Did he do it did he do it!

Red wattled lapwing is quite a common plover bird that is generally found in pairs in open field next to water bodies. A bird most of us have heard many times particularly early mornings as also in the night, the call is fierce that sounds like did-he-do-It did-he-do-it. Quite a pretty looking bird that has white and black plumage light brown wings, a conspicuous red wattle in front of its eye (that gives an impression of being angry), red bills and long bright yellow legs. They never perch on trees and are found on ground when disturbed they fly-seldom too high and give their trade mark shrill note did-he-do-it (o yes I did it !!) to settle down immediately and run in short spurts, they are quite a good flier. The bird seem to be aware of its conspicuous coloration so could be seen standing still or moving with slow measured strides. They are referred to as titeeri in hindi

Bouldaire: Prince of the clouds…
An amazing poem by Charles Baudelaire titled "The albatross"

Often, to amuse themselves, the crew of the ship
Would fell an albatross, the largest of sea birds,
Indolent companions of their trip
As they slide across the deep sea's bitters.

Scarcely had they dropped to the plank
Than these blue kings, maladroit and ashamed
Let their great white wings sink
Like an oar dragging under the water's plane.

The winged visitor, so awkward and weak!
So recently beautiful, now comic and ugly!
One sailor grinds a pipe into his beak,
Another, limping, mimics the infirm bird that once could fly.

The poet is like the prince of the clouds
Who haunts the storm and laughs at lightning.
He's exiled to the ground and its hooting crowds;
His giant wings prevent him from walking.

Bouldaire was one of the greatest French poets, he once wrote “The poet benefits from an incomparable privilege which allows him to be, at will, himself and others. Like those wandering souls in search of a body, he enters, when he so desires, into the character of each individual. For him alone, everything is vacant”. That is quite a grand vision of poet but when it comes to Bouldaire it is so much true, he was arguably one of the best. He writes “Multitude, solitude: identical terms, and interchangeable by the active and fertile poet. The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd” he continues “The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts as his own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that chance offers. What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all it poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes. It is a good thing sometimes to teach the fortunate of this world, if only to humble for an instant their foolish pride, that there are higher joys than theirs, finer and more uncircumscribed. The founders of colonies, shepherds of peoples, missionary priests exiled to the ends of the earth, doubtlessly know something of this mysterious drunkenness; and in the midst of the vast family created by their genius, they must often laugh at those who pity them because of their troubled fortunes and chaste lives”.
I liked the words “divine prostitution of soul giving”, only Bouldaire could have conceived that one. He had problems with religion but could neither be a Christian nor not be one Baudelaire’s solution was Satanism. ‘Satanism was for him the inevitable but logical way to maintain both his creed and hope for salvation’ (taken from Net). These lines from one of his poem
At last, so you’re my Mary perfectly,
And mixing love with pagan cruelty,
Full of a dark, remorseful joy, I’ll take
The seven deadly sins, and of them make
Seven bright Daggers; with a juggler’s lore
Target your love within its deepest core,
And plant them all within your panting Heart,
Within your sobbing Heart, your streaming Heart!

I found this poem quite interesting not only in the way words are chosen but as one writer points out “sadistic pleasure taken in the murder of this Madonna can be felt in the final triple present participle whose trisyllabic regularity rhythmically mimics a male orgasm”. Now this form of poetry is quite new to me wherein you create syllable rhythm to emote. Quite an incredible use of language, maybe I should try this technique one of these days. Baudelaire’s greatness was his capacity to blend dark sides with conventional feelings.

Colorful flier is Indian roller

Otherwise dull looking lumpy bird Indian roller unfurls its color in flight; it is quite a spectacular sight as it streaks across the sky in glorious shades of blue. I have seen this bird many times but could photograph only recently. Previously referred to as blue jay (wonder why they change its name?!) it prefers open field and avoid heavy jungle. A very common bird on the plains they could be seen perched on a branch or pole concealing its bright color and blending to the surrounding but watching all direction with its keen eyes. The acrobatic displays have given them the name rollers. A sturdy bird it has relatively large head and a hooked tip to the bill. They nest in holes of trees or buildings.

