Musings & Reflections

Towards The Within . . .

8/13/2019

Sometime back one of my clients asked me during a therapy session whether I believed in God. I was flummoxed for a while and wondered whether sharing my personal beliefs would impact the therapeutic process. I worked around it and replied that it has been evolving over time.

Growing up under a broad canopy of religious and cultural ceremonials, the quest for God has been a perennial one in my life.

My first tryst with this question was in a book ‘My God Died Young’ by Sasthi Brata which I read in my adolescent years. In a period of relentless quest for personal identity, this book resonated deeply within me. I must have read and re-read it many times. Printed on poor quality paper in a cheap published edition, many words have faded away over time. It’s a pity that I am unable to locate the dog-eared copy of this book in my library.

His angst arising from a sense of alienation is beautifully encapsulated in the final passage of the book: “How does one go about building a house when the timber that holds the roof and the walls together seems so fragile…”

Sasthi Brata’s articulation of fear of “being in the world” and search for personal meaning drew me into the world of existentialism.

I started devouring books on existentialism, facilitated by the iconic Eswari Lending Library. My existential crisis found solace in the cramped bookshelves of the place. I first borrowed a battered copy of Rollo May’s ‘Existence’ and followed it up with his ‘Love & Will’ and ‘The Meaning of Existence’. His suggestion that in the long run, finding the center of strength within ourselves is the answer to many of the unanswerable questions in life, appealed to me immensely.

On many occasions, when I was cycling back home after picking up loads of books from Eswari, amidst the cool afternoon breeze in the almost empty roads of Madras, I was in harmony watching the world go by. With every push of the pedal, thoughts and ideas came floating in my mind and I would begin my search afresh from the books I had just borrowed.

One such tome, ‘The Doors of Perception’ by Aldous Huxley had a tremendous impact on me. I still vividly recall these words from the book, “The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend”

Perhaps it is this exploration through the doors of perception that was a determining factor in my choice of psychiatry. We don’t go through life painlessly and one of the most demanding and often ill understood pain is go through emotional crisis and psychological breakdown. For those in throes of it, it is an immensely agonizing and often, a lonely journey. RD Laing (another lasting influence on me!) mapped these unexplored frontiers of consciousness in many of his books. One can witness the poignancy of these struggles in the poetry of Sylvia Plath.

In my professional encounters I strive to respond to people in psychological distress with acceptance, accommodation imbued with compassion and that has been a continuing journey.

The circle of compassion keeps widening…

I feel close to God in my explorations in nature. I feel His presence in the silence of the forests. He responds to me in the chirping of birds. My hopes soar with their wings when I am overwhelmed with a sense of despondency. I see His beauty in the brilliant hues of flowers.

As I write this, there is a sudden gust of wind in the backyard. It catches the tiny bird sitting on top of a bare branch, unprepared. It sways, unperturbed, with the wind, feeling at one with it. And when the wind ebbs away, it starts singing its melodious note again.

It is life itself.

As Rembrandt commented, “Choose only one master…nature”

Flowing with the rhythms of nature is inherently a spiritual pursuit often lost amidst the frenzies of our everyday lives.

Let me conclude in the words of the enigmatic Chinese poet, Hanshan or Cloud Mountain as he is often referred to:

I’m on the trail to Cold Mountain.
Cold Mountain trail never ends.
Long clefts thick with rock and stones,
Wide streams buried in dense grass.
Slippery moss, but there’s been no rain,
Pine trees sigh, but there’s no wind.
Who can leap the world’s net,
Sit here in the white clouds with me?

LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR REFLECTIONS....DO POST THEM HERE!

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Among The Orchids...Again!

7/30/2019

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There is something irresistible about orchids.

When there was an announcement about the Annual Exhibition of the San Francisco Orchid Society, it was too tempting to resist. Ahalya and myself followed Oscar Wilde’s dictum “the best way to resist a temptation is to yield to it” and made our way to the venue which was adjacent to the sprawling San Francisco Botanical Garden.

The hall was filled to the brim with a profusion of colorful orchids of various vibrant hues and colorful patterns, the likes of which we had never set our eyes upon so far. They were extraordinarily diverse in their sizes, shapes, and colors. The enthralling variety of their colors and shapes kept us engrossed for several hours.

Orchids are repositories of vast histories

They made their debut 2000 years ago in the book ‘Enquiry into Plants’ by Theophrastus of Eresus , who is universally acknowledged as the “father of botany.” He commented that a porridge made of the bulbs of orchids increases vigor in sexual intercourse. At the same time, he also cautioned that while they may improve erections, they can also cause impotence. Not surprisingly the word orchid is derived from the Greek word orchis meaning testicle; a plant that looks like male testicles ought to have sexual effects of some kind! The myth about orchids’ aphrodisiac properties and its association with sex has lingered on for centuries.

The link between orchids and sex was reiterated by the great taxonomist Linneaus. He commented, “ the flowers’ [petals] themselves contribute nothing to generation, but only do service as bridal beds which the great Creator has so gloriously arranged, adorned with such noble bed curtains, and perfumed with so many soft scents that the bridegroom with his bride might there celebrate their nuptials with so much the greater solemnity. When now the bed is so prepared, it is time for the bridegroom to embrace his beloved bride and offer her his gift.”

