Bharatpur I: The birds

Nothing works better than a rickshaw ride to experience the sights and sounds of a place. If you travel through the by-lanes of old Delhi, you may come across a decorative doorway here or an ornate arched balcony there amid the chaos and congestion; a rickshaw ride in north Calcutta alleyways opens up another world, which is struggling to retain the past, but not at ease with the present.

When you visit the Keoladeo National Park in Bharatpur, Rajasthan, a morning rickshaw tour means getting to see a series of bright and colourful picture postcards of birds, unveiled by nature on both sides of the pitched road cutting right through the forest. I was there last weekend, with two friends.

Looking even more gorgeous in the mild sunshine of the early hours of the day, perched atop the branches of the Babul or the Ber, and spread all over the wide wetlands, the members of various avian species rule this forest, which was declared as a bird sanctuary in 1956 largely due to the efforts of India’s “Birdman” Dr Salim Ali. Rickshaw is the preferred mode of transport here and rickshaw-pullers double up as bird- watching guides (other professional guides are available as well), a practice which was also started by Dr. Ali. He trained the first batch of eight such people, of which, a man named Sajan Singh is still ferrying tourists and is the most well-known guide in the area.

We could not book Sajan Singh’s rickshaw, but our charioteers did not disappoint.

Brahminy Starling, Rosy Starling, Red-vented Bulbul, Coppersmith Barbet, White-throated Kingfisher, Green Bee-eater, Green-footed Yellow Pigeon, Partridge, Jungle Babbler, Yellow-crowned Woodpecker, Greater Coucal, Spotted Owl, Sunbird, Snakebird or Darter, Common Coot, Bar-headed Goose, Spot-billed Duck, Northern Shoveler, Garganey Teal, Grey-headed Lapwing, Little Cormorant, Grey Heron, Night-Heron, Glossy Ibis, Eurasian Spoonbill, Painted Stork – as we cruised through the jungles, the rickshaw guides went on rattling long and difficult names of our feathered friends at a speed faster than Google search results, adding inputs on whether a bird is migratory or local, their breeding season and feeding patterns, as well as interesting trivia.

Frankly, after a more-than-three hours ride, I was getting slightly confused about which bird is which. I decided to let go of the desire to memorize all the names and instead soak in the sense of serenity spread gently like an invisible cloak all over the place. The birdcalls were only adding to the ambiance, rather than creating a cacophony.

We were told that winter months attract hordes of avian visitors to the park. UNESCO website puts the number of species recorded in the bird sanctuary at 375. We could see about 50-60 of them, clicked even fewer as I felt bird photography without a DSLR camera will be meaningless. The rickshaw guys, however, proved to be prompt and skilful in this respect, aligning binocular lens and phone camera to record close-up pictures of fairly good quality. I tried to do that too, but failed to get even a single clear shot.

Next time, I will certainly carry a better camera, I thought.

Or maybe, I will just watch the lapwing family on a forward march and not bother about taking scores of pictures which will later remain hidden in a pen drive.

After all, some photographs are better stored in your brain.

(Note: The close-up pictures of birds have been taken by Guide Gurdeep Singh jee)

The Return of the Native

 For the past few months, I am trying to be more "systematic" and "practical", two things I was never accused of being.

In line with my new-found obsession with "keeping everything in order" (I am telling you, something is seriously wrong with me these days), I remembered my long- forgotten uncollected B.A. and M.A. certificates and decided to visit my college and university - that too on a single day - during a recent trip to Calcutta.

Now, the problem with visits back in your life's path, (especially when done after a long gap) is that you want things to be just as they were. You tend to forget that you are not anymore the person who used to dash two stairs up at a time to reach "B.B.'s class". That as your run has gradually changed into a trudge, so has the world.

Hence, the normal objections raised by the watchful eyes over entry of any "outsider" to their premises irritate you unreasonably, and you don't want to being curtly told to "use the back entry to the office" when you are looking at your favorite spot at the 2nd floor balcony of your college and almost expecting to see your mates, sitting on a high desk, dangling their feet in the air, and gossiping and arguing endlessly.

But after some initial sadness when I allowed to run my nostalgia about my youthful years ahead of my middle-aged self, I quite enjoyed my day out to the old haunts, especially my university, the College Street Campus of C.U.

The rush of memories can be unsettling and oddly comforting at the same time. Unsettling, because you realize how much you and the world have changed. Comforting, because you also realize how most of it have remained the same.

In my case, I sometimes feel I could never come out my student days. I still want to be the same happy-go-lucky person I was then, totally, cheerfully unconcerned about the future.

There was a small corridor between English and Journalism departments in C.U. which was my go-to spot when I wanted to brood over something. I went there this time too, and saw a kite hanging there, defeated in battle but still surviving with some visible bruises.

Sometimes I feel like that kite.