All For A Reel

Elephants are not gentle giants. 

 
This is Lesson 1, I was told, twenty-seven years ago when I took my first baby steps into wildlife as a volunteer with a bunch of friends who were wildlife conservationists researching ways to identify crop-raiding elephants.

 
Lesson 2: never forget Lesson 1.

 
In those initial years, from the comfort of a jeep or a Sumo, I saw elephants deep inside Bandipur and once spent an unforgettable, uncomfortable, terrifying night on top of a tree by the Kabini reservoir, surrounded by a herd below that was minding its own business but unhappy about our being there and trumpeted in annoyance (it helped that our team of four had two forest guards for company who were composed).  Along the way I read – in Vivek Menon’s book on pachyderms – the story of a forest officer who remarked to a researcher, almost casually, about a herd nearby, “I know my elephants, this herd is fine”. And minutes later, he was charged and killed.  The researcher later said that the poor man knew his elephants but the elephants, well,….they did not know him.  I never forgot Lesson 2.

 
The farm, Random Rubble, is in a zone of uneasy coexistence with elephants.  My old friend, Mottai waal, wanders around at night with a certain panache, all nine and a half feet + six tons of him.    He is an old fellow and hasn’t been known for aggression in years, yet I would rather see him from the first floor at fifty feet and admire a miracle of evolution.  In 2024, the two juveniles keeping him company trampled a farmer who followed them, pelting stones; the man hadn’t learnt from his village’s history and he hadn’t memorised the roll call of the dead.

 
I read the account – and saw the video – of the foolhardy roadside tourist in Bandipur who was trampled a couple of days ago by a tusker.  His bravado – of proximity - was stupid, uncalled for, needless and driven, no doubt, by that primeval need to have video footage that he would then broadcast.  There were many others doing precisely that who have lived to tell the tale (and this man has survived as well), but each of them could have been the victim.  How stupid is that?  What story does his family assimilate: a rogue elephant got my father?  Wouldn’t that be a travesty?

Tourism is a mixed bag, for it assumes responsible behaviour which, it would seem, is too much to ask.  As tourism – including wildlife watching - has exploded, elephants find themselves to be the stars of Instagram and the nucleus of trite stories, now uploaded and instantly forgotten in a search for ceaseless admiration. This is dumb, incredibly daft behaviour.  Can we – as footloose itinerants in SUVs - leave elephants alone and avoid that urge for a compulsive reel?  Can we park far away and accept that they have right of way?  Can we provide them the space to move away from us?

 

And can we spread this word to ensure that no lives – not human, not elephant - will pay the price for a moment of gratification? 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Old Times Redux...

So, it was bound to be that when a group of motley former colleagues, largely unemployed (save for two-and-a-half, the half being the redoubtable distinguished Yul Brynner - SRK is passe, HRK rules), there would be clinking of glasses and, since Suresh was in the thick of the action, boiled peanuts as well a rich carnivorous menu.  Ashok’s being there was the central – and ostensible – reason for this long-pending meeting of intellects and such was the banter that the waiter insisted on taking the photograph shown here (the tip was as much on his mind as our banter, never grudge a waiter his Carry).

 
If Snehal had hiccups at 8.54 pm, it was because we thought of him in the most charitable way possible and raised a toast (not a burpee, which is his copyright), alongwith GV’s (now patented) Kolhapuri chappal. Discussions meandered to many not on this group, including the One who lead South Asia’s best VC team (that included an extinguished candidate, me) and it was time to call Dinesh to know if we had made a return on Fortune Biotech, but it seems all that was left were a few cans in the head office of Azadirachtin, subsequently used to repel insects there just when there was some usage in our office as well (in the corner room).  

In the middle of this charming gathering, of course, was Parag’s incisive comments and his quiet listening (which was a refreshing contrast to the rambunctious rest).  GV spoke about Advanced Bioenzymes with great nostalgia, looked up its current market cap (which none of us could count the zeroes off, even after just a single drink) and wondered if the American Dark Knight brother was available to be kidnapped.
 
There was also talk – now I am in Amar Chitra Katha mode - of the wily Brahmin of 1, Cenotaph road (add an extra L to the wily and it gets a whole new meaning) who could not hiccup simply because he had left for wider shores sometime ago.  We all agreed that wily Brahmin had vision, with perhaps an occasional keener vision for a skirt than was prudent.  In the end, we decided that we all had needed him but Ashok said (and I agree wholeheartedly) that he – the Wily One – was a whimsical man and others sometimes paid the price (all this before the second pitcher was being delivered). 
 
SNS, having dropped out at the last minute, was given a mouthful in absentia from all of us eager to catch up on about 243 data points pertaining to real estate prices, deals and who’s dealt with whom but not going around with whom, with permutations in tow – for, in this, he stands alone.
 
TVS had two enthralling stories of fund raising, including his sardonic witty reply to a young rookie who had the bloody gall to ask him what his secret sauce was (if you want to know the answer, the cost is now a pitcher of Bangalore’s best and that, you agree, is not an option on GPay).  

And we chose to not speak of the Despicable One with a nasal twang who has been kept waiting at the gates of hell because satan has his standards to maintain and the DO fails even those tests.  And in the centre of all of this conversation, of course, was the One-who-Retired-from-TDICI and has spent his time ever since in perfecting the single putt into the 19^th hole.  
 
All of us were generous in offering our hospitality to all others, for we are empty-nesters, with plenty of nests to boot, and it would appear that the combined value of this group’s real estate holding in England is about 1.5% of its otherwise-enervated GDP.  As the group enlarges in size the next time, we will discover land holdings in Bosnia and El Salvador, no doubt. 

Parag and I bailed out early, and when it was farewell time, it was because a farewell is necessary before we meet again.