Stray Birds @ Thalam -- an update

The exhibition is still open.

That is to say, it has been extended till this Thursday, the 21st of November.

So if you are in Bangalore (or passing through) do go and say hello to the Stray Birds! 

Must have something to do with the fact that it is seeing a lot of footfalls.

Or that all the birds look serene and peaceful on the walls of Thalam, as if they were on familiar perches, and as such, the Thalam guys are not too inclined to take off the exhibits.

Anyway, I wouldn't know, I am here in Hyderabad and missing out on all the action.

~~

The Bangalore Mirror did a story on the Stray Birds.

Read it here 

The actual story (in the physical -- as opposed to online -- newspaper) has a lot many more birds.

Hopefully, I will get my hands onto a copy of the newspaper.

 

  

Stray Birds in the news, etcetera

The Hindu's Metro Plus Bangalore edition covered Stray Birds today.

No, this was not my doing at all, but rather that of the Thalam guys (from what little I understand about how these things happen). Do take a look, see here. I must say the questions I was asked were pretty thought-provoking (and evidently well thought out).

I would have liked some more questions about the bird poems themselves, but as we all know pictures (or photos) garner far more notice. In fact, I am told that Thalam is seeing a lot of footfalls everyday since the opening of Stray Birds. 

Thank you Harini, thank you  Thalam!

~ ~ ~

In the little bit of boxing that I have done, I have never lost a tooth (thanks to technique, gum guards, etc.) and the damage has been limited to swollen lips and the taste of blood -- which in a very funny way, is heady, almost a mood-upper, in the way it keeps you keyed up.

It was that very taste of blood that kept me going through the bus journeys to B'lore, the pillion-borne flying on a friend's bike and the launch of Stray Birds.

Yet, spending the whole day with your tongue trying to be an eye proffering uneducated diagnoses of your oral well being is no way to be.

So, the tooth had to come out (on Tuesday, some three days ago).

The knockout blows of the painkiller thereafter has been something altogether, even to someone like me.

The morning after grogginess (especially on the first day) was yet another. Luckily for me, I have a Dentist whom I can trust my life with, yet getting a tooth removed is certainly unnerving. But somehow, in some kind of an evolutionary way, I seem to have managed to survive it. 

And yes, pain is good -- if for nothing else, for the fact that it makes one feel alive.

(On an irreverent, very self-depreciating aside -- that leaves me with 30 teeth. Thirty teeth and 2 hearing aids in my 40th year. If I do the math, what exactly is my value in the Marriage Market now?)   

A lust for life (and lenses)

Or, since I have already managed to get myself a Nikon 600 mm f/4, what I am lusting for now is an as light as possible tripod (Gitzo series 5?) and as versatile and maneuverable gimball head arrangement (Wimberly? or Jobu Design Black Widow?) so that the lens is supported, stable, etc, etc

As opposed to being a deadweight that cannot be raised to eye level for shooting birds.

Aren't these -- the tripod and gimball head arrangement -- unnecessary accessories that will be put away in some convenient corner and gather dust? After all, that is what happens to most tripods, by virtue of their weight and unwieldy nature, it is not?

Ummm...well, I hate tripods and would rather handhold my lenses all the while. And I have managed pretty well all these while (the Sigma 150-500 is more or less a pygmy in terms of weight when compared to the Nikon 600 mm, but its no featherweight, all said and done). And over the last couple of weekends I have managed to do a lot of shooting with the 600 mm, totally hand-held and also by bracing it here and there (including my knee, etc) but the fact remains that it progressively ends up becoming a deadweight.

To get an idea of what I am saying, think of a scenario from a Hindi film, just after a gunfight in which one of the characters (mostly the villain) has taken a bullet but is still trying to raise his gun, summoning all the remaining vestiges of strength in his body and yet, fails, to either pass out or die. In my case, there are no bullets involved and nor is there any blood, but a bird looking at me with a mischievous glint in its eye while I am straining the sinews of shoulders and biceps and arms to hold the lens steady to squeeze off a shot...

And yes, most of the time I am able to squeeze of the shot as well...but

So, the lust for a carbon fiber tripod and a sufficiently advanced gimball head continues.