In Hindi they are referred to as neelkant-blue throated, also a reference to lord Shiva thus associated with some sacred rituals. At least four Indian states have named Indian roller as its state bird, an indication to its popularity.

Sugathakumari teacher: grandmother to all keralites

She is a writer, poet, venerable elder and a reference to collective conscience of our society. She is someone every keralite has read, when she speaks we listen. Her contribution to saving silent valley has been significant and she is also the founder of care center for destitute and mentally ill women in Thiruvanthapuram (Trivandrum) that brought in revolutionary changes in dealing with these issues. I guess there is no one who wouldn’t have read her poems, in particular the evocative Rathrimazha (night rains).

What a wonderful poem!!

Talking of rains instead of going to college I would many times catch a bus to beach to experience rains!!. There is something about the monsoons that is inexplicable. When I was studying in kerala I have kept awake watching rain all night (instead of studying!!), the more you watch more enticing the rains are. Home was on top of a hill and I could see most of Thiruvanthapuram (Trivandrum) from my room. Watching rains has been best part of my life, and something I put high on priority. In fact I stayed on a beach almost a decade back for about two months during monsoons just to watch rain!. This my dedication to Sugathakumari teacher

Denying the dead

We deny the dead their existence
in the absences, we deny them
in our hopes too.
Negating them into vague memories
or thoughts that suit us.

Couldn’t be that
they wait for us in the corner
just as we saw them
in moments of joy, in their best dress
thinking what we are thinking
dreaming our own dreams…

This a haiku by Basho on Rain

Spring rain
leaking through the roof
dripping from the wasps' nest.

The Malabar grey hornbill

The earlier blog had grey hornbill that are found in plains across the continent. Malabar grey hornbill as the name suggests are endemic to Western Ghats. They probably the only kind of hornbill that lack casque, commonly found in dense forest and surroundings these are not considered threatened specie unlike many other hornbills. This photo was taken at boothathanketu (created by ghosts is the literal meaning!!). Other habits are similar to grey hornbill.

Poems as daily prayer, how charming: this blogger till he was 17 or 18 years old everyday use to participate in evening prayer (lasting about 40odd minutes). I realize recently that these prayers consisted of poems mainly by Poonthanam. Poonthanam lived during the medieval period and had not much knowledge of Sanskrit so he used Malayalam this therefore became very popular among common people. He was one of the greatest exponents of bhakti movement in the region that is now kerala. Few of my favorite lines are

Kandu kandangirikkum janangale,
Kandilennu varuthunnathum Bhavan
Randu nalu dinam kodangoruthane,
Thandilethi naduthannathum bhavan
Malika mugalileriya mannante,
Tholil marappu kethunnathum Bhavan

The rough translation here is

The people who is seen by all of us now.
You are the one who makes them
Not to be seen in this world.
In a matter of day or two
You are He, who makes them ride on the royal chair.
On the shoulder of the king who climbs to the top of palace.
You are He, who places the tattered heap.

I must have listened to these more than a million times!!. But my favorite prayer happens to be a small one, a poem written by one of the greatest Malayalam poet Kumaran Asan titled chandameriye poovilum…it is an amazing piece that I have sung so many times that it is part of me.

Chandameriye poovilum shablabamam shalabathilum
chandkam karathaari enuru chitrachaduri katiyum
andhacharu kadakashmalakal arkarashmiyl neetiyum
Chindayam mani mandirathil vilangu eshwarne vazhthuvin
Vazhthuvin vazhthuvin
Enum eshwarne vazhthuvin
Vazhthuvin vazhthuvin
(Basically means salutation to god that is in flowers, butterflies….). Kumaran asan drowned in a boat tragedy at a relatively young age. This I wrote…

When the boat got startled by a mischievous wave, mother clutch my hand tighter till it start to pain and I try wriggling out of the grip. Sky and lots of coconut trees in it would bob a bit, scared I would close my eyes tight. When the world had settled she pointed to somewhere in the river and say “look child you see there, yes there that is where the poet drowned”. Then she wouldn’t speak. On that bright afternoon looking at the shimmering blue water, I thought about the poet. Did he search for the words when he drowned?. Did he try to rhyme them? Or was it that he just wanted to take a breath of air, gasped and died?. Mother would say “ofcourse he searched for the words. There wouldn’t be world without words even silence is because of words. Poet chose silence”.

