The Eagle has landed

Not the noisy crows. Nor the shrill mynah. She is back. Solitary. Regal. Many a nights she spent on the branches just outside my window, waking me up with a single cry early in the morning. Then she'd spread her wings and take off as another day began. Just as suddenly, she disappeared. But now, she is back.

Canny Fashion

Canine fashion 2012. Street smart, dual purpose (nightwear, city wear) and just perfect for the mild Kolkata Autumn. Hazra Crossing, this morning, 9.00 am

Too Crow-ded

Ah. Gone is the terrible chill that creeps around the time of the Ganga Sagar mela and settles in to our top floor north west facing flat and seriously gets me depressed. I really don't relish holidays or weekends "chilling" at home, in winters! So, last Sunday (or perhaps the one before that), armed with a madur, a bag full of books, my cell, a cushion and a thick shawl, I crept up to the terrace. Took a few minutes to settle down properly and then ah! How I soaked up the warmth. I should do this more often, I thought. I guess I haven't done this at all last winter and this winter, this was my first. And how good of all the other residents to keep away, leaving the terrace to me! And strangely, even the crows weren't around. Great! Thanks to Ma's daily ritual of feeding them and their progeny for nearly 10 years, perhaps longer, anyone's entrance to the chhad has pavlov's dog effect on them - hundreds of crows, cawing and congregating like in the Hitchcock night mare.

But, this bliss was shortlived. Soon, one by one, the crows started arriving. Cawing and flying around, as if calling their brethren. Argh. It was so irritating. I looked around to see if I could find something I could throw at the one nearest to me, and found my cell phone. Which ofcourse I couldn't / wouldn't hurl at them. So, I decided to take a photo. (Why? dont ask...one of those spur of the moment things). However, that worked. As soon as I would point the cell at any crow, it would swoop away. Amazing. It would return but after a while. And so there I was, half sitting, half lying on the madur, like a mad lady pointing at the crows in turn, shouting take that you foul fiend, you! And I chuckled madly as I did so.

And what do you know, the elderly gentleman who too had crept up to the adjacent terrace for a bit of the sun, crept downstairs as quietly as he had come!

Anyhow, I have had my one whole day of sun-on-the-terrace for this winter. Now with Saraswati Pujo, weather is decidedly warmer and the winter is gone!

PS: - If you wish to read about Saraswati pujo's past and more fun activities on our terrace, here are two past-posts for you:

Saraswati Pujo Post - Belatedly

A roof with a view

Dotty over Dora

We've never had any pet and are not about to (discounting my mother's daily ritual of throwing scraps to crows on the terrace every evening). The closest we ever came to having a pet was when we moved into a new appartment building and met our new neighbours (across the landing) walking an adorable, warm-golden labrador. Slowly we got introduced, started dropping into each other's homes and became friends. And that is how Dora came into our lives. But she was unlike any dog we had ever known. No boisterous jumping around, joyous barking, running, shuffling and the hundred and one mad cap things that dogs do when they are happy (which is pretty much most of the time...dogs are generally happy creatures) or snarl, growl when they are upset. Her owners, a lovely elderly couple were very proud of her behaviour.

She was very cuddly and a very warm golden and most visitors would pat her or cuddle her. She exhibited no emotions. Not exactly a stoic tolerance. More a regal disregard. Yes that is how she was! If ever she found the doors to both our apparments open, she'd silently walk into ours and head straight for Ma and sit obediently in front of her on her hind paws and look beseechingly up at her. If ma ignored her (or was a bit late in responding), she'd raise a paw and gently lay into on my ma's foot. This meant - I want a sweet. Ma would give it to her, she would eat it and depart as silently as she had come. No loitering around.

Once a year, on Dora's birthday, a yellow ribbon would be tied to her tail and she would be fed as many sweets as she wanted to eat - or as many sweets that friends and neighbours would bring for her. We did too. All of the four years she was our neighbour. We no longer felt aunty and uncle's dotting over Dora strange.

She developed a rather prominent tumour on her under belly and despite a lot of medical intervention, slowly deteriorated. One day as I entered our building, I found Uncle walking unsteadily towards me. "Dora is no more," he said, his voice breaking and very uncharecteristically for him, leaned down and put his head on my shoulders. At that moment, I felt his loss as deeply as he did.