*****

Meanwhile, at the buffalo wallow (a buffalo wallow that is as full as it has ever been, in the last 3+ years that I have birded around it) a pair of Darters have taken up residence in addition to the numerous Cormorants (great and small) that are there from morning to evening. As have a pair of Purple Herons, in addition to the the Great Egrets and the Blue Herons that are there from morning to evening. Which means that I see a lot of fish getting caught and I keep missing "capturing" the moment "perfectly" (read full-frame and in absolutely sharp detail) mostly because I am a bit distant or because the bird gobbles the fish too fast or because the light is wrong or so on and so forth...

But catch the moment pretty soon I will, pretty soon...

And hopefully it will be when I will have the lens mounted on the Vanguard Auctus 283 AT that I have recently acquired and hence relatively stable as well! 

Also back at the buffalo wallow (while a reed bed grows) is a Common Kingfisher. I mean I have seen only one as of now (incidentally the lady) but I am sure the other is around as well. And, something tells me it is Lil' Blue which is back.

About time, about time -- it was around now last year that they strayed into my life, to progressively grow more and more familiar and to make me feel accepted. In the process, making me promise that I will bring out Stray Birds in their honour. Would this year mean even closer encounters?   

Speaking of which, I have already had one close encounter with Lady Lil' Blue -- saw her ensconced deep in the shadows of a thorn tree, went to ground as efficiently and soundlessly as a well trained hound and then fired away at something close to minimum focus distance (of around 6 meters) for more or less 10 minutes. I swear, I felt the bird was aware of me. And I would have got a couple of "perfect" shots as well (unimpeded sight of the bird, without any branches or leaves in between and with the bird in the light) by and by, slowly slithering through the dirt and slime, but then a Chatak came and landed on the thorn clump as if it belonged to it and our friend Lady Lil' Blue took off...

******

All this talk of lusting -- for a camera, a lens, a tripod, etc, etc -- is peculiarly not much off the mark considering how obsessively I photograph birds. Its even lesser off the mark when one remembers the madness with which I set out birding in March / April / May of this year; the costly visits to Uttarkhand and Bor, and the almost-daily jaunts all around my place in 45 degree plus temperatures.

But that is how it is, maybe -- sometimes its a madness that keeps you sane.

And yet, by comparison with someone like Van Gogh (his autobiography is titled "A lust for life") how mad can I consider my own obsessive streak to photograph birds? How much of what I capture is art? Yet, there are similarities -- I lug around a lot of gear, in all probability I lug around more weight than he did, in his quest to paint his subjects as seen in natural light, in situ.

And yes, my ears bother me (though I will never cut them off) more than his ever bothered him.  

Meanwhile, I am assailed by sore wrists, thews, biceps, shoulders, lats, back, knees, thighs and (dead) feet. No, I have not joined back a gym or survived a duel with Conan, the barbarian, just lugging around 10 kilos of gear and photographing birds -- over yet another weekend.

But this is a good pain to have, I will say. 

                    

Stray Birds in Bangalore -- Postponed

Just a quick update.

My book launch and photography exhibition at B'lore, Stray Birds has been postponed to November.

The opening (of the exhibition) and the book launch will now be on November 9th.

And the exhibition will be ongoing till November 16th.

More updates to follow.

Why is this event getting postponed, you ask?

Cold feet is one reason -- I have a lot of trepidations about lugging all my photography gear, about Bangalore, etc., etc.

What to exhibit is another reason -- I have too many photographs of too many birds; selecting from a gazillion of these feathered folks is no easy task. Then again, this is art -- and always a Work In Progress.

Work -- yes, that's the primary reason.

November isn't that far away; meanwhile I have canceled a train ticket and Stray Birds has been postponed.       

Stray Birds in Bangalore

This was under consideration for sometime.

I mean the good folks at Thalam have kept an invite open for almost 3 months now.

But as is my wont (as befits someone who uses hearing aids and would rather be behind the camera than in front of it) I have been diffident.

Which is a trifle unfair to the book and the photographs I take -- to the Stray Birds, considering how successful the launch and show at Hyderabad was.

Anyway, here it is now, more details soon, please watch this space.

P.S. -- Photography exhibitions are certainly peculiar animals (logistics wise)...what goes without saying is that this one will be as much of a learning experience for me as the first one was; what doesn't is that I bloody wish I had a car now, a car capacious enough for me to load all the framed prints (read  exhibits) and highway it to Bangalore. Which means I have minimum issues logistics wise and maximum control (artistic, artistic) on what I exhibit.