Thunchan parambiley hornbill !!

I happened to be at Thunchan parambu sometime back- it is the spot where father of Malayalam language lived, considered a sacred place. Unfortunately the day I landed in Thirur (malapuram) it was hartal-meaning no hotels no nothing. Fortunately got a room next to the railway station and just about manage some food for the day. Thunchan parambu happened to be about 2-3km from where I stayed so decided to walk. I reached there at about 7.30am, the fellow at the gate said it will open only by 9 or much later (the timing mentioned at the gate though was 8.30). So I decided to walk around. The place has predominantly Muslim population, most conversion happened during early 1920s (referred to as moplah rebellion), when the landlords (mostly elite Hindus) aligned with Britishers and did untold misery. This led to an uprising that got communal. Walking across the place was a pleasant experience, though gulf money has led to some atrocious buildings across kerala but the houses I encountered were aesthetically done. Youngsters were found to be keen on badminton. With so much of greenery and silence (thank the hartal) I found the walk agreeable. Finally could locate a small teashop next to the mosque (quite a beautiful small simple structure I thought, unlike the atrocious crude mosques I have seen in recent times), my favorite breakfast any day is puttu kadala (only next to appam stew though, idlis are distant third!!), so within few minutes my tummy was full. Cost 12Rs.

By the time I was back at the gate it was about nine and the gate was still closed, thought of sitting on the bricks nearby, few minutes elapsed and the fellow inside probably took pity or something told me to come in and not to worry about gate opening and other formalities. It was when I was at the pond that I heard the flutter on the huge tree nearby and lo a hornbill, a grey hornbill to be specific. And yes Great Indian Hornbill (it is a spectacular looking bird, sadly I have seen only in zoos. One day I hope to see it in wild) is the state bird of Kerala (and Arunachal Pradesh). Grey hornbills are abundantly found throughout India even in urban areas with big trees.

Hornbills are peculiar looking birds and anyone who sees one will definitely give a closer look. They have huge bills, in some species they are few feet long-helps in foraging and defending. Although it looks cumbersome but they are very light, most species have a casque mounted over the upper mandible, the reason why they are referred to hornbill. Grey hornbills have smaller casque (Malabar grey hornbill endemic specie to Western Ghats is devoid of casque and found in hills unlike grey hornbills). Hornbills can fly long distances but are quite clumsy and create quite a flutter. They are typically large-headed, with thin necks, broad wings, and long tails. I guess the distinctive feature of hornbills has to be the way they rear the young, the female holds herself captive in the tree trunk, the hole of nesting cavity is closed from inside with a slit kept open for male to pass food- a defense against predators like monkeys and snakes. I recall seeing these in one of the TV channels where they showed these in details with miniature cameras, it was amazing. Hornbills are fussy eaters and spend great deal of time visiting trees and checking out the ripeness of fruits, choosing only those that are appropriate to the taste. Predominantly frugivores they do supplement their diet with small reptiles during breeding. Presence of hornbills is an indicator to healthy nature of forest and ecosystem of the region. Certain communities in Malaysia consider hornbills as representation of purity.

Malayalam the renaissance language: this blogger’s mother tongue happens to be Malayalam- the first words I learned and spoke, the association is embryonic. Though I am quite comfortable in speaking and can manage to read (reading fiction is a challenge but yes short stories and in particular poems) writing in Malayalam is still where I stopped when I was a kid that is at munaam padam level. Few days back I was at the place where Malayalam language took its root: Thunchan parambu.

