Yeh Kaun Chitrakaar Hai..

Ah! The travails of a travel-blogger!!

Wondering, why this sigh?

Well, it is not an easy task to capture & write uniquely about the essence of a place that finds more than a lakh visitors thronging it each year – a number of them better writers & photographer than Yours Truly. Add to this that fact that in the days when digital imagery has captured a permanent space on everybody’s mobile & Facebook, it is all the more difficult to create a unique photo-journey of a place which attracts nature photography enthusiasts from all over the world.  I was facing this very dilemma that evening, when I stepped out into verandah.

It was about 7 in the evening. After a long day’s walk through the woods & wetlands, my fellow traveller had decided to take a short nap. The weather was cold-rather, very cold-chilling to the bones even through the 5-6 layers of warm clothes that I had donned. In spite of the cold, with nothing much to do till dinner, I opened the door & got out. The sudden appearance of a biped startled a few spotted deer wandering idly just outside the room. I looked incredulously while they, stepping back to a bit of a safer distance, in their perception, stared back at me – an intruder  in their idyllic world - inquisitively and perhaps insolently. That was the moment I realized I had found my WALDEN.

WHEN I WROTE the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had built myself…

Thus begins Walden, the book which narrates Henry David Thoreau’s a year & a half long sojourn & tryst with nature in America of mid 19^th century. The experience afforded him an opportunity to discover and contemplate about the various facets of human life, and the synergy these share with nature. The book is also a kind of a treatise on transcendentalism – which links humanity & nature through divinity.

It is almost a decade ago when I first came across Walden while rummaging through old books in one of the cabinets of my office – which were part of my father-in-law’s collection. This was that phase when I was just turning 40, had already been in the midst and then, at the helm of corporate financial affairs, and had by that time set-up my own CA practice. The book’s curious beginning set me on to a journey which, over the years, brought me closer to nature.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

A good book eggs you on to experience the story.  Thoreau’s Walden had the same effect on me, and I longed to find my own Walden. It was easier thought than done though, accustomed as I have been to the city of comfort that existed within me. Unlike Thoreau, I did not find it as easily possible to lose myself in wilderness for such a long period. Hence, I took an easier path – wandering for brief communes with nature, with my wife or friends, accompanied by my camera & literature at my fingertips, seeking illumination from nature. 

I did manage to travel to places which I would not have thought of a decade ago. These wanderings not only provided wider perspective about nature & its interlinking paradigm, the path also took me to a whole new world of romanticists, Sufis & naturalists. The Walden however, remained elusive – for a long time.

For a long time; that is, till that evening in early January, this year – when I found myself face-to-face with that herd of deer. This was the Keoladeo Ghana National Park of Bharatpur, and to me, equivalent to Thoreau’s Walden.

Bharatpur is a sanctuary different in its setting and ambiance. The park, spread across 29 sq km, brings you in proximity to the miracle of nature in a way which is unmatchable. Here roam some of the bird species with such impudence around you that it is difficult to imagine this place as a once-upon-a-time hunting grounds for the royal gentry of Rajputana & their British friends. A huge plaque placed near the heart of the park lists down the exploits of various hunters during those years.

It is the reputation of it being a heaven for bird-watchers that had brought me to Bharatpur – my second visit in less than a year, and indeed, once again I was not disappointed. However, as I meandered through its wilderness seeking these winged species, I discovered another facet of Bharatpur. It is an absolute delight for those interested in landscapes – as a photographer, a painter or perhaps as a mere traveller.  

Something would remain amiss, if I left Lawrence Durrell, unquoted:  

It is there if you just close your eyes and breathe softly through your nose; you will hear the whispered message, for all landscapes ask the same question in the same whisper. 'I am watching you -- are you watching yourself in me?'

As the Sun traverses through it arc across this terrain, it unveils a view so picturesque that human language is incapable of capturing it. A generous mix of grasslands, woods & wetlands – with interlinked paths well suited for living those glorious, albeit brief, moments, of uncertain nomadic living; the ponds with carpet of moss of ethereal hues, the trees displaying shades of various stages of their life, those shaded paths bisecting the thickets, plumage of flora & fauna adding up to a riot of colours; even the rays of a wintry day’s Sun, mellow in its mood, could not help but glisten exuberantly the moment they touched the pond's surface.  

