessed one of the owners reaching down to squeeze an ageing bull’s testicles to push him into a higher gear. One can fathom a farmer using draught animals to keep his overheads down, but multinational oil companies using animals for transport, that too in cities where several other transport options exist, seems really pathetic.
It looks as though these companies, some of them dubbed as the ‘Navratnas’ or nine-gems of the Public Sector, will not shy from exploiting animals to rationalize distribution costs. If they feign ignorance about this final leg of the transport chain, one starts to smell the stuff exiting from the rear ends of these very bulls.
Just as the poor camels on our beaches got some respite from the courts, can we not ban other animals from our roads? In the chaotic rough-and-tumble of Mumbai’s mean streets, why do we need a veritable roadshow of animals, from bullocks to donkeys to elephants?

Tadoba - the 20-point formula

2007-06-10T08:26:00.000+05:30

1. Take a beautiful expanse of deciduous forest, full of lakes and springs, and home to a rich array of wildlife.

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2. Create a coal-mining township next to it, full of earth movers, dust columns, smokestacks, and spewing tons of carbon into the air.
3. Populate it with thousands of people, and allow them to expand their presence in all directions, with their demands for food, water and sanitation.
4. Build a tarred road right through the thick of the jungle to allow these people to travel to neighbouring towns for their needs.

5. Dam the available river to create a reservoir to supply water for the teeming millions.

6. In the process, kill the river ecosystem, and all the creatures dependent on it.

7. Condense the forest area by chopping off the trees, and level the land for agriculture - many mouths to feed, remember?

8.Realise that there is a valuable supply of timber in the forest, and declare it a protected area.

9.Succumb to public demand for escape from their dreary urban sprawls, and create dwellings and facilities inside the forest for recreation.

10. Allow mad mobs in their diesel-spewing vehicles to zip through the forest, to 'spot' the wildlife, and generally have a picnic.

11. Highlight the presence of the Tiger in the forest, and direct people towards their lairs.

12. Allow as many vehicles as possible into the forest, even 200 at a time, to 'enjoy' the safari.

13. Turn a blind eye to vehicles honking, playing 'jingle bells' on their reverse horns, racing their engines, and to their occupants screaming and yelling, yes - all this and more, barely 15 metres away from a tigress and her cubs drinking at a waterhole.

14. Allow two-way traffic on narrow tracks, causing noisy traffic jams at a prime tiger area like Bhanuskindi, where tigers resting in a stream are made to move off by passengers getting off their vehicles for a closer look.

15. Allow all vehicles to ply on the park roads, whether they are overloaded, diesel-spewers or non-roadworthy.

16. Appoint a system of local tribal guides to accompany each vehicle, except that instead of providing opportunities to the tribals, appoint relatives and associates of the Forest Department staff as guides, and to hell with the tribals.

17. Allow a noisy canteen to function in the core area, right next to the Tadoba Lake, the lifeline for animals. Call it a plastic-free zone, i.e. where you can freely dispose off your plastic.

18. Create a residential colony for the Forest Department staff right next to this lake, in the core area, wherein untreated sewage can be released - such a big lake, who cares if a few hundred litres of sewage gets dumped into it daily? Pigs eat faeces, and wild boars are pigs, right?

19. Strictly enforce the timings of entry and exit from the park, but give a couple of hours leeway for those who wish to linger - you can't ask people to rush off, can you?

20.Bemoan the fact that wildlife habitats are shrinking, the tiger is going extinct, and what can the Forest Department do with its limited resources, whine, whine, groan, ..................

bedroom birds

2007-05-07T08:36:00.000+05:30

Nature never ceases to amaze. In the thick of our concrete jungle, hemmed in by multistorey eyesores, one stumbles across birds which eke out a living amidst the sparse tree cover. Not just crows and pigeons, but some species which generally are forest dwellers. In a small fringe of trees outside my bedroom window, I spot several species of birds, and some rather serendipitously. I was reviewing my pics shot in February on my digicam, and what I had assumed to be the usual Eurasian Golden Oriole

turned out, on closer scrutiny, to be a Black-naped Oriole, a fairly uncommon find in Mumbai. I have, on occasion,
been misled in my attempts to discover a new species ( which desire resides below the surface in all birdwatchers, truth be told), and my excited mail to BNHS regarding a really unusual spotting of a new lorikeet variety, perhaps Loriculus subramaniamensis, received a rather banal reply: I has spied an African lovebird, a poor escaped caged avian much fancied by misguided bird-'lovers'. I despaired for its survival, what with Mumbai's antipathy towards 'outsiders', but was pleasantly surprised to spot the chap a few weeks later, now calling out in an unmistakable Mumbai accent. This truly is a city of opportunity, and it feels nice to know that once in a while, the initiative is seized, not by man, but by one of the other unsung disenfranch-ised denizens of our city. And in the same spirit, I welcome to my bedroom all those who are interested
( males needn't bother) in learning about the birds, and the bees if you may.
cheers,
Dr.Subramaniam

corbett reveals

2007-04-17T07:50:00.000+05:30

After having been to more than 20 wildlife sanctuaries and National parks in the country, we have come to the conclusion that Corbett is in a league of its own: the variety of habitats the park affords is amazing, and therefore, the biodiversity is staggering. Most people flock to Corbett to see the tiger- after spending a couple of hours inside the forest, they say that they did not see 'anything'. .