Malayalam is one of the youngest languages in the world but the socio-cultural contribution of this tiny state where this language is spoken is nothing short of spectacular. It was Ezthuthachan (literal meaning would be father of writing, the great teacher) who evolved a new texture for Malayalam language, mingling the Sanskrit and Dravidian streams into a simple medium capable of interpreting different nuances of feelings in a sublime level attaining high degree of aesthetic sensibility. Ezhuthachan (real name being Thunchathu Ramanujan) lived in the later half of 16^th century, his contribution to Malayalam is to the scale of what Homer is to Greek literature and Chaucer to English literature. He is regarded as father of Malayalam. Ezhuthachan was basically a bard, who traveled extensively to Tamil and Andhra lands and learned different languages and delved deep into the Upanishads. Bhakti movement wherein the common people were involved had a significant impact on him. He rendered epics Ramayana and Mahabharata in a simple musical style accessible to common people. He wrote hari nama keerthanam that popularized 51 letter alphabet that forms the basis of modern Malayalam. Incredibly he adopted a parrot as a narrator for these, the reason for it being referred to as Kilipattu-bird songs. These are even to this day very popular and could be heard at homes, this blogger has listened to these millions of times particularly during Ramayana masam. Ezhuthachan helped unleash the creative energy that can still be experienced, creating a medium that is a source of emotional integration and evolved sensibilities. He gave common people the meaning of words that need be worshiped and respected. He opened the world of words to people. What an incredible man.

Thousands of children are brought for ritualistic initiation to the art of learning at the birth place of this great teacher and poet every year. It is believed that he taught under old Nux Vomica tree that still exists with the ancient tank (the pic herein). It inscribes the first letters: Hari shree ganapthayae namaha. During Thunchan festival (held every year during the month of Jan-Feb) the iron stylus of the poet with which he wrote his poems is taken out in a grand procession. This year this blogger will try to be part of the festival.

This is Saxicola Caprata alias Pied Bush chat!!

This blogger is not much into scientific names of birds. Mostly browse through but some names strikes. Saxicola caprata is one like that. It’s a name for a tiny bird common through out the subcontinent, some confines to hills but avoid thick forest (the above was taken at Sholyar Dam hills). Their note is like two stones knocked together, common to Chats from which they derive. It has a pleasing short song. They are generally found perched on vantage point that has view over bare ground in the vicinity thus prefers land with low shrub and near water bodies, it takes its food (entirely insects) thus. They prefer well concealed nest on the ground.

The above pic is that of young one complete black plumage except under tail since it doesn’t get white band on the wing till about two years, and it is sub-specie that has abdomen black unlike the white bellied that is common in the plains. The female have grayish brown plumage.

This few stanzas from Borges’s poem I came across, it is one the best I have read

To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.

To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness--such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.

Sometimes at evening there's a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.

They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca
Art is that Ithaca
a green eternity, not wonders.

Art is endless like a river flowing,
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.

Borges (1899-1986)was an Argentinean poet, short story writer and essayist (complete name being Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo, phew!!). When 1955 he was made head of the National Library he had become fully blind due to a hereditary disease. He writes…
Nobody should think that I, by tear or reproach, make light
Of the mastery of God who,
With excellent irony,
Gave me at once both books and night.

Borges is someone I came across in the dusty shelf of Central Secretariat library (in Delhi), it was just about the time when after many stints of 9-5 jobs in god knows what all places in what all occupations that I took firm decision on no more full time jobs (I had just quit a job at publishing), and found myself with lot of time and lot to read. This library was also an escape from horrible heat of summer not to mention sometimes I would sneak into ministries nearby and have excellent food at discount rate, I did enjoy Rajma-chawal plate at the road side stall nearby. Things have changed so drastically because of jihadi macaques that anyone who try this now could be in serious trouble. One of my favorite short story is “Borges and I” it is a kind of an autobiography you would rarely witness in fiction. It is also an insight into the writer…"…it would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live, let myself go on living, so that Borges may contrive his literature, and this literature justifies me. It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition. Besides I am destined to perish, definitively, and only some instant of myself can survive in him. Little by little, I am giving over everything to him, though I am quite aware of his perverse custom of falsifying and magnifying things. Spinoza knew that all things long to persist in their being; the stone eternally wants to be a stone and the tiger a tiger, I shall remain in Borges, not in myself ……..thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

I do not know which of us has written this page.”