Undoubtedly, orchids are an ancient flower and they have flourished through history. There is the suggestion that they were present at the same time as dinosaurs. They are the largest and most diverse family of flowering plants on Earth. How did they survive and evolve over time and what is the role of insects in their lives?

This attracted the attention of Charles Darwin. He was convinced that the orchid’s beauty was not a piece of floral whimsy. But he needed proof which came in the form of an orchid specimen from Madagascar sent by an orchid grower. It was a beautiful star shaped flower with an exceptionally long nectar spur. Upon seeing these strangely long spurs, he hypothesized that it was pollinated by a moth with an unusually long proboscis, one so long that it could reach into the depths of the nectar spur. He also postulated that the relationship was so specific, that if the moth were to become extinct on Madagascar, so too would the orchid. He outlined the complex relationships between these flowers and the insects that pollinate them and how this led to their co-evolution in his book ‘The Various Contrivances by which Orchids are Fertilized by Insects’. He posited that the incredible diversity of orchids is a function of co-evolution between these amazing flowers and their insect counterparts.

Darwin was effectively claiming that plants possessed intentions, that they had a sense of agency. It was a quantum leap to regard plants as fellow creatures, regulated by the same laws of life as those affecting human beings themselves!

The orchids’ survival is also a reflection of the myriad ways they entice the insects to pollinate. Some use sweet fragrances to attract certain bees and wasps, and others, putrid smells to attract flies. These happy insects are rewarded for their pollination with nectar. Others use striking colors that flying insects cannot resist. Still others which produce no nectar have come up with some innovative methods of attracting insects. Some mimic the smell of food. Flying insects approach the flower and crawl all over it looking for the nectar. It is not until they are covered in pollen that they give up and move on to the next one, transferring the pollen in their search for food.

Even more deceiving are the orchids that use pheromones to attract unsuspecting pollinators. They mimic the female bee or wasp visually, often using the same colors and tufts of hair and give off a chemical that smells identical to the pheromone that the female insect would emit. The gullible males climb on the flower and try to mate with it, an act described as ‘pesudocopulation’. During this futile attempt they pick up a gobbet of pollen which they pollinate when they visit another flower.

It is not surprising then that orchids have often been viewed as seductive femme fatales. One good example is HG Wells story “The Flowering of the Strange Orchid”. It is an eerie story about an orchid collector who buys an unknown species from the Andaman Islands. He is obsessed by his new acquisition and waits excitedly for it to sprout leaves and then flower. Finally, the great day arrives when the orchid’s “rich, intensely sweet scent” lures him like a seductress. He was found later lying dead at the foot of the strange orchid. The tentacle-like aerial rootlets were coiled tight around his neck.

Wonder whether it was a coincidence that the orchids’ ability to trick male wasps into pollinating them was not understood until its fictional portrayal as a wily seductress! The imaginary worlds of the writer and that of the serious scientist turn out to be part of a single interesting story!

Orchids seem to have a much more complex relationship to humans because they are so fragile yet resilient in their ability to withstand captivity and our human desire to possess them.

And they continue to bewitch us.

In the words of the journalist who wrote the engaging book The Orchid Thief, “To desire orchids is to have a desire that can never be fully requited.”

I had written about them five years ago: www.profraguram.com/musings--reflections/beguiling-orchids

Unfortunately, with 30,000 wild orchid species and hundreds of thousands of man-made hybrids, it's hard to name them with confidence and I thank Meena Subramaniam who helped me to identify some of them.

Glimpses at: photos.app.goo.gl/SAWbjru4GuiyfZVp6

Would appreciate if you post your comments here and NOT in Google Photos!

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MOCKINGBIRD DAYS..

6/29/2019

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Late one evening, I was sitting on the porch, reading a book. My attention was drawn by a medley of bird sounds. I was curious to locate the source of these sounds. To my great surprise all these sounds came from a lone grey bird sitting on top of a tree. When a hummingbird tentatively approached it, the grey bird imitated its call! It also made a prancing movement to chase the hummingbird off. As I was watching, there was a sound of a car horn in the distance and the bird let out a honk-like chirp! I was totally entranced with this amazing display. I was reminded of a video of David Attenborough in which a superb lyre bird made sounds like the click of a camera shutter and a chain saw. Over the next couple of days, it continued to keep me company without fail.

With the help of Sibley’s guide, I could identify it as the Northern Mockingbird. Curious about this strange bird, I started reading about it.

First described by Linnaeus in 1758, the mockingbird’s modern scientific name is Mimus polyglottos, which means “many-tongued mimic,” because rather than singing their own songs, these birds learn and repeat the songs of other species. In addition to birdsongs, northern mockingbirds can repeat dog barks, musical instruments, and sirens. A single bird can learn up to 200 songs during its lifetime and will continue to add new sounds to their repertoires throughout their lives. Its capacity to improvise is so extensive that it rarely repeats them, and the listener will never quite know what will come out of its beak next. It is veritably an avian karaoke machine!

