Nannaj - getting high on grass!

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

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

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!

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

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!

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’׀׀

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?