A city by the sea, they say it never sleeps
Once a part of me, now a distant memory
The sand between the feet, the moonlit walk
The waves rushing ashore,
The wind that never rests, the smell of salt
The hustle and the bustle, the unimaginable sounds
All consumed me, my soul and mind
In spite of the grit, the grime, the dirt
The spirit of the city calls
Like some restless void deep inside
The city which taught me all
The city which has my heart
The legend of the lone wolf, conquering the world is the stuff of myths. The wolves love their packs and are lost without them, lone wolves often perish in the wild. Maybe that is why I felt a sense of sadness when I watched the news coverage on the Baihraich wolf attacks. While it's a tragedy the man-wild conflict has created, but the way the media has been painting the wolves as these blood thirsty man-eating monsters is sometimes a bit too over the top. Am I the bad person feeling sorrier for the wolves than for the men?
The wolf is just going about its business hunting for food. Its lame, unable to get at faster moving prey. It has no clue that a death sentence has been passed on it and its pack. Five of the pack of the six have been captured, two of which apparently died during capture. It seems this has only made the attacks worse. The lone lame wolf is now more ferocious, lost without its companions, possibly trying to get at as much food as possible. The media screaming into our television screens condemning these wolves as "adamkhor". At least the ones they have captured so far don't seem to be it, their capture hasn't put an end to the killings. What's worse is no one knows for sure if it's the wolves, an alternative theory of hybrid wolfdogs, bred by humans for protection and then abandoned when they get too difficult to manage, also exists.
The Indian wolf is one of the most ancient of the species, it is endangered and on the protected list. Its numbers are in the thousands now and could someday possibly go extinct. They are known to be cautious of humans and very rarely attack them. Grown adult weight around 18kgs and is no true danger to an adult armed human.
Watching one of the news reports after a shoot at sight order had been issued by our wonderful Chief Minister, I was heartened to see that the forest department had put out pamphlets talking about, among other things, how the villagers should protect themselves and also how the wolves are part of our ecosystem and should not be feared. At least they have chosen to ignore the shoot at sight and tried to capture instead of kill. They also highlighted a need for lighting in isolated roads and building walls and doors to protect the villagers at night, instead of simply resorting to killing. Small victory for nature.
It's humans who attribute intent and characteristics to animals - sly like a fox, loyal like a dog, unreliable like a cat. The animals at a very fundamental level are innocent. What they do is out of an instinct to survive, some endear themselves to us, like little dogs with heart melting eyes, some scare us with their fangs and claws, but they never act on malicious instinct. They are not driven by hatred or revenge as the media person would have us believe. Perhaps there is a possibility to create feelings of trust or mistrust, and some attachment, like with dogs or cats, or even other animals and birds. But at their very core animals are innocent.
I wonder where along the evolutionary line humans became so twisted and complicated, and why no other animal did. We are singlehandedly responsible for almost destroying this planet as we know it. We are responsible for more deaths in a year than any other animal on this planet. What price do we pay for our action? Well, maybe we do, we are slowly killing ourselves with our roads and houses in places where none should exist. I suspect one day trees will again grow where we sit and spend our days imagining some trivial glory of our insignificant lives. In truth we are not harming this planet; we are harming the ecosystem we need to survive. Earth has seen worse and survived, been pelted by asteroids, seen ice ages, has literally broken into pieces from being one landmass. She will continue to live on, she gives, and she takes back at will.
If you do not feel,
Pain, sorrow, fear or joy
Are you not just a human shell.
If your past and memories have turned to dust,
And the future is just a to do list
Are you not just a human shell
If neither hurt, or remorse nor a feeling of betrayal have ever haunted you
If you face the world with a plastic smile
Determined to extinguish your inner self
Do you exist?
Or are you not just a human shaped shell
Is it not human, to ache, to cry and to vent
To pray and hope and to dream of a better world
To experience the realities of the world we live in
And feel the world groan
Confront dismal truths and yet learn to face them each day anew
Are we still human if all that matters is what is seen on the outside?
Every morning is like a little adventure, seeking out birds in the park. A pair of Neelkanth birds that had chanced upon the park last year, seem to be back. I hope this time they stay longer. And the Greater Coucal or the Bhardwaj bird has become a sort of friend, calling out to us as we pass by, in its plaintive voice. Sometimes it'll come down from the trees and suddenly confront you.
Each bird has its favorite haunt in the park, just like the people. There is a peacock/kite zone, which is full of eucalyptus trees. The birds themselves can be seasonal, now with the rains reining supreme, its peacock time, but the kites keep hovering around, careful not to lose their territory. Somedays you'll spot a hornbill or two, screeching, the babblers are everywhere. This area also has some greater coucals. The lapwings too infiltrate most spaces, but they usually prefer the field areas of the park. The neelkanth birds also have their fixed perches, usually on top of kikar tree. They don't like to hide, you'll see them there in full view, silhouetted against the sky.
The greater coucal prefers to hide amongst the trees, and you'll find them sometimes hidden the bamboo patch as well, sometimes foraging for food in the undergrowth.
