I Support Shahrukh Khan

Any Pakistani cricketer has the right to play anywhere in India and I fully share this view with actor Shahrukh Khan. Being an Indian, I am proud of our culture of co-existance. The beauty of India lies in it's diversity and even the whole world can't destroy it. I can only feel sorry for the petty politicians of Shivsena, for they live in a very small world.
Muslims of India don't need certificate from anybody. They belong to India and even they can't deny from this very fact.

The cubs are safe

The three cubs of the dead Bamera Tigress have been found alive. They are well and the forest department personnel are taking care of them.

Death of a tigress

19 August, 2009. Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. A caravan of jeeps is passing through the village called Patour and I am also a part of it. We are driving along the old road towards a culvert, below which a tigress in her prime is lying dead. This is the Bamera Tigress having about eight months’ old three small cubs. The cubs are too small to survive in the wild without their mother, so their fate is also sealed.
We reach the spot as a crowd of forest personnel and villagers silently watch the guards bringing out the dead tigress laden on a wooden stretcher. The postmortem shows no conclusive cause of death and the whole matter is referred to the lab. Although, the incident seems to be the result of the two human killings by this tigress some months before. Apart from that, the Bamera tigress had also become an ardent cattle lifter.
There is rain in the air and a loud rumble of lightening sweeps across the grey sky. I watch the beautiful striped body of the tigress disappear in the roaring flames of the funeral pyre. The lush green forest in the background shimmers in the rising smoke.
I am sad, feeling a queer vacuum inside, but I am more determined than ever to save the tiger.

Bandhavgarh, 24 July 2009

It’s raining heavily in Bandhavgarh. We experienced little rain in last two years, so this is something very relieving.
The male tiger B2 is fine and I heard about him few days before. He was seen on a kill by a patrolling party twenty kilometers away from Tala.
The few months old little elephant calf Panchali is healthy and being cared well by her mother and ant. The family live near the mane gate.
The field director along with his staff confiscated a leopard skin from a shopkeeper in Budhar near Bandhavgarh. He also caught a gang of traditional trappers called Pardhis. So, something to cheer about as far as poachers are concerned.

Travelling With A Photographer

'In this digital age, anybody can pick an expensive camera and take nice pictures.' This I used to think about photography until I travelled with Lalit Rajora. I spent fifteen days with him, visiting Panna and Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserves in Madhya Pradesh, in the hot month of May,2006. He kept clicking around while I enjoyed being in the forest, wrote and talked to my jungle friends. One evening he showed his work to me and my jaw dropped with surprise. He had captured the moments. Moments which are always there but normally slip without our notice. He had captured the leap of a langur monkey from the thatched roof of the hut, the sudden flight of an Indian Roller exposing her deep blue colour, a mating pair of red and black Tiger Butterflies in greenish background and a huge white cloud scudding across the burning sky. In fact Lalit had used his camera like a writer uses his pen or a painter plays with colours to express himself. His work was pure art, full of imagination, innovation and feelings. One night, as we were sipping tea on the wooden platform up on the tree, a storm brewed on the horizon across the Ken river. The snakes of lightning leapt everywhere as I heard distant rumble of thunder. A strong cold wind started from the direction of the storm. Lalit silently picked his tripod and camera and worked near the wooden railling. Within moments he showed his pictures of the pink flashes of lightning and drops of rain. That was amazing and I still wonder how could he capture those flashes which hardly lasted for a fraction of a second...and those drops of rain in that inky darkness. Well done Lalit!

Is It Tiger's Fault?

Last week a tigress killed a villager at Timaria in Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve. Now it will create uproar. Questions will be raised on the efforts being made to save the tiger and his world in India. Local politicians will try to take advantage of the situation. Fortunately our government is quite determined to save the tiger and any attempt to hamper conservation efforts will be met with iron hands. Now some of you may ask me on human grounds that isn't it cruelity on my part to defend the tigress who has killed a boy! Well, I will explain it to you.This tigress is having two young cubs and her territory is squeezed between villages. She lives in stress created by the human activities around her, like cattle grazing and collection of Mahua flowers and Tendupatta or beedi-leaf. This boy, while collecting Tedupatta, reached too near to the resting tigress and her cubs. Concerned for her cubs and stressed to the bursting point by the activities of leaf-collectors, and tormented by the heat of Indian summers, she got angry and killed the intruder in a flash. A couple of months before she had killed a stray dog in anguish against the Mahua-collectors, but did not eat the dog. This dog had entered the jungle with the villagers and was killing sppoted deer and their fawns regularly.In 1900, India had 40000 tigers. Now the number has come down to 1410. Most of the prime tiger habitat has been destroyed by the ever-increasing population and poachers are killing tigers and leopards almost every day.Only few pockets of prime tiger habitats are left now. And, when even these small pockets are invaded, such unfortunate incidents happen.

