About thirty years ago, I worked in an investment team that was led by one of those superior types, who walked around with his nose at 45 degrees to mean sea level. For the record, he had much to be modest about, as indeed all of us did, but that was lost on him (self-delusion cannot be suppressed with paracetamol – old jungle saying).
Paths are made for walking......
Thursday, April 3, 2025
Water From Stone
About thirty years ago, I worked in an investment team that was led by one of those superior types, who walked around with his nose at 45 degrees to mean sea level. For the record, he had much to be modest about, as indeed all of us did, but that was lost on him (self-delusion cannot be suppressed with paracetamol – old jungle saying).
Sunday, March 23, 2025
Kaziranga One Fine Afternoon
March 11th
I am the only person in the Gypsy and the driver stops at Kohora gate to pick up the other three who have booked their safari with him. They clamber on, a young couple and their friend who takes his seat beside me, camera in one hand, coke in the other.
Now, I know they say you should not judge people at first glance. Actually, they say you should not judge people. And I say they speak rot.
I promise, it is not the coke (which they finish in turns in about 30 seconds because the bottle has to be discarded outside). But you learn to identify idiots when you see them, call it perverse experience.
Mr Couple is full of questions to the driver. Such as, will we see tigers? Coke is not satisfied: will we see white tigers? How many tigers are there? So many? Well, then why no white one? How many rhinos? So many? Then, do tigers eat rhinos? Coke does not ask why white tigers don’t eat rhinos, so I am deeply grateful.
It’s all that sugar in that bloody bathroom-cleaner drink that makes them delirious.
All three have their mobiles with which they are
Sending messages
Taking photographs
Scrolling on Instagram
Combing hair (Mrs Couple) and checking if that seven-micron scratch on the nose is now visible.
We haven’t begun the journey yet and there is a rhino in the distance and Mr Couple asks Mrs to take his photo on his mobile with rhino as dot-in-horizon wallpaper.
Then,
Mr clicks Mrs with rhino-in-horizon
Coke clicks both and shares with larger planet on Insta
Then Mrs clicks Coke and Mr
Then Driver clicks them
Then, our Gypsy is joined by another Gypsy at the hip, which has a large Bengali family of about 63 adults and 22 kids that are doing this team outing to have an incisive debate on why someone’s brother-in-law is not to be trusted with an agreement to sell a flat near Gariahat?
I understand enough Bengali to not want to buy this flat.
Then, we begin the safari.
Then - immediately - we see a tiger crossing a lake.
Which I somehow feel deep inside is bloody unfair, though it is unfair, I know, to feel unfair.
I am watching it swim through the binocs (the tiger is swimming in the stream, not through the binocs, hope you got that right), and the three are so excited that they forget that You Live For Reels. As the tiger walks up the other bank and enters the bushes, about 84 Bongs want to know where the tiger is and are looking, with heightened animation, in the wrong direction, while, from the 85th, I learn that the lift isn't working in the Gariahat flat.
The bird life is, as always, incredible!
The utterly majestic grey headed fish eagle |
European Widgeon, Mr and Mrs. My first ever sighting |
Bar headed geese are philosophers. Always searching. |
and we see a herd of jumbos by the side and they are chilled out (I wouldn't want them any other way, incidentally).
And one showed us his backside |
All this while, the Couple pose, share, repose. Coke is impatient.
One more TIGER, says Coke (he is ok with non-white now). And the more I hear about the brother-in-law, the more he makes Amrish Puri in Mr India seem like a Buddhist monk.
I whisper a question to Driver: can we separate at the hip from Gariahat please and he smiles knowingly and slows down. Sometime later, we are by a stream, I am staring up at the canopy and Mr Couple is standing, mobile video at work. Something in the water, he says, in our area, we call it Oondh.
I swivel and see smooth coated otters! Three of them, swimming steadily in the middle of the stream and up close. They have seen us too, the one in front popping up, periscope-like, the others right behind. They are beautiful, graceful, effervescent and as enigmatic as ever and to see them there on a lazy late afternoon in one of the world’s most beautiful wilderness regions! We watch - in absolute silence - until they are gone.
And all is forgiven.
Maybe I will consider that flat in Gariahat if these three buy it along with me.
And the Great Hornbill. What a magnificient species this is. |
Monday, March 17, 2025
Home
Sunday, March 16th
It's a beautiful warm morning and we set out to see the forest from afar. Today, we will not go in, for an elephant walked our way a few hours ago and is in there somewhere.