The pipits and other smaller birds fill the fields, you'll find mynas and the pied starlings there, right beside the lapwings, and of course the babblers. In the fields you'll also find the egrets, medium, small, all sizes, though these usually come out in the rains.
The ibis make a seasonal appearance too but seen more of them in the winters. Their screech often brings to mind the fact that after all birds are dinosaurs.
So, my dear dinosaurs, I am so thankful to you for helping heal a broken heart. Its been good knowing you all, and hope our association keeps growing. (Super excited about the two new neelkanths! )
Visiting a hometown is always a bittersweet thing. We went to Ranikhet after a very long time. The house has changed completely and now belongs to my uncle. It was changed, and yet that sense of familiarity. The charming drawing room, with its wooden windows is gone. It was my favorite place in the house, like a time machine transporting you into a lost world. It was mostly inhabited by my grandfather back then. With neighbors modernizing and making changes to their houses, the drawing room had given way and had to be changed. So many things in that house had once been handcrafted by the residents of that house, all of those things seemed to be missing, the chairs, the candlesticks, the paintings, the wood carvings. The tin roof we slid down, and I once tore my dress on is gone. The small planks from which one could climb into the houses of the neighbors through the window, no longer viable. I remember feeling both fascinated and scared as we performed a tricky maneuver to get into the neighbor's house, the plank preventing a steep fall. Houses in hills can be scary and charming. I remember the wooden steps, with gaps that a small child could easily slip through, the trap door that led down to a "tehkhana" of sorts filled with strange items from a bygone era. My brother had once found some documents related to a business that my great-grand father or his brother or some ancestor had tried to start.
The house now isn't the same house, it just inhabits the same space. The same lanes, the same neighborhood, the same breathtaking view of the Himalayas, many of which my grandfather would paint, sitting in the terrace. Mom spoke to a neighbor through the window- they were school friends from Nainital, both married into the same neighborhood. She recalled how as a new bride, her friend had spoken shyly to her through the same window, and mom through the same space, but a new window. Now her friend was a grandmother, confident in her own house.
The traffic situation has become bad too, so many people own cars and multiple ones at that, the once empty road has now turned into a parking lot of sorts. The trees are slowly receding, and forest fires are on the rise. Thankfully a large part of Ranikhet is the cantonment and that has stayed quite the same, the mall road is still as peaceful. The temperature had hit 30s which is unusual for the place.
We were taken to the dream - Chesterfield. The story goes that my great grandfather, or maybe his father bought the house (though I think it was the former). It was supposedly an unlucky house and lead to the downfall of whoever lived in it. My grandfather's younger brother died from a fall from a horse's back soon after and the family fortunes dwindled, somewhere along the way the house had to be sold. I'm not sure anyone from the family who still remains ever lived in the house. Possibly my father as a baby. But it's become like a pilgrimage to go see the house and hope someday to buy it again. It is a beautiful house no doubt, with an oak, magnolia and kafal tree in its front yard.
History is so dubious it changes based on who tells it. My cousin and my uncle seem to have forgotten the stories of a supposedly cursed house, they look at the house with unveiled desire, someday it will come back to us. They seem to have a different version of why the house was sold, perhaps retelling changes stories over time. But somehow, I feel the ghosts of the past should be allowed to lay still. Plus, we no longer belong there, no matter my uncle has struck a friendship with the current owner and visits the premises sometimes with the knowledge of the caretaker. Let go, is what I think silently, don't try and hold onto something which doesn't belong to you.
I spent a lot more time of my life in my mother's hometown - Nainital, but some inherited memory ties me to Ranikhet. I was surprised at how much of it I remember and as clear as daylight. I wonder why nostalgia always has a tinge of sorrow has attached to it. Why there's always a pang and a longing for the days gone by, for those lost to these lanes forever. Uncles, my father, grandfather, a grandmother I never knew and yet somehow knew.
Sea, sand and the beach. Just the four of them had stayed back - Ravi, Sandhya, Meera and Arif. Meera was on the wheel, driving at top speed, but given she was already a few drinks drive, she stopped to ask if anyone else could take over. Arif volunteered - " I don't drink, let me do it."
Ravi and Sandhya had been glad to get away from their crowded two-bedroom house, filled with relatives to make some time for each other. In the hustle bustle of the city, the two hardly spent any time alone together as a couple. Meera liked Sandhya, she had an honest and open way of putting things across, nothing hidden behind sweet words.
They let Ravi and Sandhya occupy the back seat and geared up for the adventure. There was a cool sea-breeze coming their way and the air smelt moist and salty.
Arif liked the way Meera smiled, her smile spreading to her eyes, but today there was more to it. Her usual reserved self was absent, she was carefree and laughing with abandon. Perhaps the drinks had worked their magic, he wouldn't know, he didn't drink, but he felt a warm glow in his heart.
Meera settled down next to him, feeling slightly flustered for the first time through the night. He as always was quiet and looked at her with the same gentle look she remembered from their first meeting. It was so easy to speak to him. "So where are we going?" she asked.