Now our lovely, gentle, polite Uncle too is no more. But there is one story we never tire of recounting. Once a long time ago, they had bought three tickets on a flight to Bagdogra. While boarding, the steward said that a dog wouldn't be allowed in the cabin. Uncle said that then all three wouldn't go. The captain agreed to let Dora travel in the cabin - strapped into her own seat. "And how was she during the flight?" I asked. "A bit nervous during take off, but after that she behaved like a lady."

And I know that they are in a better place, Uncle, gentle, loving walking with the lady like Dora by his side!

The Duck's revenge

On our way back from a field trip to Morigaon district, we made a small stop at the Morigaon haat where my colleague bought a "Pati haan" or Haans as in Bengali, duck in English. It was just before Bihu and he thought he'd get a good price here compared to Guwahati. He was back in 10 minutes, a duck in a white bag which he tied securely and put on the floor next to the driver.

The bag moved as the duck squirmed inside, giving me anxious moments. What if it got out of the bag, flapping its wings and obscuring the driver's vision and pecking furiously and all of us - car and duck in the ditch?

That did not happen. The duck soon settled down, resigned to its fate and was quite silent through our long drive back to guwahati, tea break at chandrapur, visit to Guwahati university and coffee break. When my colleague got dropped off at his home, with the duck, I almost felt a kinship with it, feeling guilty about my erst-while drooling over visions of roast duck.

Two days later, my last day in Guwahati, we went to Bezera in Kamrup district for a field trip. This took better part of the day. We stopped at "Kake da Dhaba" run by locals but the Kaka at the till for a very late lunch! My colleague took out a tiffin box carrier the duck curry he had made. We ate heartily. Only the driver was reluctant. Why, I asked? Because old ailments resurface if you take duck meat.

Really?? Old wives tales, I thought, mentally. I paid scant attention, busy as I was stuffing myself and wondering if I'd make the flight (all kinshop forgotten).

Back in Kolkata, I was feverish. Next day I could not goto office. I suffered from the most agonizing pain in my jaws thanks to which I was on a liquid diet for nearly a week. Severe Upper respiratory tract infection. I thought I had won the last bout of respiratory infections, in November. The Duck's revenge was complete.

There I was jaws aching, nose, throat sore, constant coughing and head spinning from the barrage of useless information on what I should have done and worn back in Assam so that I would have been right as rain, now and not severely ill.

I was too weak to protest - It was not the incorrect clothing or the dust or even the cold. It was the Duck.

An Alpine in Kolkata

The auto I was in, took a sharp turn onto the flyover and it tilted on its rear wheel and just as I thought we'd topple over...a car rushed past and out of the rear window, popped out an ENORMOUS FURRY head: A full grown (given the size of its head), furry Saint Bernard, enjoying the breeze, a enormous tongue (like a babies bib) lolling. I kid you not.

All of us including the driver oohed and aahed and had something to say about it.

But don't these enormous, furry, cuddly dogs ...with small beer casks tied on their collars ... revive people stranded / buried deep in snow...somewhere in the alps? Aren't they alpine? Meaning from a cold clime. Lots of snow and sub zero temperature is normal for them.

Why bring them to Kolkata of all places, snugly tucked in the eastern armpit of India (no wonder its - Kolkata and not the St. Bernard - so sweaty and odourous)...which itself is located in the Torrid Zone. Sheer cruelty.

Perhaps, it was brought as a pup to Kolkata and has only known hot and humid weather and is quite at home and was enjoying the gentle breeze...

A divine display

Yesterday was awesome. Nature put on a very special show for our benefit….First of all, the day was unusually warm. With the mercury dipping to 1.0 deg only a few days back, it was heavenly to stand on the verandah and not feel the chill.

Perfect weather for a trip to the small oasis in this ugly concrete jungle that is Gurgaon: Leisure Valley Park. Overcrowded on weekends, we had the park all to ourselves except the few couple…they were anyhow, tucked away in the remotest of corners! Like the warm weather, another bit of luck, eh?

A little inside, the small enclosed rose park was a RIOT of colours. Roses of all hues, a single rose, big as a small tea cup to tiny clusters …what a sight to behold. After a pleasant amble, we left and made our way to the parking lot outside. Ah, life was already smelling of roses!!