Oh well, not that I bloody know how to drive.      

On a different kind of walkabout

At something close to 6 kilos, this is more bazooka (or LMG) than a lens.

But make no mistake about it, a lens it is and a bloody marvelous one at that -- as fine a culmination (and celebration) of physics and optics as is humanly possible.

I am talking of my newly acquired 600 mm f/4, I am talking of this 

So then, how did a poet who was flirting with financial ruin and poverty manage to acquire something as costly as two (or even three) cars?

Mostly because of another loan (like in case of the other 600, the D-600 -- a camera --that I had acquired).

So, in terms of relationships of the financial kind, I now have another EMI to add to my Housing EMI, but yes, it will get paid and it will get paid bloody soon.

Because the Birdman doesn't like owing anyone.

Especially not for a 600mm f/4 beauty.

Now that I have taken that off my chest, a few things about how this is more bazooka (or LMG or Rocket Launcher) than lens. The first day I tried photographing with it, my left bicep gave up on me, swelling up / cramping as if I have arm-wrestled with Hulk Hogan. I got back home within barely a hour, counting the steps back, worried that I will "drop" the deadweight of the monster thing.

The second time was better, the third more so. The morning after, as I write this, my biceps, shoulders and almost all of upper body still feels as if I have just got out of a grueling gym session, but then those are pains any birder can live with.  

Here's looking forward to more such walkabouts with this beautiful marvel of technology that lets me live the gift of my eye.

And as I am already saying again and again, if nothing else, carrying all that weight around will help me lose some. 

Stray Birds -- the Photo Poetry Exhibition

Apart from being a book of poems, Stray Birds is also the name of the Photo Poetry exhibition currently ongoing at Goethe-Zentrum.

The exhibition comprises of 25 large (12X18 inches) and 24 medium (10X12 inches) size, artistically framed, high quality prints of bird photographs (guaranteed to not lose colour for at least 5 years) and some of the bird poems from Stray Birds (the book).

These are photographs that will grace any wall (at home or office) and add a birdy touch to any environment, and yours for the taking (after the duration of the exhibition; ask at Goethe-Zentrum for more details).

The exhibition is open from 9.30 in the morning to 5.30 in the evening and on till the 23rd of June.

So hurry, go see a stray bird in the eye!

Thursday the 13th, June 2013, a grand evening

The title more or less says it all.

It was a grand evening indeed.

Was this my best "book release" ever?

I don't know.





But I must say I was blown away, by the turnout, by the amazing professionalism of the guys at Goethe-Zentrum (specifically Anna) and the fact that I sat in between the one and only Aasheesh Pittie and the one and only Vijay Marur. 

The best part of the evening was when a nice lady wanted me to sign two books for her with "birds" added to "wish you all the best in life".

A big thank you to all who came over braving the rain

A bigger thank you to Anna, Mercy and Amita for putting up with my "first show" jitters and resultant delays.

An even more bigger thank you to my brother Sashi, if not for his stewardship, I would have been headed towards Hussein Sagar with an auto load of prints and frames.

The birdman is happy and humbled, thank you everyone.

Some of the pics of the event are here 

And if you would like to follow what is happening vis-a-vis Lil' Blue and Stray Birds, keep checking out this page on FB

A lust for life and close encounters with the beautiful wilds

Looking back, over the last three years, I have spent a lot
of time outdoors, and most of it is in the "wilds"
near my place, in what is more or less military / government
land that has been left on its own -- crisscrossed by grass-verged
dirt tracks and populated by quite a few trees (though none
are that old or that giant) and interspersed with rocky outcrops
and disused quarries.

And I have been spending a lot more time here than the usual
hour in the morning or hour in the evening in the last two months,
thanks to the fact that I have had plenty of time on my hands and
that the profusion of butterflies and birds that I have found here.

I have seen the most stunning of artists -- mother nature -- at
work here, seen the dusty expanses of sun-scorched grass turn
green and then burst into colour -- with a billion wildflowers --
blue, wine red, yellow, purple and so on. And I have felt like
going down on my knee, overwhelmed by the inherent mystique in
the fluidity with which mother nature transforms what was once
a barren, almost dead landscape into something that calls out
to the Van Gogh in me...