Indeed, it is difficult not to wonder, like John Dyer: Ever charming, ever new, When will the landscape tire the view? 

In fact, for most of us, used to appreciate the man-made beauties in this concrete jungle, the architectural wonders, those urban-scapes, skylines, well manicured gardens, and artificial natural views, Bharatpur’s verdant and unadulterated lyrical vista is a necessity that raises the human spirit. The only thought that echoed in my mind came from a song penned by Bharat Vyas decades ago:

Apni to aankh ek hai us ki hazar hai 

Yeh kaun chitrakar hai 

Yeh kaun chitrakar hai

And birds? Well, while I was busy with my musings enjoying the bewitching landscapes, unknown to me, something else was brewing between Mother Nature & its brood of birds. I will come to that in some time. Meanwhile, you may enjoy more pictures from Bharatpur on the following link:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.627733907274037.1073741845.398359763544787&type=1&l=077a020762

In the stillness of mind..

In this concrete jungle of Mumbai, there exists a land which is close to the oasis of nature. Powai. Situated at the outskirts of Aarey & SGNP - the lungs of the city, a lake with hills as the backdrop bordering it, the area is greener and serene than most of the city. I consider myself fortunate to be residing here, because I can just hop, skip & jump to the lake and amble along to brighten up my mood while the lake remains engrossed in its own moods – changing from hour to hour & season to season.

From a happy welcoming kind of a lake in the winters, it starts becoming a bit harsh with the arrival of the summer and definitely becomes sullen as the summer progresses. The monsoon, however, rejuvenates it, as it receives the bounty of life from the sky, getting ready for the next lot of visitors. However, it is the mood swings that the lake undergoes daily that I find more interesting.

Usually, I see the lake on my way back from the office – the chaotic traffic continuing in full blare at its bank, the lake resembling one of the urban dwellers, having had a stressful day at work, its surface looking affected, the waves exhibiting its higher stress level. As the evening progresses, one can see the harsh neon lights of the hotels around getting distorted in the darkish stressed waters of the lake, irritating the lake which is trying to rest after a hard day.

But the day I am able to visit the lake early morning, I find it in an absolutely different mood. After having settled down in its own solitude in the night, the surface of the lake is quiet & calm, reflecting the world around with absolute clarity. It almost brings to mind the words of Henry David Thoreau, the lake resembling the earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature. Though this mirror like mood starts changing with the unfolding day starts putting the water in turmoil, it is indeed a joy to see the reflections – especially of the winged characters in the water.

This is where I find the nature guiding us mortal beings. According to Democritus, truth lies at the bottom of a lake, the water of which serves as a mirror in which objects may be reflected. But a lake can be a mirror only when it lies unaffected, alone in its stillness.  Only in quiet waters do things mirror themselves undistorted.

Similarly in life, in order to understand the perspectives, we need to find the equilibrium where the mind is calm & the heart is at peace. A stressed mind and turbulent emotions only manage to present the distorted version of reality, which in turn does not allow us to see the truth and skew our decisions. What we need is Equanimity – a state of unperturbed-ness.

Rumi had said -  Let the waters settle, and you will see stars and the moon mirrored in your own being.  But much before Rumi, it was Lao Tzu, the mystic & philosopher from China, who had said:  No thought, no action, no movement, total stillness: only thus can one manifest the true nature and law of things from within and unconsciously, and at last become one with heaven and earth.

Zhuangzi, another Chinese philosopher  and the Tao’ist thinker recognised this simile of water and human mind almost 2300 years ago. He wrote:  Water becomes clear and transparent when in a quiescent stage. How much the more wonderful will be the mind of a sage when poised in quiescence! It is the mirror of heaven and earth, reflecting the ten thousand things.

It is interesting to find the Chinese philosophy & Taoism so much in sync with Buddhism that early when the Buddhism had just started spreading. Perhaps Zhuangzi had already heard of the metamorphosis of the prince from India, Siddharth, who retreated to the stillness and solitude within himself and emerged as Gautam Buddha, with a new philosophy for the mankind - relevant even now more than two thousand years later..

