On Tiger Trails and Travails

Tucked between noisy news of parachuting politicians, noisier roadside shows and noisiest intellectual opinions in 140 characters about both, was a piece of news that made me roar with joy sitting in New Delhi. It said – ‘Good News. Tiger Numbers in India up from 1,400 to 2,226 in 7 Years’. 

Good news, indeed, because tigers and I go back in time a long and winding jungle way. You see, I’ve been looking for them since exactly seven years back. And something tells me my heart-felt but unheard call in the wild, ‘Oh show me your face, a paw, the tail or even a whisker, will you please?’ must have echoed in the various Reserves, Sanctuaries and National Parks I honeymooned in. Must have inspired them to multiply. While then not an inch of stripe did I see, in true election-style I hereby snatch credit for making boy tiger meet girl tiger, man tiger meet woman one, and so on and henceforth for hitting this milestone of 2226. 

As I sit wondering if it’s time for a second run through the wild, this time with greater chances of meeting the ‘Tiger, tiger burning bright’ (albeit without handshakes and hi-fives, Jai Mata Di) I thought of putting my tiger travail flashback to rest by bellowing about it right here. Yes, I call it a travail because to spot a tiger is like looking for a needle in a haystack where the hay is not just wet but spray-painted silver too. 

On the face of it, our jungle sojourns summarized looked something like this: 

On the face of it. 

The greatest thinkers on Facebook warn you that every happy family picture veils a load of sadness (and hen-pecked husbands) behind it. This picture too is that cheery curtain on the stage behind which such misery resides as would make you shudder and sigh. Because, even as we both say ‘cheese!’ in these snaps we had not spotted a single black stripe after visiting the most densely tiger populated habitats and spending hours there. Instead, we could write a thesis on ‘The Cheating Wild Boar; The Grunt that excites as if a Roar’ or ‘Mosquitoes; The Bloody Suckers You Can’t Beat’ or ‘How to Cushion Your Ass against Mud Roads When On a Safari’. A chapter on ‘The Importance of Patience’ picked from sacred texts could be the common one between the three.

Of course, when it first began at Buxa Tiger Reserve I was an uninitiated idiot high on love and love for all things wild. There I stood on the watch tower, excited to know from the beat guard that ‘Any time now, madam, the path behind you will be blessed with a tiger. You can make a wish, it is lucky to spot one.’ With a wish list prepared, mister in tow and khakhi-pants asked to double-check the lock on the gate, we had stood there long enough for migratory birds to have reached South from North, with a lunch break and siesta at the Equator. 

The beginning

Just when we were calling it a day, Jumbo had walked in as if to say ‘I am all that you got, honey. Stay and I’ll spray you with some namak I’m about to eat’. I had said tata to his salt and made my way out of a Reserve which had a tiger in its name but none on its knees four feet, and certainly not for me. 

The standby suitor

I had pocketed the wish-list I had made at Buxa though, hoping to ask the black-and-orange genie for some material pleasures (which soon enough meant Odomos, and drinking water) but failed to summon the other genie who would call the tiger out for me in the first place. 

So, for Sariska National Park we woke up early, really early to have more viewing time. It was cold and misty as we circled the beautiful lake our guide began the tour from. Dear reader, while I may lay the blame for a bursting bladder entirely on the cold, do know that the playfully deceptive whirls of mist in an area teeming with tigers does no good for the enthusiasm and confidence one goes looking for the national animal with. If anything, the mist seems full of evil eyes and with all intentions to pounce at the slightest sound denim makes against denim.

This is where I saw multiple tigers, in my mind's eye

We did see a host of other animals once the sun was up in Sariska, but did we meet The Royal One, snoozing behind the bush or feeding in the grass, swaying his lazy tail at a butterfly or licking her cubs clean? Le Sigh, etc.

As months went by, I kept myself from Googling the probability of spotting a tiger in the wild. Something told me for the number of hours we had spent in these two widely-apart tiger habitats without spotting one would mean we had been incompetent and undeserving failures. I knew now what we thought was our stomachs grumbling with hunger was indeed a tiger purring in pleasure for having tricked us. That what we brushed off as the play of light-and-shadow on the tall trees or dry grass actually had two eyes staring right back at us. 

Oh, if only we had looked harder and not let our rational minds rule supreme.