I have agonized over the choice -- on continuous forays into
these wilds, on continuous days -- if to stick to shooting the
landscapes on offer or be led on a dance shooting the birds and
the butterflies. And there have been days when I have kicked
myself for not having both of my lenses with me (while perched
high on the narrow saddle of the Schwinn -- which doesn't have
a carrier or allow for leisurely ATB kind of cycling -- lugging
much gear is a bit tough) or when I have had both with me, I have
agonized over whether to shoot the whole meadow or a close up of
a flower and so on and so forth...

It is another matter that I have already come to the conclusion
that photography cannot be mixed with anything else; even with a
leisurely cycle ride, especially when it is the photography
of birds and butterflies.

Being on the cycle (with the camera zipped up in a bag) means that
by the time I am ready to shoot, the bird has flied off or it means
that there is a limit to the amount of "on foot" chasing that's
possible behind a butterfly, while leaving the Schwinn unguarded.

Which means, I have spent a lot of time afoot in these wilds and
hopefully will spend some more time walking through them.

And while enjoying the feeling that the wilds are my own private
preserve, thrilling in knowing these open expanses first
hand, for having played amateur naturalist and rookie woodsman
and coming across tailor bird nests, conclaves of bee eaters,
shy peacocks and even shyer coucals, pairs of bulbuls, colonies
of weaver birds, trapezing chameleons...

How do I even begin to express the pricelessness -- of the wealth
of all these ramblings in the wilds? It certainly cannot be
measured in terms of the photographs I have taken; I sincerely
feel that peering through a zoom lens is no less "naturalist" and
fieldwork from an ornithologist / lepidopterist point of view
than it would have been if the peering had been through a pair of
binoculars...and the ego boost of a good / perfect capture -- of a
bird or a butterfly is at many times secondary to the joys of seeing
the bird or butterfly with an enraptured eye :-)

And yes, just when I start thinking that I have seen it all, I see
something totally new and wonderful, something that -- yet again --
thrills me with the joy of witnessing and understanding the magic in
the behaviour of yet another "wild" species while simultaneously
humbling me with its beauty and economy of being natural.

I forget I have a camera with me when I see multitudes of small
butterflies like the Anderson's Grass Yellow -- fluttering and
wheeling around, like so many children at play -- preparatory to
settling down to puddle. Or I forget that I am supposed to take
a picture, capture the minute when I see a pair of Pied Kingfishers
bobbing / balancing on a barbed wire (for some reasons these birds
always seem to fish in a pair) while -- with the accompaniment of
a twinkle in the eye -- shitting a pearly white; instead grinning
to myself...

And it still doesn't cease to wonder me when (after having observed
the same countless times) I see weaver birds in their bright yellow
plumage, at work weaving freshly fetched green grass into what is
already a project that is a month long...going on and on...with the
finickiness of the true artists, building masterpieces the same way
countless of their ilk have done before as directed by their genetic
code.

It is more or less the same feeling -- of wonder and awe -- with
which I watch a butterfly pirouette on a lantana flower, preparatory
to going for the nectar the way a kid would for the jam bottle;
somehow the butterfly's greed seems more worthy of respect,
more evolved!

I don't know how long these wilds will survive -- as with most
open spaces within or flanking a concrete jungle called the city
these face the depredations of man too. I found (on my return from
Varanasi) that many weaver bird nests have been knocked down
and in some cases those very branches on which the nests were
have been cut; God only knows why and by whom...and a large
residential colony is already coming up flanking the wilds --
but I do look forward to some more close encounters, some more
peaceful epiphanies like the one I had on this Sunday.

I was cycling through the wilds on the dirt track and I came
across three bee-eaters, their green plumage iridescently
dazzling lying right on the track, beaks and beady red eyes
looking skywards, wings stretched out, something I have never
seen any bird do. Maybe they were sunbathing, or they were
praying.

Whatever they were doing, I did go down on my knee yet again.

And the photographs that resulted were but a bonus.

The fascinating world of my butterflies

Picturise a late morning -- 11ish -- setting, of grass that has a dazzle
that can only be called "green gold", along with a wealth of Lantana,
bramble and scrub and other wildflowers, under a wealth of sunlight
pouring in from dazzling blue skies. *

Amidst this "canvas" for the photographically inclined, now picturise
the flight -- of specks of bright colour -- hither and tither, this way
and that, now soaring up to be lost in the light of the skies, now
dipping down to vanish into the green of the verdure.