Like Siddharth, what we need is a state of equanimity which alone can be our friend when the whole world is in turmoil. Equanimity is the only word used by Antonius Pius, the Roman emperor of 2^nd Century AD to sum up the philosophy of life and how right he was. Of course, equanimity also means not to get carried away when thing are going our way. The praise, the flattery is also like the waves on the water, again distorting the image & our perspectives.

There has always been, and much more today, a need of infinite patience and calm reflections. The world is grooving more and more to the tune of instant karma, expecting instant cures, rewards & reactions. A phone in hand wherever we go almost makes it compelling to respond – irrespective of the situation. Little do we realize that there are very few situations in life that require an instant reaction – everything else can wait for a  calm, patient and well considered response. Stephen Covey has written - between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response. In those choices lie our growth and our happiness.

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William Osler summed it up quite well in his valedictory address to the medical students of University of Pennsylvania:

Be calm and strong and patient. Meet failure and disappointment with courage. Rise superior to the trials of life, and never give in to hopelessness or despair. In danger, in adversity, cling to your principles and ideals. Aequanimitas!

Getting back to the mirror like surface of Powai Lake, I realize that it makes it easier for the birds out to find their morning meal – just like this egret returning to the land after a successful sojourn over the lake.

Where Streets Do Not Exist....

I want to feel sunlight on my face
I see the dust cloud disappear Without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name

Bono of U2 crooned in this 1987 Grammy award winner.  To an urbanite the entire idea seems so strange – the notion of having streets with no name, in turn making most of us lose their apparent identity in a society which ascribes high credence to the streets or the localities where we choose to live or have our work-place.  A utopian situation of global equality impossible to be found in civic society – in fact not even acceptable as to our orderly mind, this would be an anti-thesis - chaotic and anarchic. No wonder the same album of U2 had Bono singing – I still haven’t found what I am looking for.

This February I experienced something even stranger – a place where let alone the streets without names, streets just do not exist – not at least for the urbanites like us, nor exists the dwellings of any kind, and this is what this travelogue is all about.

We had spent last 2 days roaming in the watery world of Nalsarovar & Thol. With water in plenty, crops abundant, the eyes & the soul had feasted on the greenery and the birds – resident as well as migratory of all sizes, hues & colours. The image of large flocks of geese clouding the early morning sky swooping down on to the greener pastures was still afresh in the mind.

All that had changed now – just about 100 KMs away from the bustling city of Ahmedabad, as our adventurous spirit had brought us previous afternoon to Patdi, a small town in Surendranagar district of Gujarat. The plethora of small waterbodies and green fields seen during the road journey had slowly decreased in numbers, though not really disappeared. It was yet early hours of the day in late winters, the breeze was cool, Sun had just started waking up the nature as its morning beams reflected on the streak of a jet in the sky. Our day also had begun early as we went exploring the Little Rann of Kutch (Rann), as a part of our annual pilgrimage to celebrate and commune with the nature.

The Rann is a vast area of almost 5000 Sq Km, believed to have been a navigable lake in the times of Alexander. The growing civilization of 2300 years, however, had changed its features - now comprising largely of arid grassland, saline desert & mudflats, thorny scrubs, marshes & seasonal shallow pools of water.  It still is one of the most remarkable and unique link in nature’s ecology - one of its kind in the entire world. It is a vast desiccated, unbroken bare surface of dark silt, encrusted with salts which transforms into a spectacular wetland for a brief while after the monsoon. 

What makes the desert beautiful is that somewhere it hides a well – so says Antoine De Saint-Exupery, in his classic allegory “The Little Prince”. Here, we were the adventurers in this desert looking for our well of treasure. For us, that morning the treasure that lied hidden in the Little Rann were some of the species of the birds and the mammals, unseen yet by us, one of them being Asian Wild Ass (the Khur), for whom, despite dwindling numbers, the Rann is their last refuge in the world. Our wish list however was not restricted to the Khurs but also included the Sand Grouse, Merlin, Owls, Harriers, Larks and Houbara Bustard, among others. The evening before we had already spelt out the wishlist to Pratap, the local guide, who nonchalantly had promised to show us most of these, while leaving remaining ones to the luck. His confidence seemed inspiring and despite not so good food at the resort we were staying at, the large number of stars above us in the sky and the tranquility around, made us look forward to the morning.