The most famous American to keep a mockingbird as a pet was Thomas Jefferson, which he bought from a slave for five shillings. He also has the distinction of being the first U.S. President to keep a pet in the White House. Over the years, he would go on to own at least four mockingbirds. He even took a mockingbird with him to France, a trip during which the bird learned not only to sing French songs, but also to imitate the creaking of the timbers on the ship that carried it across the Atlantic. Jefferson would leave the bird free in the White House. It would fly around, perch on the president’s shoulder while he worked and even sing duets with Jefferson as he played the violin. Jefferson’s appreciation for this unique species is apparent in his suggestion to a friend that he should “teach all the children to venerate the mockingbird as a superior being in the form of a bird.”

Jefferson’s idea that the mockingbird is “a superior being in the form of a bird” is enshrined in many Native American cultures. The Cherokee embraced mockingbirds as the embodiment of cleverness and intelligence, while Hopi and other Pueblo peoples told stories in which the bird was the bringer of language who taught the people to speak. Further west, Maricopa Indians believed that dreaming of the mockingbird was a sign that the dreamer would soon receive special powers. Shasta Indian culture considered the bird a sacred guardian of the dead, while Papago and Pima folklore considered the mockingbird as a mediator whose song functions as a bridge between the human and animal worlds.

Its continuing appeal can be gauged by the fact that many states in USA have adopted the Northern Mockingbird as their state bird.

The first time I had a glimpse of the mockingbird was on the cover of Harper Lee’s classic novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, an unforgettable story of childhood in a sleepy Southern town and the crisis of conscience that rocked it. For me like many of that generation, the novel had an immediate appeal. In the words of JD Salinger in Catcher in the Rye "What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it”.

What lingers on in memory about the novel is the obvious symbolism of the mockingbird. It is the story of a girl nicknamed Scout growing up in a Depression-era Southern town. A black man has been wrongly accused of raping a white woman, and Scout's father, the resolute lawyer Atticus Finch, defends him despite threats and the scorn of many. Scout and her friend Jem learn that it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, because they don’t do anything to damage other creatures and therefore should never be harmed. In the novel, several characters can be emblematic of mockingbirds. Surely Tom Robinson, accused of a crime he didn’t truly commit, can be on the top of that list. Tom’s innocence stems from the fact that he tried to help a fellow human being and ended up losing his life over it, all due to circumstances outside of his control, such as being a black person. It also represents Boo Radley, who is a harmless victim of prejudice. Killing mockingbirds becomes shorthand for any gratuitous violence directed at innocent, unassuming individuals.

To kill a mockingbird is a sin, but to allow it to be killed is even worse.

As much as the song of the mockingbird is a joyous patchwork of melody, it is also a forceful call to defend its territory. I wonder whether by choosing the mockingbird as a predominant symbol in the book, Lee was also hinting that it is imperative for racially discriminated people to defend themselves more assertively.

Theater owners in Birmingham, Alabama, refused to screen the movie based on the book when it was ready for release, given the tone of the book. It was no coincidence that Martin Luther King Jr. was composing his “Letter From a Birmingham Jail” at the same time.
Unlike some birds like the Eagle, Hawk, Crow, and Vulture whose symbolisms are practically static, the representation of mockingbird has changed over time. In the Hunger Games series, the mockingbird was the other half of the genetically modified “mockingjay”, which turned into a symbol of rebellion in the second rebellion which emerges from the resentment towards the brutally repressive Snow regime.

Let me end with a Mayan tale of “How Mockingbird Became the Best Singer.”

Once there was a mockingbird who wanted to be a good singer. The family had little resources to support her talents.

One day she began working for a wealthy family of Cardinals. During her employ, a renowned singing teacher came into the area. Father Cardinal wanted his daughter to become an excellent singer, but she laughed at the idea, feeling she needed no such help. Her father was determined and finally offered her enough incentives in the form of gifts, to consent.

The daughter Cardinal went into the woods with her teacher. Mockingbird followed silently behind, listening. This went on for weeks until the professor got wholly frustrated with the daughter’s lack of interest and progress. Fearing the Father Cardinal’s reaction, he flew away.

There came a day when Father Cardinal wanted his daughter to perform for friends. She, of course, was terrified of telling her family that she hadn’t learned even a single song. She had, however, overheard mockingbird singing to herself during chores and decided to ask for help. Mockingbird hid herself in a tree trunk singing while the daughter pretended to sing.

Father Cardinal knew of the ruse, having seen Mockingbird sneak into the tree before the concert. After the applause quietened, Father Cardinal called for Mockingbird to come out. The tiny grey bird came out nervously. Father Cardinal proceeded to tell everyone the truth and called upon the mockingbird to sing once more. Her song was so beautiful that all her descendants would forever have a lovely singing voice while the Cardinal never would.

It is a story emphasizing that hard work, enthusiasm and persistence will truly pay off.

Mockingbird also teaches us how to be curious and continue to learn from experience. Every sound a mockingbird sings comes from exploration and discovery. It gains its strength through simulation blended with innovation.

We can draw inspiration from the mockingbird that life is an unfolding series of experiences and an abiding attitude to continue to learn from them is the essence of life.