If you can follow the speck of bright colour long enough and do it
again and again on a daily basis (and google for it and land up at
places like this) probably you can recognize one of them as an individual "type" as opposed to "hmmm, isn't
that a butterfly?"

Okay, if you are an "old butterfly hand" kindly excuse me for
this whiff of what may appear to be grandstanding (it's delight,
that too childish, in fact) but yes, I have got good enough to
identify some butterflies in flight (and most when they are
basking) and in fact I already have a substantial list (one that
will hopefully grow) of my butterflies.

So hold my camera while I type them down, will you please?

Common Rose
Crimson Rose
Banded Swallowtail / Blue Bottle / Common Jay
Pale Grass Blue
Common Tiger
Striped Albatross
Leopard
Red Helen
Lime Butterfly
Danaid Eggfly (male / female)
Common Jezebel
Blue Pansy
Peacock Pansy
Lemon Pansy
Yellow Pansy
Chocolate Pansy
Striped Tiger
Plain Tiger
Blue Tiger
Tawny Coaster
Common Castor
Anderson's Grass Yellow
Blue Spotted Crow / King Crow (male / female)
Zebra Blue
Pale Grass Blue
Common Cerulean
Grass Demon
Common Gull
The Pioneer
Mottled Emigrant
Common Emigrant
The Baronet
Brown Awl

Yes, many of these butterflies have even resulted in pretty good
captures! Which is like an added joy on top of the fascinating
reward of just seeing and identifying the butterfly.

As I write this, its been almost three months of lots and lots
of painstaking field work, of being scratched in the bushes,
of being led a dance in what one thinks is stalking and the
absolute disregard of time in what is involved in
"chasing a butterfly", but nonetheless it has been worth it.

As has been the tanning of my sun-exposed body and bleaching of
the wilderness of my hair.

Because, for every proper "capture" of a butterfly, there are
countless more that take root in me in the form of poems.

And capture or not, poem or not, its humbling to "see" a
butterfly and both enlightening and delightful to thereafter
read up on it and know it as an individual, as yet another
lovely living thing that makes nature what it is -- a
fascinating world.

Here's to you -- my butterflies, may your tribe(s) increase!

* Sad, but true...it hasn't rained much in Hyderabad this year.
Normally I would tear my hair out and complain and bawl a lot.
But this time I was getting something built, okay? Also, you
cannot do much photography of butterflies. Ask me :-)

A dray of squirrels

It was on either the first or the second second day of my
Shiva Deeksha, towards April end, that I had got my first
sighting of a squirrel in my neighbourhood. The credit for this
mostly goes to the degree of early morning bushy-tailedness of my
eyes (the grogginess from Coffee deprivation kicked in from the
fourth day onwards), or probably to the fact that I had been peering
through a 55-300mm lens for almost a month, and had developed a
naturalist's perspective, in terms of detecting movement in what
probably constitutes the nearest plane of sight for the eye.

Or, as my brother said, it had to do with my Shiva Deeksha and
divine intervention -- since Lord Shiva is considered the lord of
all beasts, birds and praanis -- and the squirrels were "visiting"
me.

Whatever the reason be, that first squirrel sighting led to a
second squirrel sighting and then -- before I was a week into
my Shiva Deeksha -- came the discovery that a pair of squirrels
were living in a cable junction box fixed onto the electric pole
in front of my gate. Naturally, in the days that followed, the
squirrels were more or less a constant daily object of my attention,
while I got more adept at using the camera and learning the ropes of
"wildlife photography". And, the reason for a lot of wonder and joy
too, because there were times when I had to blink and pinch myself
and question if Coffee deprivation was making me see double
(or quadruple), because there would be days when four of these
little fellows would be looking back at me, watchfully and
squirrely in their mien -- perched on the junction box, peering
out of it or just curled around the coil
of cable, bushy tail hanging, shooting the breeze...

And oh yes, life wasn't exactly a picture perfect
portrait -- ensconced in a cosy and safe junction box and
the object of attention of a harmless poet -- for the
squirrels. There was much drama and pathos too.

Most mornings all through May the junction box used to be
visited by a pair (and at times three or even more) of
Brahminy Starlings (a bird related to the Common Mynah) and
all hell would break loose. Because (unless the reason for this
attack was some running feud at the family level or the species
level) the Brahminy Starlings seemed intent on grabbing the
junction box for a nest and determined on driving the squirrels
out by hectoring and dive bombing them at every available
opportunity.

