Mhaisal Birds - Rendezvous with the Bottle Brush

Yellow Bellied Sunbird - "What a sweet kiss? Gives me nectar too!"

Yellow Bellied Sunbird, - "I dont mind going upside down, when nectar is at stake"

Oriental White Eye - "Looks like a brush, but mamma said there is manna in it"

Oriental White Eye - "It sure tastes heavenly"

Purple Sunbird - "Would you like to join the party?"

Purple Sunbird - "I, cant wait any more."

Red vented Bulbul - "I just dined on a worm, but I have a sweet beak too"

Of Aves and Humans

"Let's go to Kolhapur", Varsha, called me up and said. It was nearly five in the evening, and I would have to drive.The state of the road left much to be desired, and I, wanted to say "no", yet. I agreed. We left by six, and had just crossed Hathkanangle, when suddenly I saw something fluttering on the roadside, I pulled over, and Varsha went to see what it could be. It was an injured bird, with streaks of blood on its feathery coat. It had obviously been hit by a speeding vehicle. She tried catching it, but she couldn't hold on to it. I got a napkin from the car, and was able to hold it perilously. It was an immensely beautiful 'Black shouldered Kite'. Being a bird of prey, it had fierce talons and a hooked beak, and was in every mood to make maximum use of it's defense assets. I was driving, and Varsha had to hold it for over half an hour, till we reached Kolhapur, which ordeal, I must say, she bore bravely.

At Kolhapur, my friend Vinod Digrajkar and I, after a brief council, thought it best to consult some one who knew what the best course of action would be. We contacted Dr. Karnad, (who is a bird lover, and had rescued quite a few injured birds). He showed us how by covering its face, the bird becomes docile, he also examined it and declared that the injury to it's wings wasn't too serious, and the bird could recover in a couple of days, provided it could be fed.

We, went to the 'बुरूड गल्ली' (a lane, where bamboo products are available), and bought a biggish cage, and then bought some offal from the local mutton market. We returned to Mhaisal - and now the difficult task of feeding the bird began. We kept the offal in a small plate in the cage, and hoped that the bird smelling the food would eat it.

Early next morning, to our dismay we found that it had not, so much as, touched the food. We tried feeding it with forceps, but were successful only to a meager extent. It stubbornly held its beak shut, but would make every effort to grab my hand with it's tallons. Varsha was the butt of it's fury, and had to contend with a painful gash on her finger. I, was a little lucky with just a skirmish. After many failed attempts at feeding it, we contacted Dr. Vijay Tulajapurkar (who, though an oncologist by profession, is also a renowned ornithologist and nature photographer). He in turn contacted Pabrez Khan, at Sangli, who with his associates, have, the expertise to look after injured birds and animals. The next day we met them and handed over the bird to them. Pabrez was kind to keep me updated about the birds recovery. They not only managed to feed it but also took good care of it. 

Pabrez called me up just today, to inform me that the bird, was released and flew away with all it's glory. It, did not pause, to look back at it's recent abode, nor it's rescuers. When the blue skies beckoned it, it just flew away. Though, our guest for a couple of days, we, already looked upon it as family, and will miss it.

Strangely, a fortnight or so ago, I had a similar encounter, this time it was an injured man. It was nearly Eight PM, and I was returning to Mhaisal. The headlights of our car fell on a couple of vehicles, which had obviously crashed. One of the vehicles was perilously hanging over the balustrade of an under-construction bridge. As we stopped, we saw, a mangled bicycle near the crash. The crash had just happened and though the people in the vehicles were not injured, they were searching for the bicycle rider, who seemed to have disappeared. We too backed our car and searched the area with the car headlights, luckily we found the person, in a pool of blood, thrown almost ten to fifteen meters away from the crash. He was motionless and seemed dead. I, asked my driver, to turn the car,as he would have to be taken to Miraj. We then put him on the back seat. I, requested some of the by standers to get into my car, but they all looked at each other and backed out. Only Bandu Bubnale, who also hails from Mhaisal, assured me that he would follow me to the hospital on his motor-bike, and he really did so. On the way I called up the Civil hospital at Miraj and the Police, and informed them of the emergency. While on the way to the hospital, the patient on the back seat did not even stir, and we were almost sure that he had passed away. 