Another of his fine story is “Everything and Nothing”. It starts quite brilliantly “There was no one in him; behind his face (which even bad painting of those times resembles no other) and his words, which were copious, fantastic and stormy, there was only a bit of coldness, a dream dreamt by no one. At first he thought that all people were like him, but the astonishment of a friend to whom he had begun to speak of his emptiness showed him his error and made him feel always that an individual should not differ in outward appearance. Once he thought that in books he would find cure for his ill and thus he learned…instinctively he had already become proficient in the habit of simulating that he was someone, so that others would not discover his condition as no one…”.

It goes on like this “His histrionic tasks brought him a singular satisfaction, perhaps the first he had ever known; but once the last verse has been acclaimed and the last dead man withdrawn from stage, the hated flavor of unreality returned to him. He ceased to be Ferrex or Tamerlane and became no one again. Thus hounded he took to imagining other heroes and other tragic fables. And so, while his flesh fulfilled his destiny as flesh in taverns and brothels of London, the soul that inhabited him was Caeser, who disregards the augur’s admonition, and Juliet, who abhors the lark, and Macbeth, who converses on the plain with witches who are also his fates. No one has ever been so many men as this man, who like the Egyptian Proteus could exhaust all the guises of reality. At times he would leave a confession hidden away in some corner of his work, certain that it would not be deciphered; Richard affirms that in his person he plays the part of many and Iago claims with curious words “I am not what I am.” …

The story ends this way that reminded me Bhagvad Gita “History adds that before or after dying he found himself in the presence of god and told him ‘I who have been so many men in vain want to be one and myself’. The voice of the Lord answered from whirlwind: ‘Neither am I anyone; I have dreamt the world as you dreamt your work, my Shakespeare, and among the forms in my dreams are you, who like myself are many and no one.’”

Now that is a good story!.

Great tits!!

Now before you get any funny ideas Great tit are birds coming under tit family Paridae (tit meaning small, shortened titmice). Tits are birds with stout legs, strong feet and hardy bills. They could be found foraging upside down on the branch and climbing the trunk like woodpecker, and I thought I have found the rare White naped tit (Parus nuchalis). It turned out to be Great Tit (Cinereus tit to be specific, as they have white under part. Great tit could be yellowish. Cinereus have distinctive grey coverts unlike white naped that is black). Clearly I was getting overambitious even experts have found it difficult to locate White naped, these birds are endemic to India and found in patches of Rajasthan-Gujarat and around Bangalore-cauvery valley (I had read about it, so was excited!) but the sightings has been rare, classified by Butler as thus about 150years back. Salim Ali (at Kutch) referred it ‘very rare’ but later changed it to ‘capriciously patchy’ (1943-44). Though in south India it has been very rare from the onset, only handful sightings reported in last few decades. Incidentally a single specimen Jerdon obtained in 1864 from Eastern Ghats was thought to be ‘some mistake’. Apparent habitat incongruous of ‘low jungle thorny’ Kutch and dense deciduous forest of south led to further confusion. Many maintain that south Indian spotting must been Parus major (Great tit) they are very similar, but the sightings in south have been strongly corroborated. White naped tit is seriously endangered bird due to habitat destruction (I read that in Kutch belt the need for twig-acacia for toothbrush has threatened the bird further, the researcher suggests immediate availability of cheaper toothbrush)

Tits are varied colorful species and found commonly across the world, they seem to have adapted to city life too. I read that they could open the milk bottle to get the cream, and that bird calls also have changed in noisy cities (became ‘rap’ from ‘rural melodies’-as the report in UK says!). They feed mainly on insects and sometimes fruits, and are found to nest on tree trunk holes. Otherwise found in groups they become territorial during breeding season. And yes I hope to sight White naped tit sometime in future (o boy that would be something!). The painting of Great tit is by none other than John Gould one of the finest bird painter who had no formal training and learned from observation, he got the nickname “the birdman”(a detailed account on him was posted under pied wagtail).

