Life's mysteries

 No one is what one appears . One of the greatest mysteries of life . Once , I met this man who professed to be a monk . Live simply , he said . No frills . No silly pictures on the wall , no choked wardrobes . Hell, he even wont buy a quilt for himself .Would swear by his sleeping bag . I was impressed . Turns out , I was wrong . This guy had the most sensitive stomach / lungs /skin , on the planet earth . His wardrobes are overflowing , his medicine boxes fill every nook and cranny of the house . He is most famous for his unguentums and liniments , psychological counselling , padded beds , and multicoloured cotton quilts . 

Thereafter , I have met many such paradoxical creatures . A kid who claims to be extrovert , and finds every excuse to duck out of parties . An old man who claims to be totally dependant on others , then shrugs all help and goes to live alone on his ancestral property . A college bully who is actually a softie at heart . 

I could go on and on . Include myself in the list too . Hated ethnic wear all my life and now look forward to every opportunity to tie a saree around my waist . Hated cooking , now cook all the time . Call it a “creative process ” and “therapeutic ” . 

Couldn’t fathom my grandparents obsession with prayers and worship rituals . Now frequent shops selling herbs , rosary beads and brass idols of Gods and Goddesses. Gift near and dear ones and fill my own shelves too .

Life’s mysteries never end . Never cease to amaze you.

Conversation 1

 It was in the aftermath of a thunderous downpour . 

The greater coucal was spraying his neighbour

For he was very large , very wet and dour 

"Pshaw , the humans are better , and drier " 

"See them enjoying tea !" Noted he , quite bitter 

"No , squeaked the sqiurrel from its tree- hole ( s) 

"Thats because they live in hoses ."

"Houses " 

you mean !" Said the coucal , blowing his noses 

"No, it is long and plasticky , and spouts water "

His mate explained , ready to clarify matter

"Idiots !" The owl lost it . 

"The stone boxes they live in , dimwit 

Are called houses . They  walk on roads ."

Added the owl , in a sense , broad 

"Oh, oh, oh , I know roods .

"They are metallic , black and hit hard "

" You know , you've probably mixed .....

"Never mind.." Owl gave up , buried 

his head in his wings and snored 

" It hit cousin willie when he died 

I know when I see one . Rood" 

The squirrel mate shuddered .

As he remembered 

The Coucal thoughtfully sighed 

" You know , I too remember , how he died " 

"He was hit by a car , not rod ."

"No , no , no ." It was long metallic and bloke

The squirrel -mate spoke

"It is black , not bloke , you slow poke "

The silence , Owl broke . 

Now if me  you  will excuse 

I will continue my snooze 

elsewhere . Thank you very much 

And off he flew into the drizzle as such 

" he is right , you know ," 

The coucal furrowed his brow 

"Me too ,

going to look for a drrry aachooo" 

And off he too flew 

Leaving the squirrel pair 

 in confusion -despair 

Squeaking 

speaking 

chasing each other 

down the old tree mother 

 

 

Living in a Jungle Part 2, bird sightings

 Today I woke up to the sound of water being poured from a large jug into a smaller tumbler . The sound repeated itself , at intervals . 

The sound emanated from a branch of the jamun tree outside . Upon investigation , it turned out to be a treepie . a rufous treepie. A bird from the crow family , endowed with the whites , browns and whites , in a fetching and complicated combination . stripes of white ending in black , on the tail , a single slash of white on black wings . Brown body with a burnt sienna head and tail . The moment I had located the noise maker , it was joined by its compatriot , producing another sound which can be best described as the rubbing of an inflated balloon .

Then three of them flew away , cackling in their usual, hoarse  cries . Presumably telling each other that " what a performance that was , wasn't it ? "

I , in my short stay here, have seen two unusual varieties of flame backed woodpecker, one black shouldered and the other lesser golden backed woodpecker . They hit a termite infested dead branch of eucalyptus infront of the house with tremendous force and their bills appear to continue to ricochet , for several minutes . It sounds like a marble thrown on a steel plate . Ricocheting endlessly . It is amazing to see a woodpecker do that . Nature's very own power packed drilling machine.

Another day a couple of bright yellow and black golden orioles flew past . Peelolo. One cried . The mate Peeloloed right back . Very cute little birds . The type that would make people want to cage them , and make them sing for their supper . Beauty , even in birds , is a dangerous thing . It can cost you your freedom .

I remember seeing a caged bulbul in Kolkata once . The poor thing was set out on the hot tin roof , in a cage , made of wire . I , most likely heard it , before I saw it . It was probably asking for help , or hurling abuses at its captors , in its own dulcet tones . What humans heard as a pretty song , was probably a desperate plea for help, a plaintive yelling . What made the sight more tragic , was it continually moving around in its small cage , round and round . 