Somewhere in those hundred-odd acres that once belonged to a Jagirdar, but is now protected, the result of which is the sort of biodiversity we dream to see.
The flowering of jalaari -Shorea roxburghii - is an annual dream-come-alive, as this little forest responds with a burst of colour, fragrance and, to a fervent imagination, delightful melody, for the bees and the wings sing. It is short and ineffably sweet, as indeed all good things must be.
This year, it's done. Fresh bright green leaves have taken the space left by the spectacular flowers that now cover the ground in a brown crunchy layer. Perhaps there is philosophy there too - ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as that old one on Lillee and Thommo, those fast bowling relics of the '70s, goes.
In the distance, we see a tree-in-red: that is the coral tree, Erythrina indica, in full bloom and it is a rich and fiery colour. The lemon-yellow that is closer? That is a favourite, the laburnum or konnapoo tree offered to the Gods in about a month from now during the lovely festival of Vishu. This tree has bloomed well and is getting a rich dressing on its canopy as it awaits the real summer......
And amidst this cornucopia is a tree shorn of flowers and leaves; the fruits dangle with the bareness of deciduous magnificence. This is Diospyros melanoxylon, thubre mara, and we savour the pulpy, tangy, astringent fruit and chat and laze around and pray that forest fires and human desires keep away. Close by is a tree with astonishingly similar fruits that can give you a hard time if consumed, maggari mara or Catunaregam spinosa, fruits that in those days gone by were used to work up a solution to wash clothes.
Next week, elephant permitting, we will wander in on a fine morning.
For the forest is home.
Wednesday, February 5, 2025
Bovinity is not for me
February 2nd 2025
The other day, Seenappa and I, on examining the lime plants at Random Rubble, the farm, carefully concluded that they had been attacked by stem borers. Now, as you know, I keep myself abreast of the latest developments in scientific thinking, so I immediately thought of cow urine.
The head of IIT Madras, in a deeply emotional moment of bovine divinity (which phrase shall henceforth be termed bovinity and is my unique contribution to the language), has endorsed cow urine as a panacea for a variety of diseases (including dullness between the ears because of a pre-existing vacuum). Since he has not specifically mentioned stem borer, I asked ChatGPT for help and, accordingly, Seenappa prepared a solution of cow urine + garlic + chilli with a teaspoon of asafoetida, a pinch of which will otherwise repel a blue whale.
I have some advice for you if you have never experienced a solution of cow urine + garlic + chilli + asafoetida.
Don’t.
We applied this to each plant with a brush (the IIT Director, in keeping with his astute scientific temper and bovinity, would have emphatically disagreed and asked us to apply this with a cow’s tail, but Seenappa’s cows were deeply and violently reluctant to lend their tails and one needs inter-departmental cooperation in these matters). Besides, you could end up dead, and, as they say in the Wild Wild West, dead men tell no tails.
About three minutes and twenty two seconds into the application, Seenappa, who was holding up the bucket - had he been in Citibank, he would have been Executive Vice President (Liquidity Management) - began to smell strongly of cow urine + garlic + chilli+asafoetida and I was forced, abandoning table manners and societal decorum, to ask him what he had had for dinner.
Now, if you have read my earlier posts about this stellar representative of Sapiens ruralicus, you know that when his IQ is compared to that of Winnie the Pooh, Winnie turns out to be an intellectual giant on the same infrared wavelength as Carl Jung. He stared at me blankly (Seenappa, not Winnie the Pooh) and remarked enquiringly that I was smelling of
Garlic
Cow urine
asafoetida
Chilli
and appeared surprised by the coincidence except for the order of odour (which is such a cool phrase and hence to be bookmarked for future use), all of which, of course, got me raving mad, but there was nothing to be done.
As we progressed, the lime fruits on the plants, which are world famous in Bangalore for their citrusy fragrance, began to smell of bloody cow urine + garlic + chilli + asafoetida, birds abandoned their chicks, the yellow-billed babblers announced their opposition with screechy alarm calls and fled and I saw a mongoose shoot past with a clearly disgusted look in our direction.
When we were done, I hung up my gloves after rinsing them and dropped my clothes in white vinegar, had two baths with lux and Dove, lit seven incense sticks in a never-before seen display of devotion and left a bottle of eucalyptus oil open.
The next morning, I woke up to a beautiful day smelling of
Cow urine
Garlic
Chilli
Asafoetida
Friday, January 10, 2025
William Anders – A tribute, a story and a pledge to think about
Those photos did more that capture our earth, they captured our imagination.
Friday, December 20, 2024
Who Flung Dung?