It keeps me company on many an evening, inspiring muse within...

As I watch it
Our gaze slips
And the mockingbird
Finds its home
Among knotted branches...

Glimpses At: photos.app.goo.gl/sTWoYoiQNGxqnUu68

PS: Would appreciate if you post your comments here and not in Google Photos!

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Elegant Egyptian Vulture

6/5/2019

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While we were engrossed in watching a group of Griffon Vultures, I saw a pair of birds flying side by side, the ends of their wings almost touching each other. They were gliding and turning over in flight, each one keeping pace with the other. I wondered what they were, till one of them settled down in a branch afar. I took a good look and it was the Egyptian Vulture.

My first sighting of it was almost two decades ago, on the banks of Nelliguda lake in Bidadi on the outskirts of Bangalore. When I was looking through the binocular, I could sight an odd looking, pale, medium sized bird with a yellow face and a thin, long bill. It was unlike anything I had seen before. A quick glimpse of Salim Ali’s book informed me that it was an Egyptian Vulture. To my amazement, it was busy picking up a stone and throwing it on something on the ground. I got to know that it is one of those rare birds that can use tools! I was fascinated by its ingenuity!

As its name suggests, the Egyptian Vulture was the sacred bird of the ancient Pharaohs: its appearance is immortalized in the Egyptian hieroglyphic alphabet as the letter ‘A’. Since the ancient Egyptians thought that all vultures were female and were spontaneously born from eggs without the intervention of a male, they linked these birds to purity and motherhood. They were held to be sacred to the mother goddess Isis and were also themselves elevated to the rank of a deity as Nekhbet, patron of Upper Egypt and nurse of the Pharaoh. The priestesses of Nekhbet wore garments of white vulture feathers, and the goddess herself was often portrayed as a vulture-headed woman, her wings spread to provide protection. Her cult was in fact linked to the eternal cycle of death and rebirth because of the vulture's role in the food chain as a scavenger and its supposed parthenogenesis.

Although vultures figure prominently in ancient Egyptian mythology, they are also important in other cultures. They appear in Greek mythology, where Zeus transformed two enemies - Aegypius and Neophron - into vultures: the former became a Bearded Vulture, and the latter an Egyptian Vulture. This became the source of the Egyptian Vulture's Latin name, Neophron percnopterus. The latter half of the name is said to come from combining two Greek words: perknos, which means "dark", and pteros, which means "winged."

In Turkey and Bulgaria, the Egyptian Vulture is commonly referred to as akbuba, "white father". There is a story about one of these birds saving Muhammad from the claws of the golden eagle. According to this legend, the vulture was rewarded with eternal life and gained its white plumage as a symbol of purity, wisdom, and bravery.

The Egyptian Vulture also appears in the Bible with the name of râchâm, often translated as "gier-eagle". It is only mentioned as an "unclean" bird that should not be eaten. In fact the Egyptian Vulture is a very clean animal, as its feathers are disinfected by the UV light of the sun during flight, and its stomach acid kills off any bacteria it might have ingested. Further, its name contains the root for "love": since these birds are almost always seen in mated pairs.

Orally transmitted since centuries, these legends make obvious its status as a sacred bird. Alas in modern times it is often denigrated as a scavenger.

It is saddening that such an amazing bird and one that bears such cultural significance through history, is currently threatened by human activities. In the last fifty years there has been a sharp decline in its numbers, and the Egyptian Vulture is currently in the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. The causes of this sad decline have to do with pesticide poisoning, lead poisoning, the use of antibiotics on cattle and habitat destruction. If the trend is not reversed, there is a very real chance that all that will be left of this strikingly unusual bird would be just ancient myths.

There is a story of a Pharaoh who punished whoever killed these birds with death, making it the first ever protected bird species in history! Not surprisingly, this bird was also called “Pharaoh’s child”.

Wonder who is going to care for this child in these times when concern for environment seems to be least of the priorities in body politic.

I am not new to the world
Once I conquered the majestic skies
Soaring tirelessly
Now I crave for fresh air
My breath lost
In defiled fields…

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Inside Me Was The Stillness . . .

5/26/2019

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While we were birding in the Great Rann of Kutch in the company of Mr Jugal Tiwari whose knowledge of the Rann of Kutch is unsurpassed, I was quite enchanted by the melodious call tune of his mobile. One day I couldn’t hide my curiosity and asked him what bird it was, and he replied that it is the call of the White-naped Tit. It was very impressive to hear that he had assiduously studied the bird for over a decade with many research publications to his credit.

Mesmerized by his account, I was keen to have a glimpse of this often elusive bird.

Next day, early morning we drove down to a thorn forest where the bird had been sighted. We searched the terrain in early morning light for some time and suddenly we could hear the characteristic sweet melodious call of the White naped Tit.

We started scanning the trees and there it was, a little bird, scuttling busily among the branches.

It was a sight to behold. Photographing it was an extremely difficult task due to the speed at which it was moving through the branches in search of food. But watching it delicately making its way with an occasional musical whistling note was itself an enthralling experience.