I looked and waited

He waited on me and looked too

One day, when I made up my mind to bring home a cub of my own, I heard that we would float around in the Sunderbans for two days to spot tigers and tickle crocs with our propellers. I was ecstatic! I was ready to be robbed of breath at the sight of a majestic Bengal getting his paws dirty in the slush and giving me the looks. Except, I had no idea our room for the night in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by nothing human would be as tall and as wide as a baby's cot. Breathless I slept, breathless I woke up. As for what happened the rest of the time?

We learnt the laws of this land. I prayed too. 

We asked around and cried when we heard 'It just passed by'

But looked around, with ferocious hope

Till 2 seemed 4, and everything at least 2

And the deception continued ...

Till the point when faraway egrets seemed to roar

Till dawn became dusk, twice over

No tiger did we ever see, not even the tip of a tail. 

Le Sigh number two.

Aside - whenever we sit and think back to those days of backpacked wild abandon, even the discomforts and disappointments of those days we miss. There is something so unique in seeing plants and animals and native tribes enjoying their natural homes; with an ease that no other place affords and a sense of belonging that another’s territory can never create. Much like us humans, happiest where the heart is and we know the heart is always at home. 

Of course this poetry-in-prose doesn’t mean I am not ready to lock home and go for round two! 1400 has become 2226, the good news, the good news! 

Perhaps, next time I will go lusting for wild boars or deer, squirrels or parakeets. Maybe then I will spot a tiger? Who knows how Murphy the Ranger thinks! Some tiger somewhere has to be born to grace my presence with his majestic frame. It cannot be otherwise. It just cannot be.

I'm not dropping my anchor yet. Not just yet!

Through the Green Lens; A Photo Story

When you say ‘Nature’ to me, no poetry born under a cherry tree comes to mind. No tune composed by the river or lyrics of a song the winds on the dunes sang. No quotable quotes either. When I hear ‘Nature’, all connections in my neurons go blank, except one. The one which zips me back to where I belong, and how. In the Doon valley, you grow up making tree houses and befriending squirrels-next-door. You play fetch with your dog in a kitchen garden which grows the family’s vegetables and you ride a scooter on roads so thickly lined with old Fir trees, the mountains on all 4 sides have to vie for a little attention. My home town where my memories with Nature converge is a picture every 5-year-old draws in the name of ‘Scenery’.

Mountains big and small standing arm in arm, drawn in crayons. A sun with glorious rays peeping from between the two in the middle. Smiling. Two birds like the letter V flying randomly and a river flowing down the tallest peak. A small hut, driveway, tree to one side and bush to the other. Maybe a pond with a few ducks. And three stick figures – father, mother and child – with arms upraised, as if saying Hurrah to the delightful surroundings. When you say ‘Nature’ to me, this comes to mind. 

A picture of Friendship with Nature. A bond that develops over time and is unlike any other. No strings attached here, no self-interest. No obligation or customary to-dos. None. A symbiotic coexistence in its purest form. In its most real form. One hundred percent.

I was inspired to befriend Nature as a girl, then introduced to the marvels of the wild as a married woman and today, encouraged as a mother to egg my own child into this friendship. Three phases, and I let my picture collection tell you about them.

Phase 1

Friends of the Doon Society, and me

I had barely learnt to differentiate between a moth and a butterfly in school when I was asked by my parents to ‘start contributing’ to an NGO they had been a part of. FODS was founded nearly three decades ago by 5 concerned citizens of the Doon valley towards the protection of this ecologically fragile belt. It was this NGO which played a pivotal role in shutting down the lime quarries in the Uttarakhand hills. I was initially enrolled in ‘NEAP’ – Nature and Environment Awareness Programme, which meant I was to visit schools and conduct informal sessions on environmental topics I myself knew enough about. And that was just the beginning, with no looking back to doing my tiny bit. While work made me relocate out of the city, FODS, with my parents as its core members, continues strong and committed. Nature trails and quizzes are organized in schools across the valley, as are bird-watching and nature camps. Under ‘Trees for Doon’, FODS asks citizens for land to plant trees on, providing free saplings and seeds for whoever volunteers a patch to be greened. A Citizen Action Group has been formed in collusion with other NGOs in order to deal with the civic problems of the city, in coordination with the government machinery.

FODS in the city

But the largest project running successfully remains ‘The Elephant Family’, with its primary aim of protecting the Asiatic Elephant. In order to reduce the dependence of humans on Rajaji National park, its natural habitat, FODS adopted a village, Rasulpur, to keep the locals self-sufficient and aware through alternative livelihood options and workshops, respectively.