We reached the hospital and called for a stretcher, we were relieved to see some movement by the patient, who was alive after all. As the hospital staff took him in, we managed to fish out a small note-book from his shirt pocket. On examining the same, we saw a name and a phone number scribbled on it. By then the patient had regained partial consciousness, and had told the medics examining him, that his name was Pandurang Mali, and he hailed from Narwad, which is a few kilometers from Mhaisal. He again lapsed into delirium and then unconsciousness. The lady, whose number was scribbled in the note-book, happened to be his daughter. We informed her of the incident, she assured us that she and her brother would come to the hospital as soon as possible. 

The police arrived in a quarter of an hour, and conducted the preliminary inquiry. Bandu Bubnale, was present with the patient, we requested him to be there at the hospital, till his family turned up. A couple of hours later, I left for home, as there was no need for me to stay. 

I visited the hospital a couple of times, in the next few days, and was informed that the patient was in the critical care unit, but improving. Last I, heard a few days back, that he had been shifted to the recovery ward. He may have been discharged by now. 

The strangest thing though, is that neither the injured, nor his relatives cared to call me and tell me about his well being.

But isn't it true, what George Moon, a character in Somerset Maugham's inspiring short story, "The Back of Beyond", has to say on the subject? 

"Oh, my dear boy, one mustn't expect gratitude. It's a thing that no one has a right to. After all, you do good because it gives you pleasure. It's the purest form of happiness there is. To expect thanks for it is really asking too much. If you get it, well, it's like a bonus on shares on which you've already received a dividend; it's grand, but you mustn't look upon it as your due."

P.S. : Picture of flying "Black Shouldered Kite" is taken from

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Black-shouldered_Kite_%28Elanus_caeruleus%29_in_Hyderabad_W_IMG_4418.jpg

 

Two Weddings and a Funeral

Just as I was sipping my morning tea, my cell phone, gave me a vibrating nudge. There was a text message. To my dismay, it coldly informed me, that a close associate had expired early that morning, and the funeral would be at 9=00 AM. I checked my other appointments for the day. I, was also scheduled to attend a wedding at 11=45 AM and a wedding reception along with my wife, Varsha, in the evening.

I, reached the घाट (cremation ground, on the river bank), a bit early. Quite a few of our set were already there.

"When is the cortege coming?, a newly arrived friend asked.
"They are waiting for his daughter to arrive from Pune." said another.
" Does that mean, we will have to wait here for the rest of the morning? another interposed with a degree of resignation.
" Why don't they inform all the relatives in advance? specially those who are far off".  This later remark brought out suppressed smiles all around.
"Don't be stupid", came a sharp rebuke, "He didn't know he was dying".
"He must have had some indication, if not he at least the family...", put in someone, helpfully.

The discussion went thus, later it shifted to the late monsoon, the political scams, the increasing power in the hands of  women (obviously as no women usually come to the ghat, which other place offers such a wonderful opportunity to deride those of the other sex.), the fall in the stock market, the rise in the price of Bullion, and land and commodities, and off course the latest achievements or otherwise of our 'men in blue'.

Once in a while, they remembered that they were at the "Ghat", for a specific purpose, and they would fall silent, and murmur under their breaths, that the departed was indeed a jolly good fellow. Never the less some one from the group would add, that though this was true, he had gone overboard with drink, and had brought this on himself.

After an hour or so, the cortege arrived. With the usual commotion that follows such an event, the rituals were performed and the body consigned to the flames. Every one was eager to leave, and soon the place was almost empty. Only the forlorn young sons of the dead, remained rooted near the burning pyre. I expressed my condolences to them, and too took my leave.

I, barely had half an hour to reach the wedding hall. The मंगलाष्टका (wedding invocations) had already begun, and along with other late-comers, I stood near the door of the hall showering blessings in the form of अक्षता ( rice grain) on the couple (off course not one grain of the rice thrown by me reached the couple, hope fully the blessings did!).This was done every time "सावधान", was uttered, by the officiating गुरुजी (priest). After the अंतरपाट (separating screen) was withdrawn, symbolising removal of all barriers between the couple, and  garlands were exchanged, we all went to the dining section for the wedding feast. An interesting fact to note, is that the guests will invariably dine before the couple, who would be occupied with the होम (offerings to the God of fire), and सप्तपदी (wedding vows) and sundry other poojas.