And then, we saw this most amazing display, put on, as if, just for the two of us. From the far end of the near empty large parking lot, up they came without a warning, a huge swarm (they were definitely not looking like a flock) of the common myna (shalik in bengali), putting up an uncommon display. They came at an angle, swooped low and soared up, and at some hidden signal, the whole swarm separated into different flocks and flew in opposite direction, and then came together again and again and just as suddenly, flew to different trees and sat on the topmost / outmost branches, sort of outlining each tree and the whole process began again. I don't know much about birds habits (city dwelling ignoramus that I am), but I don’t think it was something common. The parking attendant and his two cronies too were watching it, agape. I wish I had carried a camera with me. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope where the figures, merge, meld and break up in perfect symmetry.

To imagine, I have lived so long and yet have never seen so many roses of some many hues, birds in rapturous display...and it must have always been, as long as birds have been, as long as roses have been....

I carried the images with me even as A negotiated his way through the totally un-symmetric chaotic mess of roads, cars, metro diggings, back to our home.

Bull at Haat

Mardi was my shopping day, during our stay in France. I really looked forward to the Mardi Marche rather than the cheaper Super Marche. Oh the joys of going through the stalls with the beautifully arranged fresh produce sold by the farmers themselves. The aroma of roast chicken would fill the air (and have my stomach growling). Also, this was my chance to practice my spoken french! The farmers were a most friendly lot.

Back in India, we shopped as and when required. Didn't have a fixed day or shop. Meat, fish, veggies were A's department. Condiments were mine. We had been meaning to go to the nearby Wazirabad "haat" for quite some time. And recenlty, shaking off our intertia and mind block, we did just that. Despite the incredible dust which had us all sneezing and choking, it was very enjoyable. Stalls were marked by bamboo poles pegged in the ground with the produce spread on plastic sheets in between. The bamboo poles not only marked out each stall but were used to hold a long length of wire from which bulbs were suspended! The same crying out of wares, prices, haggling. Different place, different people, but the ethos was more or less the same.

There were some very marked differences (this is India after all). Bright splashes of colour, more crwoded and not at all orderly or quiet and enormous amount of dust. But that was not the main difference. There was a small skirmish when the bamboo poles supporting the electrical wire fell and down came the entire length. Some one yelled "Batti wala ko bulao". Apparently each haat have their own "batti waala". Now here's the difference: a herd of buffaloes had pushed their way in and had knocked the poles down! The batti wala fixed the problem, the bulls were gently allowed to pass. Nobody noticed and life went on. I wouldn't have either, normally, had I not been thinking about the marches!

On my second visit to the haat, I got a severe shock when I suddenly found an ENORMOUS black and white bull breathing down my neck. Actually, it was just trying to sample some of the veggies on display. No one chased it away. Naturally. Given it's size and the fact that the passage between the vendors was really narrow, it would have started a stampede. I gingerly stepped away and kept a wary distance between us. The bull hung around for quite some time tyring this and that and it was quite sweet - like an overgrown bumbling baby!

Am looking forward to my next shopping day. What a wide variety of greens (and reds,yellows and other colours too), very fresh, affordable and pesticide free (many more varieties of creepy crawlies each time I empty my shopping bag). And of course the bull adding the final, inimitable Indian touch to it!

Obituary

Addwaita passed away on Friday. He succumbed to liver failure. And that ofcourse made headlines and that is how I learnt about it. And why should that be?

Well to begin with, Addwaita was 255 years old. At firt, it sounds incredible, even awe inspiring to note that when he was born, Mozart, Beethoven, Napoleon weren't born, America was not "Independent", England had not yet become the mighty empire it subsequently became. He lived through numerous wars including the American, French and Indian struggle for independence, world wars, voyage to the moon, and when he died, voyager had aready set upon it's 10 year voyage to Pluto.

Consider that all the while that history was being shaped, changed, he was oblivious to it all, far away from his kith and kin, living his lonely existence so far, far away, in Calcutta.

He was a giant tortoise brought by some brits from the Seychelles and presented to Robert Clive. He was not the only one. It is on record that there were three of them. Two of them died much before and so it was Addwaita who whiled his time away, alone, a prisoner at first in Clive's home in Bengal and then for the last 130 years of his life at the kolkata zoo.

The incredible awe that I felt for his longevity, very soon, gave way to a sense of overwhelming sadness.

What a terrible curse then, this tremdendous exile.

Atlast Adwaita is free...and i sincerely hope reunited with his (hopefully equally long-living kins) in tortoise heaven.