Then the crows . In the plains , you see the common house crow , which  has ashy grey neck. Here we see the Jungle crow , a glossy , jet black cousin of its house variety . They have harsher cries , and are equally noisy when roosting , equally intrepid , intelligent and vastly outnumber any other bird .

Pigeons , those common rock varieties , who so plague our lives in the cities are conspicuous by their absence . 

Amongst all the common dove varieties , I have seen only a few small brown doves here. 

The mynahs are also fewer in number , Though , the same common mynah we saw in the plains . 

Then there are hornbills and peacocks. The unmistakable stars of the show . There are hornbills with a massive black casque over their yellow , enormous beaks . They have black tails , tipped white . Black enormous wings , white tipped . They sway branches with their sudden weight . They fly low , and slow , like miniature aircrafts . 

The peacocks rarely come out of their wooded areas . But occasionally , they fly clumsily , their wings beating the air into a hugely audible whoosh. Then they honk,  which is heard far and wide .  

In our previous station , I saw the brown headed barbet , whereas here , I have seen the striated barbet. a close relative . The calls and habits identical . They too , come attracted to the termite infested dead bough . 

Then there are sparrow hawks , white throated kingfisher and the black shouldered, bright red beady eyed  kite.  They keep , nonchalantly , sitting on fences , or power lines . But they are known to feast on toads , grasshoppers , even raid the smaller birds' nests.

Another star attraction here is the glossy ibis . Of the black curved talon like beak , and  a large clumsy body which flies agilely and lightly perches on the topmost branches of the eucalyptus. 

Living in a Jungle

 Have you ever seen a hole in the wall bathroom drain ? Yeah , I have . No exaggeration . It is covered with a trap , else the creepy crawlies make themselves at home . But the holes are large enough to let in earth worms and  baby snails . Before you realise it , a night trip to the loo, and you have crunched and squished half a dozen molluscs and annelids . 

No wonder we are causing a  blitzkrieg of extinction . 

Coming back to the vertical drain trap . It , as its name indicates , traps human hair and lint , with a complete efficiency , that makes us wonder how the molluscs and annelids make their way through . Earthworms are plausible , but what about snails that carry their homes on their back ? It is the drain equivalent of letting a sixteen wheeler pass through the narrow gullies  leading to the burning ghats in Varanasi. 

The main door has an interesting three inch wide piece of rubber nailed to its bottom end . It comes in the way of door closure , and has caused clumsy people to trip over it , more than once . 

Only when a neighbour , very thoughtfully , posted a picture of a snake comfortably entwined around her front door grill , was the rubber strip accorded its due share of respect . 

We live in a jungle , and we have to constantly jungle -proof our homes . The jungle still finds a way to pay us visits . Occasionally , scaring the bejesus out of us . 

In most Indian homes , we have a separate wire mesh window , that opens out . Here we have wire mesh nailed to our windows , permanently . All windows . No exception . This is done not just for flies and mosquitoes and insects , but also for monkeys , who occasionally decide to acquaint us to their extended families , bratty kids and all. 

They squat in the road , on rooftops , on gates, arches , window-door panels . Everywhere . They demand the right of way , and are accorded that . Their sheer numbers are overwhelming . Not to mention menacing silverbacks , sitting in plain view , snarling at any attempt to shoo his darling clan members . 

The British made bungalows have sloping roofs with a flat false ceiling . This false ceiling creates an interesting living space for several creatures . A few days ago , a constant chirp/ squeak , created quite a flurry , on a sleepy afternoon. My better half thought  it was a family of rats ( which would explain the night time scurryings) , the boy who brings us afternoon tea , thought it was the sound of some bird hatchlings , and I with my unbridled imagination , denounced it as the helpless shrieks of some poor rodent/ hatchling , in the death throes of some reptilian predator . 

More thumps and thuds lend credence to my theory. 

However , we all stuck to our guns , and luckily , decided to give it some time . It all quietened down after a while , and the roof wasn't torn down . 

The sloping roofs are covered with asbestos sheets , that crack under the weighty enthusiasm of full sized teenaged langurs on post pubertal hormones . Come rain , these cracks let in water which gathers on the false roof , resulting in beautifully shaped / coloured wet patches . They remain pretty for a little while , then enlarge and start dripping . On one's personal effects . 

One solution to this is to get the entire roof changed to a metallic one . Two main disadvantages . Gets incredibly hot in the summers , and is terribly noisy when the above mentioned langurs traipse along the roof . Deafening when they chase each other. Nah, the dripping rain splotches are better .

Many an insomnia fuelled nights , I have lain on my bed , staring at the ceiling , and definitely hear something slithering across. 

No , it doesn't say " I will kill " or some such pronouncement ,aka Chamber of Secrets  but the sound of slithering is enough to petrify one . Much like Hermoine Granger . I dare not wake my better half up , who has an imagination , that can reach the Usain Boltish speed within matter of seconds . Secondly , better one insomniac , than two . 