While dining I found myself in the very same company which was at the funeral. Obviously the morning discussions continued, the only difference was that, as the markets had opened, one could hear the latest performance of the SENSEX, and NIFTY, and off course the new twist in the 2G spectrum Scam!

The evening reception, was indeed another great opportunity for social intercourse. To the dismay of the early arrivals, the wedded couple hadn't yet arrived on stage. In a corner a lady was crooning old and new film songs, with a band in tow. The entire area was brightly lit, and buffet tables arranged all around.

Loitering here and there, I found myself again, with, who else but the same group. Now they were all in formals, and to complete the aesthetics, demanded by the occasion, were with their better halves, who were all aglitter with their gold and diamonds, exuding the loveliest of fragrances.

The ladies had their own topics, of how well their children had fared in the various entrance tests, and where they were seeking admissions, at the same time estimating the price of the sarees and the genuineness or otherwise of the jewelry their friends were wearing, and discussing which 'gym' offered the most effective 'weight reducing' programme, and where they could get the latest fashion accessories at a bargain. 

The men were again at the game of  'who knows more'. Finally the couple arrived on stage and we all stood in a queue to greet them. We helped ourselves to the exquisite fare that was on offer, and after some more discussions with colleagues and friends, we bid each other adieu, with a promise, to keep in touch. A promise we never keep, but we do manage to meet, off course at the next funeral or wedding. 

The Great Escape

India has always been a country of myriad mendicants, dervishes and wandering fakirs, I have always been fascinated by their gay abandon, the ochre singlet they usually wear, and their total disdain for anything and every thing with moorings.

Once I struck a conversation with an elaborately decked up young Sadhu, he had obviously spent a lot of time in "make-up", not only was his forehead covered with "vibhutis", but he had the vermilion and sandal paste "tilaks" on his arms, cheeks, chest and ears too. He obviously had come for alms, and though he knew the basic tenets of Hinduism, he began with the usual mumbo-jumbo, implying, he could "see" more, than was possible for us, mere mortals.

After making some fantastic predictions, in which I pretended to believe, I asked him a simple question, "What were the circumstances which induced you to take up a wanderer's life?" He was silent for some time, and when I repeated my query, he began to talk. I don't know, what it is in my personality, that makes people open out to me. Many a times I have found myself privy to some of the most intimate secrets, people have unabashedly shared with me.

He told me he originally hailed from the Beed-Latur area of Maharashtra. This is an area of perpetual draught. His family owned a few acres of farm land. He was the youngest of four siblings, by the time he went to school, his parents were already dead. His eldest brother and his wife, were burdened with his responsibility, and they were obviously not too enthusiastic, about this. When he could not stand the torture meted out to him any more, he ran away from home. After much wandering, he reached Pandharpur, a religious centre. He was not in the least religiously inclined, but he visited the various 'maths (मट)' where he could get free food. One night he over heard a fantastic conversation, between two sadhu's, one of them was an escaped murder convict, and the other was on the run, after embezzling money from a business establishment. They were telling each other their life history, as both were on a marijuana 'high'.

The conversation had a deep impact on him, he decided to adorn the ochre singlet, as it would be his armour against all future adversities. Not only would this be his entry ticket to the most 'out of bound' premises, but  also, in case he was involved in some mischievous intrigue, he was sure to be above suspicion. Besides, asking for alms, in India, is never considered as degrading as begging.

I gave him some money, not out of any religious bidding, but for the insight he had given me. Long after he had disappeared (disappeared is the only word, which truly captures his act of going away), I went on ruminating over the story he had told me. 

We, are evolved from beasts, and either "fight" or "flight", are our basic responses, to any adverse situation. The later option being the easiest. If we look keenly, we can observe, this is the preferred choice, and if it is cloaked in the virtue of 'giving up' something, then one can enjoy not only the stature of a saint, but also benefit by saving one's skin form an ignominious fight.

A classic example of this is, our great lady leader, who 'sacrificed', her right to the highest executive post in our country, enjoys all the perks, and our poor Sardarji takes the backlash. 

Isn't this 'The Great Escape'?

Note: The Sadhu image in this post is from the site http://www.exoticindiaart.com/ , painter not known.