Curiouser & curiouser

Monkey menace is a big problem in Delhi and the surrounding areas. Hordes of monkey pick up a spot / area, not to live in, but to visit, frolic, destroy everything in sight and occasionally attack a passer by and vanish en masse, just as suddenly as they appear. I had a taste of it first hand last year, (Local Fauna).

Recently, as I came out of the Ministry of Health & Family Welfare, I found the compound swarming with monkeys. Small, tiny, medium and big. Hopping, jumping, walking, sitting, monkeys everywhere. These are seriously city smart monkeys and not to be trifled with. A guard, who saw me run back inside, very kindly, escorted me right to the main gates and I was thankful for his presence.

The monkeys are not to blame. More and more houses, shops, malls, offices are coming up, depriving them of their natural habitat. They are being forced to survive in a hostile overcrowded city, and have become, really aggressive.

This morning, as I was entering the ministry premises, a man cycled past me inside the compound, at a leisurely place and behind him on the bicycle, sat a Langur. It was chained to the cycle and it sat there serenely, its long tail, hanging down and in fact was trailing on the path. There were no monkeys in sight.

This was not a mere chance occurrence. Believe it or not, this is a tried and successfully tested solution to the monkey menace. It is painless and brings instant but temporary relief. The presence of a solitary langur is enough to cause the most aggressive horde disappear in a jiffy. I don’t know what the logic behind the monkey's aversion to langur, but it seems to work. The resident welfare association of many a housing estate have hired the services of men with langurs. Usually, these are street side performers who earn a living from little acts involving monkeys or langurs. All the chap has to do is to walk about the menaced area with his pet / captive langur on a leash, or cycle past and hey presto, the monkeys disappear! Curiouser & curiouser, as Alice would have said.

Survival of the fittest

Add one more to the list of things that couples do when they find themselves wide awake in the "wee small hours of the morning": Go on a murderous rampage.

A woke up around 5am to go to the loo. I woke up instantly being a light sleeper; Actually more than that, being terrified of being by myself in the dark. I asked him to switch on
the lights. Which he did. Which is when we realised that hovering over us was a swarm of mosquitoes. And for a frozen moment, we stared at each other - them (the hovering mosquitoes, frozen in mid-hover and I, frozen in my supine position, A, with his hand still on the light switch. The moment passed. And as if on cue, my arms started itching from a million bites.

Both sides were galvanised into action. A
tackled the ones above, swatting at them with a face towel and I, with newspapers (I am a sudoku fiend and must, must do one last one in the newspaper before lights out), my slippers (they are very effective) and even my pillows (yukh...will have to change the pillow cases).

We are on the 11th floor. Its pretty windy up here. How in the world can these tiny things fly so high. Or do they take the elevator? Or perhaps a single intrepid pair did. The Eve and Adam of this clan. Then they settled in nicely and rapidly multiplied and took over.

We won the first round. Within 10 minutes or so, their numbers dwindled to a scant 2 or 3. This small victory more than made up for the red splotches on the creamy walls and floors (not to mention, perhaps the underside of the pillows...eeks...I didn't dare look).

But the survivors were a tough lot. When we bent to the floor, they zoomed up to the ceiling and when we stood up, they sank to the floor. Clever little fiends. Whoever thought of intelligence in mosquitoes? That is not in the scheme of things. They are born, they breed, bite (cause malaria -- only the female anopheles mosquito, dengue -- these only bite in the mornings...yes its true...) and then they die. That's it. But here were 3 mosquitoers doing guerilla warfare.

We'd switch off the lights and quieten down and within seconds, there'd be the irritating nnnnnnnnnnnn in our ears. We'd switch on the light (taking turns) and find them, innocently sitting on the highest and farthest wall. And so on it went. A tie.

They might have outwitted us and pooh-poohed away our brute strength, but the war is not over yet...

"Remember to buy a spray or mosquito coil tomorrow," I said to A, as we decided to call it quits for the night (or pre-sunrise) and lay down and quickly pulled the covers over our heads. Survival of the fittest, afterall....

Perseverance Pays

Its that time of the year again. When the birds decide to rear a family. I guess they decide on it and then build a nest and then try for a family and then lay eggs, hatch them and rear their little ones. And their success rate must be 100%, no infertility. None has been reported. So far. How else does one explain the self confident tearing hurry and the tremendous nest making activity. Their birdly body clock ticking away loudly inside their tiny bodies.

Back in Kolkata, a group of crows would every year, select a ledge inside our verandah to build their nest despite all sorts of intervention from us – mainly me, (my parents being of the more tolerant variety), and once their babies hatched, they flew away till next year and so they continue, to this day.