The forest was teeming with wildlife, yet tourists sought only the majestic tiger, and it seemed like the rest of the birds and animals were creatures of a lesser God.

We saw an animal so endangered, that the Park Warden equated our sighting to seeing a thousand tigers- an animal called the Mainland Serow, a type of mountain goat-antelope. Couldn't take any pics, though, as the Serow was up a steep slope, concealed in a scrub thicket.

A family of rambunctious, smooth otters swam upstream, merrily devouring the fresh water fishes abounding in the Ramganga river. There was a laggard amongst the juvenile otters and the squeals by his imploring mother otter still reverberate in our ears.

We gawked at the highly endangered Gangetic Gharial who was basking in the glorious sun on the banks, obviously satiated, as he gave a cold shoulder to the noisy otters.

The sighting of two flocks of Great Slaty woodpeckers was a lucky one for us, as these birds are so rare that any birder would give an arm and a leg to spot them. We feasted our eyes on a herd of at least five hundred spotted deer grazing in the plains along the reservoir, giving company to five hog deer which, unfortunately, are highly endangered.

We spotted a crested serpent eagle hastily dropping a half-eaten green keelback snake, and then waiting patiently for our jeep to move ahead so that she could resume her meal in peace (piece-meal?).

On several occasions,we came across an interesting sequence - a herd of elephants would turn their backs to us upon a primitive, silent, infra-sound command by their matriarch.The matriarch would then advance toward us pesky tourists to check out our nuisance value while the rest of them would obediently wait and remain stationary.

Only after the matriarch verified our bonafides as curious but non-threatening tourists would they resume their incessant chomping.

The unforgettable sight of a herd of elephants submerging themselves in the depths of a pool in the river, their trunks resembling periscopes , will remain etched in our memory forever. A young, calf, battling the gushing torrent, lost his nerve mid-stream and was at risk of being swept away by the current. We were relieved to see his mother and aunt instinctively go after him, buttress him and finally shepherd him to the safety of the bank.

Such unforgettable scenes are enacted in the jungle everyday and yet tourists seek only the inimitable tiger. Needless to say, the tiger epitomises the Indian jungle but must all other creatures ,big and small be ignored?

One needs to just open one's eyes to the riches that the forest offers, and the experience can be deeply fulfilling.

elephantine beggars

2007-04-12T17:35:00.000+05:30

I am back from Corbett where i have seen herds of elephants displaying far greater family values than seen in our present day human families. It hurts to see the mighty elephant
begging for food and pleading for his mahout's livelihood on the streets of Mumbai.
If camels can be banned from entering the city and there are restrictions on pony rides why is the elephant persecuted by us.
Is there no law to prevent them from being used in circuses? I saw at least 4 of them tied outside a tent in Karjat,off Mumbai, yesterday. With over 80 TV channels and 8 radio channels and a multitude of cinema halls do we still need ANIMALS in a circus for entertainment.
Y do we need a new zoo in Borilvilli? A few arguments bandied for Zoos are that the poor who cant afford to go to sanctuaries to watch wild animals can see them in a cage or in their 'natural surrounding' akin to the Singapore Zoo.
By the same logic since the poor cant see the Taj Mahal or the Meenakshi temple, why don't we shift these world heritage sites to Mumbai.
Yesterday i saw an elephant begging in the crowded lane outside Chembur Station.It was jostling with vendors,shoppers,bullock carts and automotive in all shapes and sizes.
She was probably a matriarch, used to navigating dense forests but she was all at sea in this concrete jungle where no human being in his or her right sense would venture unless their life was at stake.
If you guys have any reason to agree with my plea on behalf of elephant please help with suggestions and ideas.
I wrote to Maneka Gandhi and she says that we should get a lawyer to file a PIL.
Please let me know what the average Mumbaikar like me can do to prevent the elephant from torturing itself in the sweltering heat of our tarred roads,from the air and noise pollution of Mumbai.
regards

elephants begging in mumbai

2007-04-12T10:10:00.000+05:30

if camels r barred from the city,pony rides are restricted why is the mighty elephant begging on the streets of mumbai .