On the way back, Mr Tiwari spoke to me at length about the travails of the White naped Tit. With little importance given to thorn-scrub forests, the globally threatened White-naped Tit is getting pushed towards extinction. Cutting thorn-scrub forest for fuelwood and illegal charcoal making, clearance for agricultural land and settlement construction, and over-grazing are principal causes for its habitat loss. The species nests in cavities in old trees, many of which are now being razed down, leading to nesting failure. In Kutch alone an estimated hundred Acacia trees per day are felled for the collection of twigs for toothbrush manufacture.

There are two separate populations of the bird in India. One is found in the thorn forests of Gujarat and Rajasthan and the other in the states of Karnataka, Kerala & Tamil Nadu. Endemic to India, recent surveys have found the species to be scarce and declining (maximum 3,500-15,000 individuals) across its range and absent from many previously occupied areas.

Despite intense efforts to look for the White-naped Tit even Salim Ali was unable to locate the species in its South Indian range and he wrote: “Unfortunately, the survey failed to come across this tit in spite of a very special look-out for it, and the species is obviously very rare in S. India”.

Recently, retracing Salim Ali’s “Mysore Birding Diary”, Dr Subramaniam and colleagues made an effort to locate the elusive bird in the Sathyamangalam range. Even though they heard what sounded like the call of the White naped Tit, they were unable to find it.
jlrexplore.com/explore/on-assignment/in-pursuit-of-an-elusive-tit

In Tamil Nadu, the White-naped Tit is known to occur only in Salem district till date.

It was indeed a precious moment to sight this dainty little bird,,,

Oh tit
As you urgently flit
High among bare branches
My heart flutters
With your wings
Watching your joyous, undulating flight
A strange sense of stillness
Settles within me

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Encounter With An Amazing Bird...

3/4/2019

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On the last day of our memorable sojourn at the Great Rann Of Kutch (thanks to the ever inspiring Mr Tiwari), we headed down to Modhva for some birding on the coast. Modhva is about six kilometers from the town of Mandvi. When we reached there, the town was unusually crowded as it was the day of Sankaranthi. People dressed in their finery thronged everywhere, many of them holding onto to very colorful kites. We decided to grab a bite of lunch before heading to Modhva. All the restaurants were jam packed. Finally we found one after waiting for a hour to get a seat. After a simple, tasty lunch we made our way to Modhva.

The beach at Modhva was completely deserted, except for an occasional fisherman returning from the sea with the day’s catch. The beach was spotless; the waves of the azure sea caressed the spotless beach gently with many birds foraging for the bounty that a fresh wave brought in. I was totally enraptured watching them silently at work.

As we made our way across the sands, Mr Tiwari told us about the behavioral patterns of many of the birds. We were truly entranced by his immeasurable knowledge of the avian world. Nearby we could see many greater flamingoes daintily making their way across the sands like trained ballerinas.

While I was lost in the magical scene in front of me, Mr Tiwari gently tapped my shoulder and with much excitement whispered, “Look at that bird which is walking among the oyster catchers doctor, it is the Indian Skimmer!”

And there it was... a single bird with a black and white plumage, black head cap, white face and collar and a distinctive long, thick, bright orange bill with a yellow tip. The colorful bill was quite unique in that the upper mandible was shorter than the lower one. Mr Tiwari told us that the bird is also known as the Indian Scissors-bill because of this unique configuration resembling a knife, which helps it to skim through the surface of the water, picking up aquatic prey. Flying a few inches above water, the skimmer drops its elongated lower mandible under the surface and moves over the water until its bill comes into contact with a fish, at which point it reflexively snaps shut! In doing so, they also need to be able to protect their retinas from bright sand and reflections off the water. To do this, skimmers’ pupils close vertically, forming thin slits that act as natural sunglasses. Skimmers are the only birds in the world with this kind of a mechanism.

The Indian Skimmer’s stronghold is the Chambal River and it was very strange to see a lonely one on the coast of Kutch. I wonder whether the Indian Skimmer might have arrived in Kutch, beyond their usual distribution range, looking for new habitats! Incidentally they have been reported in other far off places like Kanyakumari in Tamil Nadu!

We were very lucky to have had a glimpse of this unusual bird. Even the bird man of India, Salim Ali was not so lucky as he didn’t spot one during his bird surveys in Kutch during the 40’s.

It is a sad story for the Indan Skimmers like many others in the wildlife scenario in India especially in recent times. They are declining in numbers and there are just around 2500 in India. The International Union For Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources (IUCN), has classified the bird as a “Vulnerable” species as its population is declining drastically, a direct consequence of widespread degradation and disturbance of lowland rivers, lakes and other wetlands.

When flamingo sanctuaries are sacrificed to provide way for the bullet train, what chance does this beautiful bird has to survive?!

In these times when human need and greed are so salient, it is the skimmer attached to the ATM machine which is in public consciousness rather than the perilous plight of this bird.

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One Of A Kind!

2/20/2019

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It was our second day in the Great Rann of Kutch. The first day was quite extraordinary. We saw an amazing array of raptors…about them a little later!