"Morjim, it's a relatively quieter beach. It should be close by somewhere."
"Do you know your way about?"
"Yes, I've been there before"
After an hour of trying to locate the beach, the felt they were still running around in circles. So, they flagged down the first set of people they saw, some Russians, to ask for directions and were then amused at the irony of asking foreigners for directions in their own country.
Suddenly the sound of the sea seemed to be close by. They
stopped the car near a tree and got off to explore. Walking down a small
pathway lined with palm trees, they could hear the sea roaring and calling to
them and finally they were confronted by the vast void, which was the sea and
an unending stretch of the beach.
Somewhere she understood what was so special about Morjim.
In a place which is by now littered with tourists, this was a quite haven.
The married couple quietly made their way off
enjoying the solitude their overcrowded house in Badlapur, just outside of
Mumbai never afforded them.
"So you seem to know Goa quite well."
"Have you seen Dil Chahta Hai?"
"Of course"
"Well, so it was like that growing up in Mumbai, Goa every weekend."
Really?"
"Nah, just that most Mumbaikars end up in Goa very often when they’re in college."
"Did you come with family or friends?"
There was a pause and then he whispered
"I lost my father during the riots in the early 90s, we didn't really go on holidays with family for a long time after that."
There was an awkward silence after this, she felt accused of something she hadn't done, she wasn't sure why he shared this with her.
He smiled to diffuse the tension and said - "Somethings are beyond our control but become a defining point of our lives. For me it's always been life pre and post what happened then. One learns to cope and come to terms over time. Don't look so distressed, you have a beautiful smile. "
And then quickly added - "Do you want to go to Baga? You’ll really appreciate Morjim then."
"I’m up for anything, but hope you know the way and we won’t get lost"
"Nah Baga is easier to find, just follow the bright lights."
They had to break up the happy couple who were again making
the most of solitude this vast stretch of land had to offer.
"Should we head to Baga?"
"Yeah, why not!"
So, the four set off again. And it did prove to be easier to
find. There were bright lights stretching out to the skies from what seemed
like discos by the sea. The beach was lined with bamboo shacks and there was
loud music coming out of all of them.
The married couple didn’t like this place too much and
decided to head back to the resort on their own. They took a cab and bid
farewell.
Meera and Arif sneaked into one of the shacks which seemed
to be having a karaoke night. There was loud music, but the songs were good.
The Emcee spotted the two of them and called them over to
sing along.
"No, I’m not really a singer, why don’t you go."
"I’ll sing only if you sing along."
She pulled a long faced and refused.
"Oh, come on both of you, come over."
Meera still refused and it was left up to Arif to take the
mantle.
The music started to play slowly
"So, what’s your name?" asked the Emcee
"Gaurav"
He looked straight at her and started to sing along
"Now and then I think of when we were together…"
Snow swirling like soft candy, falling headlong into the lap of the earth. He's alone as he breathes in the thin mountain air, or so he thinks. What's that sound in the background? Is he really alone? The sun is casting its last light, and he must hurry home. The storm is gathering, and he must cut through it and get to safety.
All the stories he's heard of fairies and ghosts dancing on the sides of cliffs beckoning lost wanderers off the edge come flooding back to him. The sound seems stronger, that was definitely the snapping of a twig as though something or someone was falling. But then shouldn't those unspeakable entities be able to move more noiselessly? Surely this isn't something otherworldly?
Suddenly he sees a glare in the distance, breaking through the mist that's begun to gather. Is it those fairy lights he mustn't follow, and then the sound again and a scream and some movement.
"Hey get off me!"
There's a small child staring back at him, blinking and clinging to him.
"Hello, I'm Shyam, I need to get back home soon, the storm is in full steam now. Who are you? What are you doing wandering about at a time like this?"
The child does not answer, but just stares back and then shyly takes Shyam's hand. Wordlessly, he stares leading him, it seemed towards the glare.
Somehow miraculously the storm seems to ease around them, and they move as though protected by a blanket of snow. The glare comes from the remains of what seems to be a fire lit under an overhanging cliff. Someone, or perhaps some people had huddled there to keep warm before moving on.
Shyam quickly moves towards the fire and feeds it a few more logs that are lying around. He turns around to get the child to safety, but he is gone. The storm has now gotten too strong and drives him back to the rock as he tries in vain to look for the child.
He lies there troubled, but soon passes out.
When dawn breaks, he finds himself sleeping under the same shelf of rock, safe and protected through the night.
Back at the village his mother is relieved to have him back at home, then shaking her head mumbles. "Ramu's grandchild Nandu lost his way in the storm last night. He had gone with them out to the same rock shelf where you sheltered last night. On the way back he got lost, seems to have fallen or slipped into a ravine, no one has been able to find him. I am so glad they were out there looking for him and found you."
"Nandu, tread carefully, keep your eyes on the fire, come back to it. Where are you? Come to where the fire is lit, it's safe there. Where are you?"
Thanks, Ruskin, for inspiring this, you bring my beloved hills to live.