Not many Crows around here in Gurgaon. Instead, there are pigeons who make quite a racket, flapping their wings against our bathroom door and throwing up ghostly shadows against the frosted windowpanes. But they keep their family rearing activities out of sight. Not so with the Mynas. One tiny but extremely tenacious pair has decided to use the funnel of our chimney (not the ones which go above a fireplace, but one of those new fangled things that goes over a cooking range) which sticks out of a hole cut into the kitchen window. I was startled by the clanking noises inside the funnel and found out that they had decided to build a nest in it. And being the vicious animal that humans are (should not generalise like this; perhaps its only me), switched on the chimney so that it immediately expelled the pathetic little twigs that they had put in. The minute I switched it off, the birds were back. So back and forth it continued in the morning as I was getting ready to leave for work. I left instructions to have the mouth of the funnel boarded up with some netting. The tiny little birds fought valiantly and pecked our maid Kusum on the arm, and she immediately feigned extreme injury and refused to do any cleaning that day. This morning, they were back again.

Robert Bruce said that if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. True. The birds haven’t heard of Robert Bruce but they are trying and trying. I can of course be really bad and switch the chimney on after they have built the entire nest. But I wont. Can’t help but admire their tenacity. Soon, a baby myna or mynas will fill the chimney and kitchen with their tiny cheeps.

Perseverance obviously pays.

My family and other animals

(Warning - this post is full of typos...am typing at great speed, post work)!


As far as family is concerned, here in Delhi, it is just the in-laws and me (A is away in far away France). But we have plenty of animals to keep us company, none our though!

Foremost comes the monkeys. They come and go as they please and usually wreak havoc in our garden, breaking stuff, uprooting plants and plucking and throwing away half eaten guavas. Once they climbed over the neighbours newly painted grills and got paint all over their paws. They sat, started at their palms and tried to very human like, get rid of it by rubbing it on walls and tree barks but in vain. It remains, another, sign of the human encroachment into what was once, their domain. I used to watch their antics from the safety of our screen door. But now the novelty has worn off. Especially since their newest trick is to leave a bit of excreta in our backyard. This has upset f-i-l's afternoon snooze on the terrace. Face to face, these monkey are vicious. Our 65 year old neighbour Mr D, in bed with steel shafts to mend his broken leg, is witness to their calculated savagery.

Squirrels bound up and down the trees by the roadside and on to our terrace, busy in whatever that squirrels do...squirreling away something or the other in some nook or cranny and once, with disastrous consequence, inside our meter box which is fitted onto one of outer walls, in the garden. One hot summer night, at the end of a particularly taxing day, when the heat had all of us in frayed tempers, the power went off with a loud bang. Luckily for us, m-i-l had just stepped out of the bedroom where we couldn't hear a thing because of the hum of the air conditioner. We ran out and found the meter box in flames and neighbour crowded around it. The electricians were summoned (at exorbitant rates, it being past midnight), found a nest of squirrels inside the box, burnt to cinders. They had been squirreling away nesting tufts in anticipation of possible a baby?). Luckily for us, we found out in time. Otherwise we would have no escape route since the wall was next to the main gate which is also the only way out of the house. The squirrels had apparently learnt to open the meter box with their tiny paws. We have, since then, put a squirrel proof lock on the box.

A is petrified of cats, having been attacked by a cornered cat in his childhood. He usually keeps away from neighbourhood cats who pick and choose various houses, lawns, cars for reposing at various times of the day and year. One cat has chosen our home to have her litter - 2 adorable balls of fluff. She gets them to the security of our enclosed backyard for the night. Often we hear pitiful mewing of a kitten stranded half way up a treeor a parapet when ma arrives and leads it down with a firm shove by its nose.

I get up very early to get ready for office when it is still dark. I open the door and find (A, beware), the curious kittens sitting poised outside the screen door, head at an angle watching me moving around inside! They are so adorable, especially when they chase their little tails but mama is so protective. She bares her fangs (or canines?) and sets up such a hissing if I so much a turn to look at her little ones.