We were keen to have a glimpse of the elusive Hypocolius. It has been a difficult bird to find because its entire breeding terrain is in the politically disturbed countries of Iraq and Iran. Birders used to look for it in the Arabian Peninsula and still do, but in the early 1990s a wintering population was found in the Kutch district of Gujarat by Shri Jugal Tiwari.

How often can you have the company of the person who was the first to report its presence in India? We were blessed indeed to have his wonderful company and all of us set out early in the morning in search of the elusive bird.

Shri Jugal Tiwari is an institution. Birding has been his passion and vocation for a long time and he has enriched our understanding of their habitats through several research publications. Notwithstanding his impressive stature, he is such a genial, friendly person with whom one connects immediately.

We passed through a thorn forest and scrub land and Shri Jugal Tiwari pointed out to a rather nondescript tree and mentioned that it is Slavadora Persica, often referred to as Miswak or tooth brush tree. Its branches have been used for centuries to clean the teeth. We have been using Meswak toothpaste for quite a while and saw the origins of it for the first time! It is mentioned that Prophet Mohammed recommended the use of Miswak for oral hygiene.

Hypocollius seems to prefer this tree and we waited patiently, scanning the branches for its presence. Shri Jugal Tiwari whispered that it was hiding in the tree in front of us and we waited with bated breath for its appearance.

We could see it fluttering through the leaves and finally after sometime, it came up onto the top branch of the tree to offer us a good glimpse. It was a slim bird with a long tail, slight crest and thick, short bill. Its shape and soft, satiny plumage was that of a waxwing. We could have easily mistaken it for a bulbul from a distance. Over the next few minutes we saw several of them flitting from one tree to another.

Why is it so special to have a glimpse of Hypocolius?

There are very few birds that form a single species and single genus and these are often referred to as “monospecific families”, also known as “monotypic families”…they are one of kind!

A few years ago I went in search of one such species..the Ibis Bill in Nameri. Little did I know that spotting this bird would involve floating down the Jia Bhoroli river in a makeshift coracle. I gingerly stepped into to it while it was already swaying alarmingly with the tide. As we were going down the river, the boatman excitedly pointed out to the presence of the Ibis Bill which was sauntering across the rocks on the banks. It was a memorable experience to have a glimpse of it in the fading light of the evening. But soon it began to rain and we were steered towards the rocky banks. The boatman just turned the coracle upside down and it offered us protection as an umbrella against the onslaught of rain. That we continued to sail through the river for the next few hours despite the downpour is another story!

There are birds that one has heard of or seen in books that captures the imagination, but never had a chance to see...and then one day, there it is in front of you, as if some mythical creature has stepped out of a storybook and come to life. There's no thrill quite like it.

It is these moments that makes birding an unforgettable experience!

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At Solapur Again . . .

1/10/2019

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There are moments in which we feel an intense connection with the world around us. In many of my sojourns into nature, I have experienced a deep tranquility emanating from around and settling within me. These are moments of indescribable transcendence filled with intense joy.

One such occasion was when I was birding two years ago in the grasslands of Nannaj. It was a hot, humid afternoon. After walking around in the beautiful grasslands, savoring its riches, with hosts of larks and sandgrouses keeping company with us, we settled down in a hideout with the hope of sighting one of the most elusive of birds in the subcontinent:the great Indian bustard.

We must have spent several hours sitting in the hideout, fervently hoping for a glimpse of the bird. What unraveled over the course of next few hours will remain deeply entrenched in my memory. A male great Indian bustard gently made its way across the barren land several yards in front of us, where there was a pool of water. Soon it engaged in a display of its finery and to our great amazement and surprise, a petite female walked across! What happened in the next few hours was an experience to cherish. The male stood with its head held back as much as possible, its tail cocked, wings drooping down. It slowly started inflating the gular pouch which was now hanging like a balloon in front of the legs. It produced a deep moaning call to further highlight the effect. But the female did not appear to be too interested and kept a safe distance. As the male wandered off into the grasslands, the female kept pace. We lost sight of the female soon after, as she went deep inside the grasslands. Meanwhile the male continued to engage in elaborate displays. Time was ticking by and the sun was setting in the horizon. In that magical moment in fading light, the female walked out and laid herself down on the ground. The male tapped her on the head a few times and after a brief while mated with her. It was a moment of intense exaltation to watch them as the setting sun caressed the grasslands with golden hues. It was also a moment tinged with sadness about the fragile existence of these majestic birds.

When I went back to Solapur a few weeks ago, I was informed that there are no more great Indian bustards in the Nannaj grasslands. It was a great shock to me that these magnificent birds were no more in their natural habitat…a habitat that is being eroded mercilessly by human avarice and ill conceived plans of industrialization by those in power. Despite their tremendous biodiversity, the grasslands are in throes of grave peril. With their habitat dwindling over time, the great Indian bustard has also vanished from Nannaj.

Soon after my return, by sheer chance I came upon a book by Thom van Dooren, Flight Ways: Life and Loss at the Edge of Extinction. It is a remarkable oeuvre. It focuses on the precarious lives of five bird species, including the Indian vulture. Van Dooren raises many ethical questions about human complicity in their fragile existence. His concepts of the ‘dull age of extinction’ in which their ‘flight ways’ are compromised are useful frameworks to explore the plight of endangered birds. I was particularly moved by his narration of what life is like for those endangered birds who must live on the edge of extinction, balanced between life and oblivion, protecting the young and yet at the same time grieving for their dead. His narration is quite poignant, outlining ways in which we can care for these birds in peril.