In retrospect those attacks by the wildly fluttering and
airborne Starlings seem a bit comical, but when it was happening
it was quite an eyeful for me to silently observe and mindful
for me to understand and digest. Especially on days when the
Starlings had a glint in their eye that bordered on the evil
and a body language and demeanour that indicated a total
siege mentality.

For all I (or you) know probably the junction box was a nest
for these Starlings and the squirrels had moved in without
permission. However as you can very well guess, I was totally
rooting for them and completely biased towards them, and even
joined the battle on the rare occasion when (as if to break the
siege, the squirrels would emerge one by one and slither down
the pole, quickfoot; to forage) an airborne Starling seemed
close enough to hurt one of the squirrels.

I mean I would shoo away the Starling.

The attacks stopped after a while and (having shot gazillions
of squirrel photos) I ventured onto focusing on other
"wildlife", namely birds of the feathered variety, ranging
around my place barefeet and cycle-borne. And getting capture
after capture of Sunbirds, Little Egrets, Great Blue Herons,
Great White Herons, Cormorants and so on..

The Deeksha ended, life became a bit more laid back (in terms
of getting up in the mornings) a bit more caught up with this
and that and then with the first hint of rains, I discovered
that the camera and lens combo I have is good to take pics
of butterflies too.

So you can very well guess what I have been busy with these
last three months, in terms of being creative that is, when
not writing poetry that is.

Yet, all this while not a single day has passed without a
sighting of one of the little fellows; either shooting the
breeze on the junction box, or in a clump of Lantana (seems
squirrels eat both the flowers and the ripe berries)
or -- in a very mock navigatorish pose -- perched atop
the pole surveying the horizons for tidings of the weather.

And yes, I have also been taking the odd squirrel picture
here and there between captures of Common Roses and Blue
Pansies and Mottled Emigrants.

These little fellows are of course cautious to a fault
or it must be that my dark visage and bearded face makes
me look like a thundercloud. Whatever it be, at the very
most we are neighbours and I have not been anything more
than a very curious observer of squirreldom. Which means
(though I agonized about what they eat) I did not stuff
down almonds or peanuts or whatnots into the junction box
or requisition a thumb sized AC for them to deal with the
heat of May and June.

But then, two days back something happened that has
changed the equation.

On Friday evening, the cable repairmen came and got
around to doing what cable repairmen do; with a nice
big ladder propped on the pole. The first I came to know
about this domesticus interreptus happening in
squirreldom was when I saw the junction box totally opened,
the lid hanging down, a cable repairman perched on the
ladder near it and another down below peering at the ground.
As if hunting for a coin that had fallen there.

I really have no idea of how much I bristled. I also did
not knee the repairman where it hurts a lot. I just asked
if they saw any squirrels. And I was told that a couple of
them bounded out and away. So what were they searching for
then? Enlightenment struck me when I noticed what looked
like matted brown hair on the ground below. And I
realised I was looking at a nest of squirrel fur!

Were there any baby squirrels? Oh, yes, three of them, a
bit littler than my little finger with lizardly tails,
curled up and looking as defenceless as three coccineas,
but for the three stripes on their backs...

The cable repairmen seemed to be nice guys, as considerate
as me and concerned about keeping the squirrels alive. So I
did not have to resort to any story-telling about their
lineage and refer to Lord Shiva or anything. Yet, the question
that was evidently top of mind for all of us homo sapiens now
was, "What to do?"

The cable repairman was of the opinion that the nest
could be left on the ground and that the squirrels will
come and claim their own once we all left. But, I could
think of half a dozen species including snakes, geckos,
cats, dogs and bandicoots who could make morsels out of
the baby squirrels. So leaving the nest on the ground was
ruled out and I ran home and got a shoebox. The nest fitted
snugly into the shoebox and I could have said bye to the
cable repairmen, taken the shoebox home, punched some
ventilation holes into it and then left for a drink.

But, wait, wait...I did not know what grown up
squirrels eat, what in the blazes would I feed these
thumbelina sized mites? And evidently they were still
suckling...would the mother squirrel visit my home and
feed them?

Would Pakistan give us Kashmir back?

So that ruled out the shoebox too.

Thus, only one option was left.

Put the nest back into the junction box and hope
that the squirrels would get back and take care of
their own. So, the cable repairmen did just that and
left. And I looked up at the junction box, then a bit
more upwards at the heavens and (as it was getting
dark and I was getting thirsty) went in search for
that drink.