The other day I came across a news item that read, “Bundles of currency notes recovered from heap of cow dung in Odisha”. The byline mentioned an amount of twenty lakhs, which, assuming it was all in hundred-rupee notes, would mean that at least one end of this cow was kept very busy with its tail pointing to north-north-east on a windy day. This was when I decided, being sentimentally attached to all ideas that have money at the end (literally, if you see what I mean), to take the bull by its horns and watch the other end carefully.
Since this was official breaking news, I thought of calling Ram Reddy who has kept more cows than can come home (whenever they do, that is). I did not think of Seenappa, my farm hand at Random Rubble, because he has an IQ of 8.26 (including 18% GST) and will be out of depth in an intellectual conversation, even if it is bullshit (the topic, not the conversation. Will you read carefully, please?).
Now, cows are ruminants and therefore grass turns into a robust dung, with a lively smell that gets rid of your blocked nose just when you wished it would stay. This is called the dung-lung connection in technical discourse (ok, I just invented it, but the point remains).
To help you (and Seenappa) understand this better, here is the scientific reaction:
Grass → Dung (+lively methane exchange with atmosphere + Dung lung)
Lots of grass —> Lots of dung (+village evacuation at short notice + Increase in sales of local agarbatti)
Yet, I never knew that a cow could do the following conversion:
Grass —> Dung + Currency notes (methane flavour)
Lots of grass —> Dung + Lots of currency notes (+village traffic jam, to hell with methane)
Following this I reasoned that
Not all cows do the above because, if they did, the Reserve Bank of India would own a dairy farm and not a Mint and we would need demonetisation once a week, along with Vitamin D capsules
But at least one cow (reference, newspaper) has done it. It is, in other words, Ms. Cash Cow
Hence, that one cow is special
Hence, find out why that one cow is special
Or buy that cow
Or hire that cow on EMI (with PayTM that will EMI anything that mooves. Sorry, moves)
Once Cow is acquired, feed cow with a bucket on both sides (of which one bucket is empty, you ignoramus).
Raise Private Equity on Cash Cow, by valuing it as a Unicow, a Unicow being a bovine Unicorn, if you have been living under a rock.
You can clearly see the fiendishly clever thinking here, without doubt. Once I had the business plan all worked out, I went back to the newspaper article to find out the location of the village in Odisha and that is when Reality struck: apparently, the money was in a plastic bag and hidden in dung by a thief.
I have now written a strongly worded letter to the Editor of this newspaper, asking him to fire the sub-editor who came up with the headline that has misled much of humanity. But if you ever have this urgent, implacable, insistent desire to know about the chemical constituents of cow dung, you know whom not to contact.
Tuesday, December 3, 2024
PH Value
With this thing stuck in my throat
So, I messaged the GP,
“Bad throat, rasping cough, doc, and loads
and loads of flem,”
He replied, “It’s phlegm. I will call you back.”
OMG! P-H-L-E-G-M?
So when I met a friend, I asked him what pehelegem was
And he said, ‘Search me’.
So I did.
(and found nothing, except a chocolate wrapper. And
He found it odd, for some reason).
Then, I reasoned it out: in medicine, when
P is followed by a consonant, not a vowel,
Like pneumonia
The P is silent
And the disease is phatal
Sorry, fatal.
So, Helegem?
My friend said, “I don’t know. But NO,
DON’T search me this time.”
Then I asked myself,
"Why did the Doc says he'd call back?
Is it serious? Does it need him to speak in a low
and grave (pun not intended) voice?
Then, I panicked and messaged Doc.
OMG! Was this like some African strain?
Would I pass out? Or get airlifted to Ward 74?
With tubes in my nose and those beep-beep monitors
And frenetic nurses and worried specialists?
Would I survive to write out a will?
(and one more book?)
And he replied, “You vacuous, fatuous
Asinine, half-witted, moronic, empty-headed,
Foolish, imbecilic, thick-headed, batty idiot
It is pronounced flem but written phlegm.
Gargle with salt, and think of your first crush.”
And I did.
I gargled with salt
And thought of the time when I first stepped on an ant
At age eight-and-a-half
(all because a pretty little girl with dimples had smiled
And I had blushed).
Methinks, it isn’t me, but that guy Roget of Thesaurus
Who is a vacuous, fatuous
Asinine, half-witted, moronic, empty-headed,
Foolish, imbecilic, thick-headed, batty idiot.
If he could come up with this many synonyms for idiotic
Why not a single one for flem?
Oops, bloody phlegm.