In the Jungle

Nature worship has always been an important part of Indian culture. With 'Peepul' trees being worshipped as the epicenter for learning and knowledge, they are also regarded as the abode of the god ' bada dev' worshipped by certain tribals in Central India. However the most important instance of animals in Indian religion, more specifically, Hinduism has been the role of animals as the 'vahans' or vehicles of the Indian gods and goddesses. While the reason for why the concerned animal is associated with the  particular god/ goddess may not be always known, some of them have beautiful logic to them. For example, the Goddess Durga also known as 'shakti' is associated with the tiger or lion ( the cat species varies according to region) as the big cat epitomises strength, power and a protector against all evil. Which is where the concept of 'baghesur' or the tiger god also comes up. Wherein a lot of villages worship the cat in form of a tiger/ lion

"How will what you are doing, help save the forests?" - Generalisation of human opinion. The world already feels somewhat of a battleground what with fights for space, money,  opinions and emotions raining down almost everyday  much like this torrential downpour. The only difference is, the rain, we need. The fights, we don't. So why do I suddenly feel the need to philosophise about fighting? it is because, in my time as a 'wildlifer' I have seen more people fighting each other rather than fighting for the species in question. They fight  about what the other is doing wrong rather than what is going wrong for the species in question. Why is it necessary to pin point loopholes in another person's attempt to save the species rather than mend the loopholes in the system  that has brought  this species to the brink, where it needs to be carefully guarded lest it disappear, appearing only as dusty souvenirs in shops or books where it's shelf life will pr

The King  Panther's moon A glassy domain Habitat Strength of the reserve Blue skies always  Examining his realm Stalking Golden sunrise  The bather and the 'bathee' Camouflage Sal delight Stretch Silhouette  Gentleness is not defined by size  Grace The protector Tiger tree Sunset And we can smell the rain Rain dance  Signs Spot on The wait  The result

Tracking is an art. Tiger tracking, is the most patient form of art. It draws sweat, considerbale amount of flies, sunburn, hunger and frustration. But when you spot the striped divinity, you know it was all worth it and for the drivers and guides of a reserve it is an everyday affair. It all usually starts early in the morning in any tiger reserve (which has safaris of course), with the driver and guides feverishly scouring the forest floor for pug marks, scat or even flattened Earth (indicating a tiger resting spot) to understand where they should begin the process of tracking le tigris. "Pugmark raat ka hai, male chala gaya area se" is what our guide opens the tour with. Alarm calls are of course the sure giveaways but if it's a chital (spotted deer) that is  responsible for the alarm call, you can't be too sure that it is indicative of cat movement. "Buddhu banate hain yeh chital" spits a driver in disgust while another claims that chital call even w

The Big Bam in his prime I first heard of a tiger named Bamera in the summer of 2010, while we were doing a survey in the buffer villages of Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. At the time, he had gained notoreity for lifting cattle and had planted a certain degree of fear in the mind of the villagers. "Bahut bada hai sahab, itna bada tiger humne aaj tak nahi dekha" spluttered a villager, a resident of the same village where Bamera got his name from. Located in a beautiful region known as Panpatha, with a huge dam and an ever reaching green landscape, Bamera was as beautiful a tiger and as extravagant as his namesake village.  Very quickly, Bamera made an entry into Bandhavgarh as it's dominant male, overthrowing his ageing father - B2. Slated to be the biggest tiger Bandhavgarh had seen for a few years, Bamera coaxed everyones imagination into becoming a stuff of legends among the drivers and guides of the park. "Aree, gadi ke bonnet jitna bada hai" some claimed

Babu at Shesh Shaiya  There are many who claim to protect the forest, there are many who love the forest, but there are very few who know the forest. If someone ever tells you that they know the forest, it would either be  a villager living around the forest or a forest guard. One such person, I had the pleasure of meeting was -Babu, I don't know his name in its entirety, but it doesn't matter. The way he talks of the forest, spells more than just his name, of him as a person. Brave (eyes black and blazing with a knowing look), a sudden softness when he talks about tigers and a quiet sadness when he talks about how protection is sometimes a thankless job, Babu epitomises the phrase 'Of the jungle.'  When asked of his forest experiences, the first one that comes to his mind is of monitoring B2 the much loved tiger of Bandhavgarh.This was all B2's area where we used to camp at night  to make sure he doesn't get into trouble with the villagers, points Bab

The Sparrow       With the male in the species, resembling nothing short of a masked vigilante, this beautiful ave gave us   quite a scare when it had seemingly disappeared from the cities. I personally missed it a lot, till one day,   they did come back. A whole brood of them mind you, who took charge of a tree outside my house and   now consider it their duty to wake me up every morning by knocking lovingly on my window. However, I   rather be awake listening to them cheep, knowing everything is fine, rather than battle sleeplessness wondering why the outside had become so eerily quiet and had been instead taken over entirely by the sounds of building machinery. Welcome back my darling sparrow, may you never disappear and may your tribe increase! Happy World Sparrow day everyone! Illustration: Me

Tears of the 'Mangge' Hari, a lively boy of 11, lived with his parents in the sleepy fishing village of Kumbarjua in Goa. Forever active, he was always landing in trouble for his butter fingered ways. Unable to keep in check his awkward hands and legs, he preferred spending time in the mangrove forests of Kumbarjua. Here he could walk barefoot in the silt, squishing through the maze of breathing roots and nothing would snap or crash or fall. However, here in the quiet waters of the Kumbarjua canal also lived ‘Mangge’, the freshwater crocodile that the villagers feared, for he had dagger like teeth, a body covered with armour and was notorious for stealing the village fish after which he was said to show false remorse by crying and shedding tears while he contentedly fed on his prey. The villagers felt that the Mangge only pretended to cry and was actually very happy about stealing. They thought he was a hypocrite. “Don’t venture too close to the canal,” Hari’s