A wont be thrilled to read this but we are hoping to put the cat family to good use. Of late, m-i-l's tiny lawn is being dug up nightly by large sewer rats - bandicoots. Where do they come from? Why do they dig up the lawn is such a mystery to us. M-i-l asked a gardener for help. He sent one of his minions to clear up and block any entry points and spray the lawn liberally with gamaxene powder. Add to it the fact that we found the kittens playing with a large dead rat had us all complacent that we had tackled the rat problem! Alas, no. Next morning, the lawn was as dug up as ever, the rats clevery digging up the non-gamaxened patches so that it was a merry check board of holes and white powder. These rats are obviously too large even for the mama cat, since the holes continue to merrily appear.

Then there are the indoor pets - the cockroaches, who are a bit subdued thanks to the magic chalk marker. One has to just run this chalk across counters and other places and viola! Every morning, I walk into the kitchen and dead cockroaches crunch underfoot. Yukh..but its a solution. Lizards are in hibernation, I guess.

Neighbourhood dogs choose the front of our gate for their nature's call.
There are little sparrows and finches twittering about in among the tress at home, too clever to be caught by the ever patient cat and its frisky kittens. The ugly pi-dog has given birth to the most adorable set of pups and she has chosen the dry partially covered drain just outside our gate to keep them in. She takes them out one by one occasionally and during feed times and then she puts them back! All in all, very animal friendly, we.

Our Menagerie

When we say India is the 2nd most populous country in the world after China, we are not referring to people alone...but to domestic lizards and cockroaches too! Infact we would come out on top beating all other nations hollow! Looks like our tropical weather is high fertility inducing in more than one species!!

Normally, cockroaches would make a tasty snack for lizards, but in our house, they seem to have struck a deal and stick to their well defined territories and ignore each other,
the cockroaches concentrating their energy and efforts to the kitchen and around food stuff and even inside the refridgerator while the lizards are content to creep around the light fixtures.

One more point on this fascinating topic - the lizards are quite plump and largish as compared to those in kolkata(perhaps the pollution out there, stunts their growth) but I would say smaller than their brethren in Mumbai. Now how do I know this? Well I do. My Uncle (dad's bro) on each of his visits to Kolkata would spend some quality time in comparing Kolkata with Mumbai and ofcourse Kolkata would come out very badly in all respects...civic amenities, work culture, pollution etc etc. But not content with that, our dear uncle would even come up with special points:- You (meaning us poor kolkatans) have petty thieves; We (the lucky mumbaikars) have Mafia. You call these lizars?! Ha! Ha! Should see ours...They are dinosaurs!!

Hmmph!

Local Fauna

The monkey menace continues. They don’t visit us everyday - what a relief. They come and check out the fruits on the guava and pomegranate trees and return only when the fruits are just right for plucking and eating. They eat some, throw some, while we sit behind the safety of the screen doors and gnash our teeth. The other day a whole herd descended. Mothers with babies clinging to their underbelly, skippy young adults, old ones along with the alpha male leader who sat on a low branch and surveyed all around him placidly while the rest made a mess of our backyard. They threw all our laundry from where they were hung to dry, tore some of them and bizarrely, left my father-in-law's shirt intact on the line. Perhaps a sense of respect from one head of a house to another?! We made threatening noises, brandished a stick but they paid little attention. They came and left at their own will and for a while, and in a neat reversal of roles ...it was us humans behind bars and they out in the open!

Today, I read in a newsletter that our sector's Resident Welfare association publishes that the monkey menace has increased with some kid being mauled by them and yet we haven’t done anything about it while some of the other sectors have found a suitable solution:- they have hired the services of a langur walla (for those of you who aren’t familiar...these are larger simians with a long tail and black faces) and all he has to do is walk around the monkey infested areas with his langur and all the monkeys simply run away.

And as if this weren’t enough, the newsletter also announces that stampeding cattle in a nearby sector has caused considerable damage to cars parked on the road! Phew what exciting times...

As I am slowing getting acquainted with my neighbourhood...my blogs will now be full of details about it and like this post...you will come to know just how exciting and fun a time I am having!

Monkey Business

The heat is incredible. Now I understand why it was called 'The Burning Plains'. I am stuck indoors (by choice till sundown even though the that does nothing to bring the temperature down.

However, I am more tired of answering the same two questions - Arent you a teeny bit sad at leaving France? And isn't the heat too much for you? No, No. I am not even a teeny bit sad....it was nice when we were there and now we are not. Period. And the heat is equally bad for all of us....even though I have just returned from a mild spring weather... I have lived through La Canicule in France last year - more of the same is expected this year as well.