Reading Flight Ways also reminded me of another gem of nature writing; The Moth Snowstorm; Nature and Joy by Michael McCarthy. He wrote, “The natural world is not separate from us, it is part of us. It is as much a part of us as our capacity for language; we are bonded to it still, however hard it may be to perceive the union in the tumult of modern urban life. Yet the union can be found, the union of ourselves and nature, in the joy which nature can spark and fire in us”.

But often nature is framed as a resource, by viewing forests, trees and the grasslands, in this instance at Nannaj, as economic and marketable entities to satisfy ever-growing human needs….and in the process, the existence and survival of birds like the great Indian bustard is lost sight of.

I was also reminded of Denise Levertov’s poem about our ambivalent relationship with nature, which I quote in full below..

We live our lives of human passions,
cruelties, dreams, concepts,
crimes and the exercise of virtue
in and beside a world devoid
of our preoccupations, free
from apprehension—though affected,
certainly, by our actions. A world
parallel to our own though overlapping.
We call it “Nature”; only reluctantly
admitting ourselves to be “Nature” too.
Whenever we lose track of our own obsessions,
our self-concerns, because we drift for a minute,
an hour even, of pure (almost pure)
response to that insouciant life:
cloud, bird, fox, the flow of light, the dancing
pilgrimage of water, vast stillness
of spellbound ephemerae on a lit windowpane,
animal voices, mineral hum, wind
conversing with rain, ocean with rock, stuttering
of fire to coal—then something tethered
in us, hobbled like a donkey on its patch
of gnawed grass and thistles, breaks free.
No one discovers
just where we’ve been, when we’re caught up again
into our own sphere (where we must
return, indeed, to evolve our destinies)
—but we have changed, a little.
It is an evocative reflection of our inability to see ourselves as part of nature, except for those fleeting moments in our sojourns in the wild, when we feel in tune with it.
Wonder whether it will last for long…

Glimpses of an earlier account of the great Indian bustard from an earlier sojourn is at: www.profraguram.com/musings--reflections/at-the-edge-of-extinction1

A few photos from the recent visit at: photos.app.goo.gl/NHi2ZiveLtszwYvK6

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Vietnam & Beyond . . .

10/4/2018

7 Comments

My first experience of war was when I was eleven years old. The unexpected incursion by the Chinese after vowing allegiance to the principles of Panchasheel, took everyone by surprise. Needless to say, the ill prepared Indian army incurred heavy losses and even in down south in Chennai, we feared that the enemy may attack us anytime.

The only time in history when Chennai came under a hostile attack by the enemy was during the second world war when a German ship Emden sneaked close to the harbor of the city and fired a volley of shells in the middle of the night. I heard from my father about the ensuing panic and people fleeing the city in droves. He had to stay put as he was working in the Tamilnadu police. Our neighbor, who later became a judge of the Madras High Court, once took us to the high court complex to show us the spot hit by an Emden shell.

With this unsettling incident deeply embedded in the memory of the Madras populace, the city swung into action to prepare for an assault by the Chinese. All the glass windows in the house were covered with black paper overnight and frequent drills were carried out with air raid sirens to prepare us as to what should be our response in the advent of an air attack.

Thankfully, in spite of our worst fears, the Chinese never ventured south…

Looking back, as a child I felt very vulnerable and feared that the worst might happen anytime.

All wars leave a deep imprint . . .

One of the most iconic images of children caught in the midst of war is the picture of a young girl running naked down on a road, screaming in pain after a napalm attack incinerated her clothes and her skin during the Vietnam war.

There were more such unsettling images when Ahalya and myself watched Ken Burn’s searing documentary “The Vietnam War”. It is an encyclopedic account of the war running for 18 hours. Burns and his partner Novick have an amazing skill for making an immensely complex story, comprehensible.

The documentary begins with the sound of helicopter blades whirring. Vietnam War was mostly fought from above. Thirty six million sorties were made by the helicopters during the war! And in the final episode you see the last helicopter leaving the roof of the American embassy in Saigon.

How was this war fought?

Even by the standards of 20th century warfare, America’s war in Vietnam was harsh and brutal. Three times the munitions used in all theatres of World War II were dropped over Vietnam. For a decade, the world’s most powerful air force dropped every explosive and incendiary substance known to man, along with a hefty dose of dioxin-based herbicide, Agent Orange. The My Lai massacre was the most horrific atrocity of the Vietnam War when American soldiers herded and slaughtered scores of terrified unarmed villagers.

More than 58,000 Americans died during the full arc of the war, an estimated quarter-million South Vietnamese soldiers, and anywhere from 1 to 3.2 million Vietnamese in total; many of the latter died from explosives dropped by U.S. bombers.