A few moments in the desert, and I was not sure any more about the sightings. The entrance into the sanctuary itself seemed to be an anticlimax – no gates, no road, just a signboard and a dirt-road track leading us away from the semblance of civilization into the vast span of mudflats dotted sparsely with the oasis of greens, and a few pools of waters. These pools of waters were the remains of one or two months of monsoon rain, during which a large area get inundated with water and attract enough of the migratory birds on their annual sojourn to escape the colder climates.

The disturbing fact, however, was the absence of any distinctive features in the landscape. Jidhar dekhoon, teri tasveer nazar aati hai..sung AB in Mahan to his object of affection. The uninteresting landscape all around us was making me think of these lines, though was not sure if our object of affection at the moment – the flat, arid, and monotonous, would have cared a bit. For us city-folks, used to travel in the concrete jungle through the myriads of street networks, leading to a variety of architectural efforts, this was disconcerting and a bit scary. It also made me wonder about the confidence that Pratap had shown the night before.

It seemed too late to worry, and since there was no turning back, it was time to look forward and enjoy the experience. I soon found out, that my lack of confidence was misplaced as sure enough, Pratap ably guided our driver in the vast monotonous expanse:

 - sometimes to the fringe of a waterbody, with vegetation nearby to point out a solitary Greater Spotted Eagle, getting ready for the day ahead, its eyes reflected the rising Sun –

 - egging us sometimes to lurk behind the shrubs and reach closer to the Lesser  Flamingoes, busy looking for their morning grub in the shallow pools of waters, with mirror like reflections

- peering constantly like an oracle into distance & then guiding us to reveal a male Marsh Harrier almost blending with the landscape.

With the breakfast time approaching, this was soon turning out to be much more than just a birding trip. First the Khurs made their appearance. However, the mistrust of the generations with the human beings ensured that they stayed at a distance, protecting the younger ones and conferring about the way to tackle the growing menace of the intruders in their area. 

The Neelgais were quicker in their thoughts and actions and resorted to galloping away to the safety.

Perhaps finding us affronted with the callous behaviour of the other mammals, the Rann decided to unfold its beauty.  The month of our visit being February, the aftereffects of the monsoon had more or less disappeared, turning the land into the parched caked mudflats. These mudflats seemed to be running into the omnipresent pools of water in the distant horizon. The water, which seemed to be evaporating faster than the laws of physics could make it possible, as we reached closer, till I realized that I was experiencing the beguiling magic of a mirage firsthand. Like travelling to the mountains and coming face to face with those titans, I was finding ourselves very insignificant with endless mudflats all around and the nature guffawing as it played pranks on us.

Soon the Sun had risen higher in the sky. The hoardes of Neelgais, Khurs & Common Cranes had reduced their early morning activity, conserving their energy, and disinterestedly, but cautiously, maintaining their distance from us. The sudden breakdown of our vehicle due to a punctured tyre just seemed to make us conspicuously interesting for a moment as a Khur started walking towards us, before changing its mind and direction. Of course, amidst all these, the kestrels with their fluttering flights overhead, the crouching sandgrouse, the grey francolins, the larks, the white cheeked-bulbuls, the wagtails and the desert wheatears were constantly making their presence felt.

The rising heat and aridity, despite the cooler breeze, was making us thirsty. This was also making the birds seeking shelters under variety of shrubs, making birding look easier. All that our guide had to do now was to visit these shrubs and hey presto – there were those elusive birds for we city folks. Sounds easier in a city but  we were in a land with no streets, similar looking landscape with the mirages confusing one further & the only GPS we had was embedded in the memory of our guide. Yet, it goes to the credit of our guide who unerringly made us sight birds like Merlin & Short Eared Owl.

With the noon hour approaching, we left the Rann, and after nourishing the body, spent some time in visiting a waterbody near Patdi. The Sun was scorching the earth yet the flocks of pintails, shovellers, geese, common teals, cormorants, grey & purple herons and a variety of waders were  holding otheir court looking like choir singers engaged in the practice before the beginning of the show.