Our house and neighbourhood is over run by monkeys who are upto what they do best - monkey business. Tearing up our prized potted plants....cutting up our neighbour water pipes which then caused a huge seepage in our common wall. We go upstairs to the terrace armed with something handy to take a swipe at them (they can be vicious). But like A remarked - where do they go? This was their home before we moved in and they were pushed more and more and now they have no where else to go...

Whither Tiger?

WHITHER TIGER?

We set off one foggy morning in a sparkling, well tuned ambassador with Sonuji from RTDC at the wheel, from Bikaner House in Delhi. We sped through the empty roads through Delhi-Gurgaon-Rajasthan towards our first stop, a tiny detour actually, to The Sariska Tiger Reserve.

We were keeping good time and there was no fog that had slowed down traffic only yesterday, 3 hours from Delhi and yet no sign of Sariska. Did we miss the turning? A traffic police confirmed that we hadn’t. ‘40 kms baad, ji’. 40kms soon whizzed past and yet no sign of the turning to Sariska. Sonuji got down to enquire disbelief writ large on his face. He hadn’t heard of Sariska. Seems we had left it behind. Sonuji clucked and asked in a low voice “jaana zaroori hai kya? Ek chiria ghar hai?”. “Chiria ghar? Nahin bhai. Jangul hain, sher hain”, was my father- in-law’s emphatic retort!!

Sonuji shut up and took a U-turn and this time we found the road although there were no signs. We had to stop frequently to inquire and were told we were on the right road but were given a bewildering variety of names of roads and villages through which we had to pass. And then suddenly there it was. A short turning to the right – past an ornate old gate on high pillars and domes and fading pink and green paint. Sariska Natural Park and Tiger Sanctuary. It had a colourful tiger painted on it too!

The gate was shut but there was a window alongside with an attendant who informed us that there was no entry fee on that day, Tuesday, because of puja at the Hanuman temple at Pandupole. What? A temple in a tiger reserve? He told me that there was a supine Hanuman temple at the other end of the Sanctuary and there were no guided tours on that day. But we could take our car in and drive straight through without leaving the metal road which ran straight through the reserve. Fine!

But first, breakfast, at the only place nearby – the RTDC hotel. There were quite a few guests there including two young chaps with binoculars slung around there necks. This cheered us up. The sanctuary must be full of tigers. A and father-in-law (fil) settled to sumptuous omelettes which were larger than the plates they were served in. (Reminds me of a line in a Bengali movie where the heroine, served with a 6 egg omelette remarks – omelette na carpet?). Mother-in-law(mil) is vegetarian on Tuesdays and I am allergic to eggs. So we settled for vegetarian sandwiches: Tiny triangles rendered tinier by slicing off the crusts – a hangover of the Raj, I think. Read somewhere that English teas were accompanied by wafer thin cucumber sandwiches. The cucumber was alas, missing, but wafer thin it was. The ‘vegetable’ consisted of a very thin, almost fine slice of tomato, salted and peppered. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was followed by some milky coffee (A and I are by now used to strong black coffee – French style). Breakfast finished, we returned to our car and entered the sanctuary with hearts full of hope to catch sight of at least one tiger, if not more, although with empty stomachs (mil and I)!

We were handed a small plastic card with the do’s and don’t’s. A read it out and said we had to drive at not less than 30 km/hour – great! This surely meant the place was swarming with tigers! We were told to stick to the metal road which ran straight down the sanctuary and to avoid the tracks that ran off from the main road. Thick brush, trees, narrow gullies almost dry surrounded both sides of the road. There were a few cars crawling ahead of us. We didn’t have to wait long to get our first sight of wildlife. There were various types of deer – small, big, with and without antlers, in groups or single, pheasants and of course hanumans. No tiger yet. We kept our eyes peeled though. Just in case. Beginners luck. An old toothless woman in bright colours ambled past our car. Wow! Wasn’t she afraid a tiger would pounce on her? Another one – sunning herself. Wow! The locals are brave.

Then I found out that we had to travel at not more than 30 km/hr and not over. Mil was convinced we were on a wild goose chase – simply a waste of time. Fil and I were still hopeful.

Occasionally a car ahead would slow down and out would come the binoculars and we too would stop and crane our necks to see what could it be that was of interest to them? And then we’d reluctantly move on seeing it was a deer or perhaps a bird.