The mainstream media portrayal of Vietnam War has largely been through Hollywood films like the ‘Apocalypse Now’. In all these films the north and south Vietnamese people were nameless extras playing the enemy. What is distinctive about ‘The Vietnam War’ is its focus on both sides of the war. There are numerous, deeply moving narratives of men and women from both sides who fought the war. An American soldier sums up the nightmare of killing a stranger by saying, “That wasn’t the only casualty. The other casualty was the civilized version of me.” Often the point of view of the Vietnamese witnesses is consistently deeper and more philosophical than that of the Americans.

For a country that never faced major invasions, it is perplexing to understand America’s aggressive postures, which continue till now. It sits uneasily with the country’s constant trumpeting of the importance of individual freedom and its conviction that it is a force for good in the world.

What made the Vietnam War uniquely horrifying was the sheer pointlessness of it all.

The futility of Vietnam War is poignantly recaptured by its most celebrated writer, Bao Ninh in his classic novel, The Sorrow Of War. Kien, the prime narrator in the novel comments “In this war people have unmasked themselves and revealed their true, horrible selves. So much blood, so many lives were sacrificed for what?"

I was also reminded the powerful book on Syrian war, “We crossed the bridge and it trembled” by Wendy Pearlman. It chronicles the messy conflict and the worst humanitarian crisis after World War II through moving narratives. A young man maimed in the war comments, "In this whole thing you don't matter. You as an individual - your aspirations, your ideas about what is right…mean absolutely nothing. All this suffering is for nothing…it is futile”.

As Wilfred Owen poignantly wrote in his poem “Anthem For Doomed Youth”;

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

It is a strange fact that the traumatic debris of war inspires and animates creativity.

Burns and Novick bring us no immediate hope or assurance or comfort in their epic portrayal of the Vietnam War, but they make us question as to what it is to be human.

It is a reminder that the seeds of war perhaps lie buried within all of us …

Feel free to post your comments here . . .

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Ambling Along The Corridors Of Ekambareswarar Temple . . .

9/9/2018

3 Comments

When we walked into the precincts of the Ekambareswarar Temple in Kanchipuram, we were surprised and were overwhelmed by its sheer size. It is one of the largest temple complexes in Kanchipuram. But alas, our wonder lasted just a few minutes. As we ambled along its corridors, we were deeply saddened to witness the sheer callousness and negligence that engulfed us. Electric wires, ropes and sundry items were carelessly strung around the beautifully carved pillars, defacing carefully etched works of art. Yet despite these man-made disfigurements, the pillars still exude a wonderful charm and beauty.

This is all the more poignant in the context of one of the legends associated with the temple. According to folklore, it is believed that Parvati worshipped Shiva in the form of a Prithivi Linga, made of sand, under a mango tree. One day, Vegavati River overflowed and threatened to engulf the Shiva Linga. To avoid it being swept away Parvati embraced the Linga. Touched by the gesture, Shiva appeared in person and married her. Hence he is also referred to as Tazhuva kuzhainthaar ("He who melted in her embrace") in Tamil. Hardly would Shiva have envisioned the kind of embrace that is strangling these beautiful pillars!
The neglect is not just confined to the pillars. More than fifteen years ago, the Skanda idol that is part of an exquisite Chola era Somaskanda bronze idol dating back to the tenth century went missing. The Somaskanda bronzes are a renowned icon in South India – it consists of Skanda as a child, flanked by his parents Shiva and Parvathi. The Ekambareswarar temple too once had such a magnificent Chola bronze. A replacement was quietly kept in its place and devotees have since then been worshipping it, no questions asked.

Twenty five years after the loss of the Skanda icon, the temple priests along with the executive officer submitted a proposal to create a new Somaskanda bronze idol, as the original metal idol had deteriorated to the point where it could no longer be taken out in procession. The chief sthapati (architect) of the temple inspected the original idol and determined that it was composed principally, about 75 per cent in his estimate, of gold. Permission was obtained to re-cast the idol but the quantity of metals to be used differed from the original. The idol, whose total weight was 50kg, was to contain metals in the ratio of 80 per cent copper, 12 per cent brass, 2 per cent tin, 1 per cent silver and only 5 per cent gold. Posters were put up to collect gold for the new idol. The new idol was readied and consecrated. However, some devotees grew suspicious and questioned as to what was the real content of the idol. Further enquiries and investigation revealed that there was no gold in the newly made idol in spite of the temple authorities collecting more than 5kg of gold for it. The mystery of the missing gold still remains unsolved!

It is tragic that temples which are not merely places of worship but depositories of rich architectural and aesthetic heritage have been systematically plundered, pillaged and defaced over time.
This is not a comfortable narrative.

But I hope that the beauty of these pillars that have stood the ravages of time and years of neglect assuage your discomfort…

Have a look at them at: photos.app.goo.gl/BbDPtuosNb5HRYP6A

And feel free to post your comments here and not in Google Photos!

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Towards The Within . . .

Among The Orchids...Again!

MOCKINGBIRD DAYS..

Elegant Egyptian Vulture

Inside Me Was The Stillness . . .

Encounter With An Amazing Bird...

One Of A Kind!

At Solapur Again . . .

Vietnam & Beyond . . .

Ambling Along The Corridors Of Ekambareswarar Temple . . .

Dr Raguram

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