A tiny tidy looking bird about the size of sparrow, purely arboreal they are seen in pairs or small parties sorting from one branch to another foraging for insects. They have characteristics of Shrikes-dark eye bands, moving in groups; as also the ways of Flycatcher-insect catching sallies, the structure of bills. Found in jungles and bushy terrain. I am seeing this bird after quite a long time. Spotted this one at Gudavi Bird Sanctuary. Gudavi is a great place to be in, it reminded me of Bharatpur with its spread out shallow lake and swarming avian species (don’t forget the binoculars). Another thing about Gudavi is that it is located in quite a remote region so there aren’t many people around, a man at the gate slept also saw an old woman who seemed to talk to herself. The place is maintained rather well- in particular the pathway through bamboo groove-but be careful there are snakes. Since it is spread out across acres of shrubby jungle you could locate both arboreal and water birds (sighting Malkoha and tiny Jungle Owlet was dream come true, these were eluding me for many years! Will write about it in later blogs). Gudavi is a must in the itinerary; i stayed at Sagara-a small town near Sirsi- about two hours from Shimoga. I recommend you stay opposite to private bus stand since early morning about 6to6.15 there is a direct bus to Gudavi-it takes about 3hours through verdant vista. Return journey could be a problem since buses aren’t frequent, don’t crib it’s a great place to walk (I walked few Kms till i got the bus, it’s better than waiting. When you are in green surroundings its quite difficult to stand still, you walk on your own, there is always some kind of excitement). Alternatively you could go to Surba from here there are frequent buses to Sagara. And yes those who give too much importance to matters of stomach, there aren’t any eateries in and around Gudavi. I though haven’t heard anyone dying of not ingesting for couple of hours, indeed i only had light dinner for two days! Body stores food as fat for these kinds of situations, the reason i prefer body to work it out and do what is expected. After travel i am generally down by 5to10 Kgs, back to city and life on laptop body switches off for mind and accumulating fat. In last many years my weight has fluctuated between 60 to 90kgs!!. More like birds when you accumulate enough body weight time to fly!! A.K.Ramanujan
I am not yet
may never be
my future
dependent
on several
people
yet
to come
AK Raman
ujan (1929-1993) was born in Mysore he did his studies in India and later shifted to US, he took up teaching assignments. He was also translator, folklorist and a linguist. Ramanujam happens to be one of my favourite Indian English poets (it is strange that some of my favourite Indian English-indeed the best- poets Kolatkar, Moreas, Ezekeil died on the same year: 2004), he was also fluent in Kannada and Tamil. There is something ethereal and mythical about his poem, yet the sight and smell is so familiar. This blog is never going to be enough to talk about his poems (my earlier scribble ‘Carbon units’ has some elements of influence from Ramanujan).Though this blogger partly agree with ‘context sensitive’ Indian way of thinking that differentiates from westerners, but would argue that these ‘contexts’ are elitist (read brahminical conception) that didn’t quite percolate but were imposed. Ramanujan- a brilliant man no doubt, suffers from MN Srinivas’s Sanskritisation, that inflicts quite a few social scientists. These are partly true understandings that have some serious generalisations, and arising from certain section could even be patronising. People at the lower strata generally are more practical- not because they are born that way it is that they have to face realities at the harshest, therefore despite the imposed impediments of ‘contexts’ they have negotiated their life remarkably well all these centuries. Religion at the level of lower strata is utilitarian for existential purpose while for elite it is utilitarian for power. Very few have religion for spiritual or egalitarian reasons.
Ramanujan’s father, Srinivas Ramanujan, was a famous mathematician. He describes his father: “He was a mathematician, an astronomer. But he was also a Sanskrit scholar, an expert astrologer. He had two kinds of visitors: American and English mathematicians who called on him when they were on a visit to India, and local astrologers, orthodox pundits who wore splendid gold-embroidered shawls dowered by the Maharaja. I had just been converted by Russell to the 'scientific attitude'. I (and my generation) was troubled by his holding together in one brain both astronomy and astrology; I looked for consistency in him, a consistency he didn't seem to care about, or even think about”.
This poem "Astronomer" is an attempt to make sense of his father's seemingly contradictory image. Astronomer
Sky-man in a manhole
with astronomy for dream,
astrology for nightmare;
fat man full of proverbs,
the language of lean years,
living in square after
almanac square
prefiguring the day
of windfall and landslide
through a calculus
of good hours,
clutching at the tear
in his birthday shirt
as at a hole
in his mildewed horoscope,
squinting at the parallax
of black planets,
his Tiger, his Hare
moving in Sanskrit zodiacs,
forever troubled
by the fractions, the kidneys
in his Tamil flesh,
his body the Great Bear
dipping for the honey,
the woman-smell
in the small curly hair
down there.
On death of a Poet
Images consult
one
another,
a conscience-
stricken
jury,
and come
slowly
to a sentence.
A River
In Madurai,
city of temples and poets,
who sang of cities and temples,
every summer
a river dries to a trickle
in the sand,
baring the sand ribs,
straw and women's hair
clogging the watergates
at the rusty bars
under the bridges with patches
of repair all over them
the wet stones glistening like sleepy
crocodiles, the dry ones
shaven water-buffaloes lounging in the sun
The poets only sang of the floods.
He was there for a day
when they had the floods.
People everywhere talked
of the inches rising,
of the precise number of cobbled steps
run over by the water, rising
on the bathing places,
and the way it carried off three village houses,
one pregnant woman
and a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda as usual.
The new poets still quoted
the old poets, but no one spoke
in verse
of the pregnant woman
drowned, with perhaps twins in her,
kicking at blank walls
even before birth.
He said:
the river has water enough
to be poetic
about only once a year
and then
it carries away
in the first half-hour
three village houses,
a couple of cows
named Gopi and Brinda
and one pregnant woman
expecting identical twins
with no moles on their bodies,
with different coloured diapers
to tell them apart.
Extended family
Yet like grandfather
I bathe before the village crow
the dry chlorine water
my only Ganges
the naked Chicago bulb
a cousin of the Vedic sun
slap soap on my back
like father
and think
in proverbs
like me
I wipe myself dry
with an unwashed
Sears turkish towel
like mother
I hear faint morning song
(though here it sounds
Japanese)
and three clear strings
nextdoor
through kitchen
clatter
like my little daughter
I play shy
hand over crotch
my body not yet full
of thoughts novels
and children
I hold my peepee
like my little son
play garden hose
in and out
the bathtub
like my grandson
I look up
unborn
at myself
like my great
great-grandson
I am not yet
may never be
my future
dependent
on several
people
yet
to come
The Black Hen
It must come as leaves
to a tree
or not at all
yet it comes sometimes
as the black hen
with the red round eye
on the embroidery
stitch by stitch
dropped and found again
and when it's all there
the black hen stares
with its round red eye
and you're afraid.