Suddenly, breaking the monotony, A shouted that he’d seen one. A tiger. Where? Where? There, to the left, no a bit to the right, go a bit ahead, no a bit back – there. Sure enough, deep in the brush, a tiger sat, partly visible only, with its back to us, sunning itself!! Yahoo. Cars behind slowed down to catch a glimpse of whatever it was we had stopped to watch. Not seeing the camouflaged tiger, they’d move on, but not before they saw the smug expression on my face – I saw a tiger – You didn’t!!

Will it turn, will it get up and come close? Should we shout to attract its attention. A wanted to throw a pebble in the brush. I forbade it immediately. What if the tiger decided to make a meal of my well endowed husband? Minutes ticked by but the tiger sat immobile. Why didn’t it move? Even if only to twitch its ears or swish its tail? Eh? What’s that? A large pheasant happily hopping around the tiger? Haven’t I read somewhere that when there’s a tiger in the vicinity, birds squawk all at once and small animals flee the area. No such squawking only happy chirping and certainly no exodus of small animals. Realisation dawned. It was a lump of granite half hidden in the brush that we had been staring at. Sheepishly, we moved on. Did Sonuji smirk? More deer, birds and hanuman later, we came to a sort of a checkpoint where the road branched off into a Y, with an arm to the right. The left arm went straight to Pandupole and the Hanuman temple. A wanted to turn right back out of the sanctuary and head for Jaipur. But mil was firm. You got your chance to see tigers (too bad you didn’t), now I want to go to the temple.

The road was by now quite populated with people and hanuman. The scenery was lovely though. Trees, brush, river through which the road wound its way up and down. At places the road was very bad and there were warnings chalked on huge granites. There were also warnings about not bathing in the canal which was completed ignored by all and sundry. And suddenly, we were at Pandupole Hanuman Mandir. We parked our car and made our way nervously through a huge bunch of hanumans sunning, picking lice or simply fighting among themselves. Mil and I bought prasad and gave hurried prayers to Lord Hanuman. There was quite a crowd. In the jostling, I quite forgot to see the supine Lord Hanuman properly. Later, it seemed to me a longish (sideway) block of granite with the face of Lord Hanuman chalked on, in vermillion. A sat glowering in the car, upset at the wastage of precious time. Mil was upset about the tigers or their lack.

On our way out, we met 2 forest rangers and asked them if there were indeed any tigers?
- Zaroor ji. (Ofcourse)
- Kitney? (How many)
- 30-35. Aur Jackal, Hyna, aur deer aur pheasants.
- Dikhai kyun nahin detey? (Why cant we see them)
- Kyun ayey wo bhala? Itni noise pollution mein? (Why should they come here? In so much noise and pollution).
Sach baat. But so disappointing.

We retraced our way back to the gate and then back to the main road to Jaipur. Our lunch was terribly delayed leading to terribly frayed tempers. Added to this, among the 100s if not 1000’s of dhabas lining the road from Delhi to Jaipur, we chose one with terrible food. Whoever heard of a dhaba with terrible food? Just our luck. The debate continued about the wisdom of our wasting half a precious day at Sariska. We were on a 3 day tour of Jaipur, Ajmer and Pushkar with Sariska thrown in.

Next morning, at our hotel in Jaipur, I read a newspaper article by a retired high ranking government official, on Sariska. How we were guilty of neglecting a gem of a reserve in our own backyard (referring to Rajasthan State Government). A heavy traffic road runs straight through the reserve (that explains the trucks we saw at Sariska) adding to noise pollution, no doubt not conducive to tiger’s well being. Worse, there has been a high rate of casualty among deer, jackals and birds crushed beneath the truck tyres. If immediate measures were not taken, the natural fauna of that reserve would dwindle away.

Then we weren’t wrong after all, just unlucky. I did read somewhere that tigers are very unpredictable. Even in famous tigers sanctuaries like Ranthambore, one might not see a single tiger for several days and then suddenly one might catch sight of hordes of them within couple of hours.

Perhaps, if we do wake up now and take care of it, then future tourists would be able to get a ‘darshan’ of not only the supine Lord Hanuman but of some tigers well!

Glossary Indian words
ji - a word added to names or end of sentences to show respect.
“jaana zaroori hai kya? Ek chiria ghar hai?” – Is it necessary to go (there). It’s a zoo.
Nahin bhai. Jangul hain, sher hain” – No brother, it’s a jungle with tigers.
omelette na carpet – Is it an omelette or a carpet.
Sach baat – True words
Darshan – sight, view
aur - and