MY FIRST TIGER

‘Brain fever! Brain fever!’ The common hawk cuckoo called persistently that cool early morning, rising in crescendo and then stopping abruptly. He would not let me sleep any longer. A puff of pleasant spring breeze refreshed me as I came out of my hut, and was left spellbound by the beauty of the green surroundings and bright sunlight, falling on the mud walls of the hut. The cuckoo called from the foliage of the mango grove a hundred yards away and a forest clad low hill marked the skyline beyond the grove. I had arrived very late last night and could not see much in the dark, except the huge roadside tree trunks illuminated by the headlights of the car, and an infinite expanse of the star studded sky, which I remembered vividly. It was March 20, 1995 and I had come to stay in Bandhavgarh for next seven months. I was looking forward to see my first tiger in the wild. During the first few days I expected tigers everywhere; behind every thicket, on every bend along the forest roads, in the vast expanses of grasslands, over the rocks, around every waterhole and up on the hills. Gradually my approach became more rational and I started learning the art of enjoying the jungle in its totality. Lying in the cottage after the lunch I invariably heard spotted dove calling outside. It’s ceaseless ‘Kooo! Kroo! Kroo! Kroo!’ became an inseparable part of those warm sleepy afternoons. The chirping and long drawn plaintive songs of ioras and the harsh cawing of shiny-black jungle crows, fighting over something dead under the tree kept my sense of being in the jungle alive, as I read books or wrote letters. I began to feel that I was more at home in that untouched wilderness. One evening, in a dense forest patch adjoining a village in a remote area, I saw a changeable hawk eagle sitting on the ground under a sal tree. He torn threads of meat from a dead domestic cock pinned under his sharp claws, and gulped them down the throat, lifting his sharp curved beak upwards in the process. He also kept looking sideways, jerking his long crest. He might have stolen the rooster from the nearby village. After a short while he took flight with mangled remains of the bird hanging from his talons, and settled on a high branch fifty yards away, leaving behind blood-stained white feathers of the fowl. On another occasion I saw an eagle feeding on the carcass of a langur up on the bank of a dry streambed. He must have found the langur dead, for though the ‘changeable hawk eagle’ is a very strong bird, a grownup langur is a little too big for him. One day I saw him trying to kill a pair of peafowl. Perched on a branch, he kept swooping every couple of minutes, attacking the neck of the peafowls, which in turn tried to hide their neck under their bellies and blared frantically. Two jackals waited some yards away, their tails wagging in anticipation of a meal with their jaws agape and tongues hanging. The brave pair stood the airborne and ground attack, ran around in frenzy and escaped into the safety of a dense bamboo thicket. Wild dogs widely inhabit the jungles of Central India and Bandhavgarh is not an exception, though it is rare to see them in Tala rage because of the high density of tigers. They are regularly reported, along with the wolves and chinkaras, from the other ranges. The local Gond and Baiga tribes fear wild dogs and always give them a wide berth. They say that wild dogs urinate on their own tails and sprinkle the poisonous urine into the eyes of man, making him blind. In fact, this behaviour is associated with their territorial marking. Though a savage hunter, the wild dog stays away from the man and there is no authentic record of wild dogs attacking a man, or even a child. While driving through Subari grassland one early morning, I saw three or four wild dogs in the middle of the road. The ruddy-brown dogs with black-tipped bushy tail looked thickset, sturdy and agile. They were circling in an uncertain manner, sniffing the roadside clumps of grass and trying to mount each other. Suddenly a jungle cat, unaware of the presence of wild dogs, appeared on the road and immediately darted into the high grass as he saw his savage foes.. Gradually more and more dogs including bitches and puppies appeared and the whole pack began to move in a file across the Gohni Maidan. There were twenty of them and I was told later that it was the largest pack ever sighted since 1990. The pack frightened a herd of spotted deer and dispersed them all over. Jungle echoed with the staccato calls of the deer and the coughing alarm calls of langurs perched up on the trees. A placidly lying blue bull bolted at the very sight of the approaching wild dogs. The whole pack moved off to some other range as they were not out hunting this morning. Though I have had a great sighting but my first tiger was still there at the back of my mind. I asked the driver whether it was still possible to see the tiger in those late hours. Joseph Guddu, the elder son of Kuttapan was driving and he just brushed my quarry with a shrug. I was sure that he could not understand my longing for a glimpse of the mystical striped feline, reading about whom I had grown up and who was my old childhood dream. After driving for another five kilometres, Guddu jammed the breaks in a stretch of sal forest and nudged me to remain silent, putting his forefinger on his lips. He cautiously gazed to his right towards a dry streambed, strewn with rocks and partly hidden by the coarse grass. I trembled with anticipation and excitement as Guddu whispered that he had just heard growling from inside the streambed. We waited for almost half an hour but nothing happened. Guddu shifted the gear and we drove off. Being a born optimist, I survived the disappointment with nonchalant. The sky was blue and a huge white cloud blazing in sunlight rose to the heavens. A pair of shaheen falcon and scores of vultures soared above the cliffs of the fort, some of them roosting in the numerous recesses right above the bleached patches, a result of their droppings in the rock face. Suddenly a heavenly calm descended on me and all of my restlessness and anxieties were gone, leaving me as light as a feather. Things happen when you expect them least. Waiting in Chakradhara grassland one hot afternoon in late April, I heard alarm calls of spotted deer erupted near Siddhbaba. We drove forward hastily and saw a cluster of jeeps beside the road. The beaming faces turned in the direction of the long grass suggested the presence of a predator. Some guides waved at us in urgency, calling up our jeep. The driver, even before seeing anything, declared that a tiger is being sighted. I could not believe my ears and how true he was for surely there was a tiger! He was lying in a shallow muddy depression, cooling himself, swishing his tail constantly to keep away flies. I watched his striped face through binoculars and saw his ear with the typical white spot at the back. His massive shoulders were all muscle and the whole atmosphere pulsated by his mere presence in the grass. His whole body moved to and fro with the movement of his massive head as he began to lick his paws and boldly striped coat. Then he yawned twice and stood up swiftly. Many a people made quick remarks that he was Langru, the popular lame tiger of the park. His gait, slightly different from normal, had earned him the title. He walked towards Siddhbaba, almost merged in the grass. I could only see his back. Within moments he came out on the road, stopped and briefly looked in our direction. He was huge. His belly and hindquarters were covered with mud. Then, loosing interest in us, he lowered his head and crossed the road. I saw him spellbound as he walked up the hill and disappeared.. Twelve years later I sometimes close my eyes and still see Langue, walking away into the depths of the forest. I have seen generations of tigers since then, but that first sighting will remain with me forever