Activities in the village include promoting new farmer techniques like poly-tunnels through workshops, creating compost pits, adult education classes, free health camps, computer education centres, looms for women, distributing solar lamps, cycles for girls to reach far flung schools, artificial insemination in cattle, etc. 

      Needless to say, this is how I was inspired to become Nature's friend, as a "friend-in-need". When I was shown not just how beautiful and fascinating it was, but also how vulnerable and how fragile. And how it needed us humans to intervene for its well-being and ours. Yes, even a youngling like me!

Phase 2

Into the Wild - Me and my husband

I did not marry a cave man, but I did find one who believed in wild honeymoons. Before your mind races like a cheetah, look at the picture. In the first year of our marriage, we left no stone unturned to traverse National Parks and safari across Wildlife Sanctuaries. Enjoy Forest Reserves and live on a boat to visit mangrove forests. From tuned-n-tamed nature before marriage, I was swept into nature growing wild, and in the wild. These were no resorts with manicured lawns and imported palm trees. Here, nothing stood between you and an angry animal except a man-in-khaki. Where wild boars were wild, not animated creatures out of ‘Madagascar’. Where mosquitoes bit like bees, and bees if upset could kill. Wild tuskers could chase you like toys and crocodiles snap your anchor into half. And where a beautiful bird song could be one asking you to step out of the way, for the tiger-in-stripes was walking that way. 

Some of the sanctuaries and reserves we visited - Buxa Tiger Reserve, Ranganathittu Bird Sanctuary, Sunderbans Tiger Reserve, Gorumara National Park, Chilla Forest Reserve, Jaldapara Wildlife Sanctuary  

It was through many such honeymoons scattered over a year that I discovered the ‘wild’ side of the lover in me. The lover to Nature, of course, growing free far away from what I had come to call 'home' but as marvellous as creation can be!

Phase 3
Paying it Forward - Us and our child

Life happened. Out went the wild and in walked the domestic every day. The green side of our hearts had to make do with a few pots of plants and a handful of sunshine, as we earned the other kind of green to survive. It is now that I became an addict, of Facebook’s Farmville. Sowed and reaped pumpkins. Put an alarm to wake-up at odd hours to collect the harvest. The phone bill came, we were left bankrupt and I was detoxified. I bought myself an extra pot for a bitter gourd vine and forgot all about reliving and recreating an expanse of green in my apartment-life, like the green times I had left behind. Little did I know then that all I needed was a child to take me back to being my Nature’s friend again.

And my son arrived. 

How the first introduction to Nature is in the form of cuddly toys, and expanses of greens and blues and browns which make no sense, but still invite their tiny minds. From Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary to Bangkok's Siam Ocean World, from Bhimbetka caves to a Mughal window in the Red Fort, my son was saying his first hellos to Nature even before I taught him how to.

And when his feet allowed him to walk, it was time to go a step further in this friendship. Run and fly pigeons in Jaipur's Albert Hall, or take orange sweet-peas for a ride in Lodhi gardens. Show us how flowers bloom or talk to fake peacocks in Surajkund. And stand mesmerised babbling with beautiful white ducks. No surprise then that the first book he chose to buy was called 'My First Hundred Animals'.

But when language is learnt, Curiosity learns to ask questions. Why is the feather so soft? How come these leaves are so thin? You hug a tree reliving 'Chipko Movement', whispering an I love you. Run amok on the green with stranger children. Stare intently at pieces of natural history in a museum or even talk to a twig the grass was hiding. Why, you even start imagining you are Atlas, shrugged! And you ask, on and on and on and on, the why what how where how come. 
About Nature.

He's a 3-year-old boy now. I always tell him – when life gives you lemons, go look for the lemon tree. There may be pretty white flowers you may get to see. Something new, entirely! Or something wondrous and miraculous, waiting to make you gasp. And he understands, already. Feeling one with nature takes nothing and gives so much in return. Calm on a stressful day or something new to discover in the mundane. Sowing a seed in a pot and enjoying the sapling grow as if a fairy waved a wand or soaking in the sun and making mansions out of imagination. Admiring the tree and understanding growth, or the waves and thinking of change and flux. And what better way to teach my child the important idea of Respect – not just about touching elders’ feet but also letting the tiny ant crossing his path be. Safe and free, just like he likes to be. 