Amidst this the occasional sorties by the raptors including a marsh harrier and a juvenile imperial eagle failed to make any impact on the siesta time of the water birds, refusing to budge from their chosen position in the court of nature.

With afternoon Sun reducing the heat, we returned to the Rann seeking the elusive Houbara Bustard in the wilderness. But the capricious Rann was sulking, refusing to reveal any more f its treasure – at least for this trip. As a result even though it was at an arms' length from us, the Houbara preferred to give us only a fleeting glimpse, before shying away in the shrubs.

As the evening hour approached, the setting Sun was giving long-shadowed kind of hints for us to go back . The expressions of the larks foraging on the ground also indicated that they have had enough of us.  With even the ducks deciding to fly away in the sky ablaze with the colours of the setting sun, we also bid our goodbye, gazing at the parting Rann with a fervent hope that it would generously welcome us again  and  unravel some more of its marvels when we meet next.

Talking Harsh is Nothing to Crow About...

“Hey, isn’t the crow your friend?”

A statement, which I am not sure was spoken in jest or sarcasm, - started a thought-process. Why is it that  normally Crows are not supposed to be among the adored birds?

Crows have been associated with human beings from time unknown; have been known to be sturdy, playful, intelligent and cunning.  While we all know about the folk tale of Thirsty Crow, those with any doubts about their playfulness & cunning must see them dodging our society’s resident dog Caspian, always leaving him with stupefied expressions.  

In various ancient mythologies from across the world, including the Scandinavian, Celtic, Mayan and South East Asian, crows have been depicted as the symbols or messengers of  God.  Among the Scottish, a complete body of lore has been built up from listening to the varied calls of the crows who have  the ability to mimic many kinds of sounds as well as to communicate with its own kind.  In the medieval times, the crows were said to have magical properties which included an ability to divine the future and to dismantle the past, as well as to teach human beings how to mix love, humor, and playfulness.

Closer home, in the Aryan culture, the crows have been associated with food & fertility while among Hindus, the Crow has been the emblem of God Varun as well as a messenger to our departed ones.

And yet, when a poll was conducted recently to select the symbolic bird for Mumbai, the Crow was among one of the contenders but lost out to the petite and more colorful Coppersmith Barbet- despite crows adding their might regularly to clean up the garbage, that we generate a plentiful of, on a regular basis.

Surely, there is something about crows that makes us dislike them….

Is it colour related racism on our part? But then koel (the male koel) is also black, so are the Drongo and a number of other birds and not yet ignored the way a crow is.

Could it be due to its being in too many in numbers all around us leading to the contempt that familiarity breeds? Not really conclusive when I notice the affection for sparrows, though they are declining now. Even common mynas or parakeets who command a large presence have never been treated so disdainfully.

Or could it be their continuing raucous calls, always harsh & discordant in nature, creating a cacophony, which puts one off? Yes, this seems to be the raison d’etre for this dislike.  

The mystical poet and one of the greatest saints of our country, Kabir had said:

Aisee Vani Boliye, Man Ka Aapa Khoye

Auran ko Sheetal Kare, Aaphu Sheetal hoye.

Kabir was always a keen observer of human behavior & profound in his analysis. In our personal interaction, our likes & dislikes of a person largely gets determined by how, when and what of his talks. The success & failures of high level negotiations, even among the countries as well as in the corporate world, have depended largely upon the demeanor & language of those who carried out the talks.

With the advent of the mobile technology, where more and more of us have become talkers then listeners & doers, to know how to talk is becoming critical even for the success of interpersonal relationships. Yet, we are talking more, getting aggressive, and letting our indignation and necessity to have the last word get better of our softer emotions.

Such being the importance of how we talk, it might be a good idea to actually understand the depth of the words that Lebanese poet & philosopher Kahlil Gibran used about the way we talk in his classic - The Prophet:

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.
And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.

When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue.
Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;
For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered
When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no more.

I hope I am on the right track here. But again, my entire idea of equating the way we talk with the crow may make me look like someone wet behind the ears, just like this crow whom I caught facing the hard thunderous rain with equanimity:

http://acumenimages.blogspot.com/2011/03/talking-harsh-is-nothing-to-crow-about.html

Cheers