Every time this happens , I say to myself "All Izz well" like the 3 idiots , and pat myself back to sleep . 

Rain, Again

 The angsty breeze became an angry wind 

shouting obscenities at adamant trees 

who  fumed and exhorted with upturned leaves 

and so many terrifying syllables  

cautioning the wind against its 

wayward ways

Sparks flew 

Lightning cracked the sky into two

So much sharp fury 

Even the grey brown skies couldn't conceal 

Slamming its mighty fist on the earth 

In a ear -splitting thunder 

the reverberations 

went on forever ,

 rumbling 

grumbling 

into distant villages 

dying a quiet death somewhere placid 

Meanwhile the arguments escalated 

the wind howled and raged and stamped 

the trees stood their ground . 

The leaves spoke a collective remonstration 

Finally the skies have had enough 

And the Rains began 

hesitant to interrupt 

at first , then tumultuous 

Joyous , exuberant 

letting go . Largesse from the skies 

came pouring 

In sleet, sheets of rain ,

weaving curvy patterns on earth , 

dodging the wind , The 

leaves repentantly dripping , heads bowed down ,

winds occasionally sobbing still

The trees stoic and steadfast. 

And on guitar

 “It is a music class.”

“Correction , it is a room full of few donated ( and probably defunct ) pieces of musical instruments. ”
” No. It is a music class.” She emphatically put her glass down . Whatever she was drinking , could wait.
The aggressive clank of the glass attracted some interested glances . Most , however , quickly looked away .
“Okay Baba. It is a music class. But what am I supposed to do there ? ” I hastily whispered. I hated scenes . And I quickly capitulated . A lifetime secret of survival , when living with a gaggle of headstrong females.
“You play and teach kids to play .” She wiped her mouth , decisively.
“Play what ? ” I was near hysterical now . The last time I played any musical instrument , it was 45 years ago , in our school band . Flute . From what I recall , there were no flutes in that godforsaken room .
“Guitar “. She said with simple finality . Draining off her glass . “I saw the way you were looking at that guitar .” Now She winked mischievously. Almost sounding as if I was eyeing a girl.
“Listen ! There is no stopping a person from staring at what he likes , that doesn’t mean …” She passed me by , a cloud of boozy odour followed her , “Tomorrow , 9am , sharp.” She smiled sweetly as she shut the door .
God , I hate that woman . And I would hate to disobey her , in the same breath . What kind of a mouse am I ? My inner masculinity wailed .

“And on guitar is our own Mr. Sanders.” I was never so nervous in all my life . The damned belt cut into my shoulders . I fingered the strings once for effect , and the entire class applauded . “Sheesh.” I Thought .
She was still clapping . The witch .And smiling sweetly to boot . I had rung her up at midnight , thereby breaking another protocol , and woke her up in the midst of her booze fuelled dreams. I had told her , after a couple of hours of binge watching youtube videos , that I can teach them basics , Do-Re -Mi . The notes . Thats all . No fancy songs or tunes . That should take care of a couple of lessons .
She had drawled in reply “I love you Darrrling . I knew you would come up with something , Brilliant . ” And then she had blown a kiss . That kiss travelled all of 35 kms and got stuck to some unmentionable part of my god damned anatomy .

What God?

 Breathing through 

sighing in boughs , 

Turning sides , creaking trunks ,

wet , dark ,

 dank 

slippery , 

silvery,

mucus moss green 

, mean

giant 

robust 

what makes you stand 

 a primeval wand

gnarled with magic 

year 

after glorious year 

what makes you brood 

in silence profound 

with infinite patience 

you let nests , pestilence 

run berserk 

all over 

shadow with your arms 

the young ones grow

in shade bow 

to you Majesty 

Tall , unfaltering 

unspeaking 

when was the last time 

you threw a tantrum 

and blew nests , withered leaves 

bark bits and un feathered 

hatchlings ,into rain beaten wind ?

Having swallowed 

thunderous turmoil

of the brazen skies 

having heard millions of 

angst filled bird cries 

having weathered 

man's glut and pride 

the hack of the saw 

the cut of the swing 

the axe- hammer thud 

what are you ? 

Some God ? 

The other day 

a new bride , human , frail 

came to you , incense and wail 

lit a lamp , wiped her tears 

you embraced her fears 

sheltered her fragile flame 

and sent her home with a name 

on her lips of you 

what are you? 

Some messiah ?

Humbug , it is easy 

to dismiss , crazy 

But oh !! 

Your leaves were in a riot 

the birds had such a fright 

Not you , never took flight 

stoic , stood upright 

eventually the wind tired 

the  storm petered 

did bow 

to triumphant you 

Who are you ? 

What God?