For most of Friday evening the thought at the back
of my head was -- will the squirrels return back?

For most of Saturday morning, I had a hangover of
the same thoughts worrying my being.

Till I saw a familiar sight -- on Saturday
afternoon -- the right revered Squire Squirrel of
the lineage blessed by the son of Dashratha himself,
quickfooting it down the electric pole.

Dunno which squirrel it was, mother, father, uncle,
whoever...but it was a squirrel and it was moving
with more or less squirrely matter of factness.

Oh joy!

Sunday brought some more sightings and I have seen
the fellows busy with affairs of squirreldom today
too.

Which means that either they have gone back to the
junction box, or they have moved somewhere close by. Which
more importantly means that the thumbelina squirrels are
(in all probability)being taken care of by Mama Squirrel.

And I will be peering closely at the junction box, for
some more time to come. Hoping to see the thumbelinas
make an appearance at the "door" soon.

Okay, go ahead have a laugh on me, the big bad biker, the
intense poet sounding like a godfather.

But also wish me, that my own menagerie of all things
small and beautiful and wild will still (hopefully) continue
to include a dray of squirrels.

In addition to three goldfish at home, the birds and the
butterflies.

Far from the madding crowd

Far from the madding crowd?

Oh yes.

Far from the effed up city traffic?

Oh yes, very much yes.

Just around 10 days back, I finally took a call and got the barrel
and piston on the Bullet replaced. I have been a bit around this
country on that barrel and piston and done close to 90k kms on it.
But still, technically speaking it shouldn't have
failed / ceased / seized. My current mechanic is soft-spoken,
highly skilled and very very wise (he's touching 60) and
according to him the piston overheated and failed. Incredulously,
not because I was racing at 130 kmph on the highway,
throttle locked and hunched like a jockey on my iron horse.
But because, I had negotiated a 55 minutes long
crawl -- Basheerbagh -> Liberty -> Tank Bund -> Sindhi
Colony -> Paradise X Roads -> Vikrampuri (where the engine
conked out), largely in 1st and 2nd gear on yet another
forgettable evening when the city's traffic was well and
truly fucked.

In other words, I got trafucked.

Is that a word (yet)? I don't know, but I am sure
Hyderabad's traffic won't get better, rains or no rains.
There are just too many people and too many cars to give
the city's roads any chance to be orderly.

So the thirst to be far from the madding crowd...

Another reason is that I am now running in the aforementioned,
"new" barrel and piston, a task that is not exactly easy,
requiring as it does inordinate patience, a nose (literally)
for the smell of over-heating, a total disregard for the passage
of time and so on and so forth...

Whatever some of my other biker / rider friends may say,
somehow the idea of running-in the city doesn't make sense
to me, after all I don't want to get trafucked again...

So I have been riding around on the highways and man, oh man,
have I been tripping or what?

Two of my status messages (from Facebook) to illustrate
what's on my mind while on the road


Then – a single lane, sunlit
dapple ground for mango, banyan and neem.
Now – a wide carriageway, to hurtle or airstrip,
in antiseptic speed. With a median that's a country
road – of grasses nodding sagely,
riding breezes and slipstreams. What remains
of that sunlit dapple ground – like a single leg
of worn blue denim, still catches sight.
Here light puddles bright,
as golden shelled maize, tanned brown paddy.


(This was after an approximately 250 kms -- to and
fro -- ride on NH 7, one of my familiar haunts for
most of my riding days in the Deccan)


The roads belong to no one,
but S.H.1 remains mine –
blessedly alive
as a beating vein on the back
of my right hand
– like my throttle wrist.
For 78 kms under a mellow November sun.
To a bit before Siddipet (and back).
Through a rain-soaked Deccan bursting
with colours – yellow-flowering gram,
“oh-so-white” cotton, wildflowers
I know not the name of and
the good, green earth.


(This was after a traipse on the road that leads
to Shamirpet Lake and a lot beyond, again a familiar
haunt for as long as I have been riding
in the Deccan)

There's a lot more of running in left and to make things more
time-consuming I also finally bought a Nikon D-90 (an impulsive
purchase using the only credit card I have) so I am hoping I will
traipse around some more and compose something poetic with my eye.

Somewhere far from the madding crowd.