And gradually, through nurture and nature, our Friendship with Nature evolves, grows and gets sealed. For a lifetime, at least! Just like ours, as a family!

If Timmy were alive ...

… but he’s not.

That spotted Dalmatian-mixed-with-Pointer with a pirate patch around one eye and a black and white living of 12 human years. The brat who sneaked up our quilts at dawn, resting his head on the pillow and kicking us till every rib was awake, with a wagging tail that hurt the shins. The dog who had the remarkable ability to dislodge us from the charpai and plant his behind there, making the winter sun position itself for His Highness’s snooze time. The one who ate every leechi that fell not caring about dire gastric consequences, and made every raw mango that monsoon dropped into our yard his play-thing. There went the ambi ka achaar! He preferred boiled vegetables to bones, and flaunting his stuff every morn tied to the main gate, looking at the beauties walking down Rajpur road. Energy he was when young, and a guardian angel when older. For was it a mere coincidence that every time a family member took ill, he "took upon himself" the same ailment, even as his owners got hale and hearty? 

His Highness sun bathes

Timmy was a member of our family. He came to us at 2 weeks and stayed with us for all of our schooling days – like a baby one has to rear with care. And that meant responsibility. Timely feeds and healthy food, hygiene and ample place for exercise, company and cocooning from loud sounds, vet visits and fun rides in the car, complete. So much responsibility, that my parents barely holidayed away from home for they had not the heart to leave him in a dog hostel or the confidence to take this 30 kg fellow along. 

Only when the cat was the same size

And like all other pets, he made us understand what it is to love an animal, to the point of not thinking him to be one. He made us feel compassion and care for a mute being (but with different barking sounds for different needs!). A kinship not out of blood or community but one born in the heart and borne within us all. No wonder then that the biggest atheist in the house prayed for him when the doctors gave up on his parvo-virus attack, and he lived. No surprise either when children took turns to bathe him, aunts to feed him and uncles to walk him. Timmy was named after my mother’s first dog as a child but stood for beading the members of this family in one beautifully made necklace.   

Eventually, he was put to sleep. Because those who know said it was the right thing to do. There was no question of delaying it. Not even out of attachment for him.

And today, after all those years, I look around to see how ‘pet parenting’ has undergone an oceanic change. We love them, and we also love to display them. Like a … menagerie. Maybe out of that feeling of kinship I talk about or perhaps just out of pride, both somewhat justified. Social media shows us Spotty Sharma who maintains a blog and Goldie Garg the fish who has an FB account and congratulates you on your new baby. Mithoo Mehra, the parrot, tweets in 140 characters to Omar Abdullah in Kashmir and Nuki Nathan, the turtle, swims in our aquarium, banned as a pet but a children’s delight nonetheless (Just like Amarinder Singh’s exotic bird collection!) And then for some, the more imported the pet, the greater the reason to carry it like a designer bag for the expats’ party in New Jersey.

Yes, we like to display them as prized possessions, much like our holiday pictures, or our children winning debate competitions. Out of love or out of pride, while the reasons remain justified, the green eyed monster in me rises every time I see a good looking dog or a sweet little kitten adorning someone’s house. I feel a pang of jealousy, even as I take vicarious pleasure in spotting lovely dog pictures on the www, or with those lucky evening walkers with a leash around their hands.

In such moments, I get that close to getting myself some fur-and-bones to love. 

But, I am not ready to bring in a pet. Not as yet. Not because I am too attached to let go of Timmy but because keeping a pet is akin to becoming a parent to me, just like it was for my parents. It comes with that R-word I only recently learnt to spell. While I simultaneously envy and congratulate those who keep their animals with so much love and how, I need to wait my time to be more ready than this to become a “pet parent”.

I smile as I conclude, remembering the first ever 'essay' I wrote in school, a copy of which my mother must have preserved, although I hope to dear God she did not. It said 'My Dog', with 5 sentences which went - 1. I have one dog. 2. He has two ears. 3. He has one nose. 4. He has one tail. 5. I love my dog. While I had got the spellings and the numbers right, little did I know then that I would grow to love a real dog as much as the hypothetical one written about in the four-lined notebook.

And little did I know then, that after all those years, I would write another 'My Dog'. But about a real one, this time!

[Written for WordPress Daily Prompts : 365 Writing Prompts aimed at posting at least once a day, based on the prompts provided. The prompt for today was: Menagerie - Do you have animals in your life? If yes, what do they mean to you? If no, why have you opted not to?]