And now a beautiful poem on caged bird (like Munias I mentioned in my last blog) by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) titled Sympathy

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opens,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats its wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!

Dunbar was one of the earliest Afro-American writers, although he died quite young his contribution has been significant. I was reading some of his short stories at Gutenberg.org (it is a great site…I have included it as link in my main blog) titled “The heart of happy hollow”. The author had these interesting lines to say as forward to the collectio

n “Wherever laughter and tears rub elbows day by day, and the spirit of labor and laziness shake hands, there—there—is Happy Hollow, and of some of it may the following pages show the heart”. I found this collection very interesting it gave insight into Afro-American community at the turn of the 20th century. The dialect used by black Americans that I have seen in some English movies also helped to understand the stories better. There is an amazingly funny story written in afro-American dialect titled “The race question”. It’s about an old punter (who also was a jockey once, as I gathered from the story…frankly with the dialect you have to read it loudly to get it right). This story is a monologue of an old man at the race… not very uncommon if you sit next to a seasoned fellow at the turf club, they are quite liberal with opinion and judgment!!. And yes our man is quite defensive about gambling and comes out with incredible “honest gamblah was ez good ez a hones' preachah...” and yes he wants to “money ernuff to mek a donation on de pa'sonage”. I loved the story!!. It starts like this

Scene—Race track. Enter old coloured man, seating himself.
"Oomph, oomph. De work of de devil sho' do p'ospah. How 'do, suh? Des tol'able, thankee, suh. How you come on? Oh, I was des a-sayin' how de wo'k of de ol' boy do p'ospah. Doesn't I frequent the racetrack? No, suh; no, suh. I's Baptis' myse'f, an' I 'low hit's all devil's doin's. Wouldn't 'a' be'n hyeah to-day, but I got a boy named Jim dat's long gone in sin an' he gwine ride one dem hosses. Oomph, dat boy! I sut'ny has talked to him and labohed wid him night an' day, but it was allers in vain, an' I's feahed dat de day of his reckonin' is at han'.

And his commentary later was amusing
“De bay maih's done huh bes', she's done huh bes'! Dey's turned into the stretch an' still see-sawin'. Let him out, Jimmy, let him out! Dat boy done th'owed de reins away. Come on, Jimmy, come on! He's leadin' by a nose. Come on, I tell you, you black rapscallion, come on! Give 'em hell, Jimmy! give 'em hell! Under de wire an' a len'th ahead. Doggone my cats! wake me up w'en dat othah hoss comes in”.

And it ends like this…
"No, suh, I ain't gwine stay no longah, I don't app'ove o' racin', I's gwine 'roun' an' see dis hyeah bookmakah an' den I's gwine dreckly home, suh, dreckly home. I's Baptis' myse'f, an' I don't app'ove o' no sich doin's!"

Charming indeed!!

White rumped Munias are gregarious birds

It is a bird that is always found in groups or pairs, the flock fly in undulating manner when disturbed. I found this bird in a bush- adjacent to a river, maybe it had its nest nearby as it flit and came back again and again to check and was vary of my presence. The sparrow sized bird feeds on seeds and therefore considered pests by farmers. Unlike sparrows it has thicker stubby bills (so belong to the family of waxbills, also finches) and smaller in size and despite the fact they are numerous they are reclusive and not very easy to spot. Adults have dark brown upperparts and white lower. Unfortunately they are popular cage birds, it is saddening to see these gregarious birds in cramped cages for human entertainment. It need be added that the trend of keeping cagebirds as pets has gone down drastically in last few decades.

Ancient Korean Poetry: I came across a form of poetry that is followed for centuries in Korea, referred to as Sijo. They are three line lyrical poems that start with introduction, development of the theme and conclusion. The conclusion generally has an element of surprise, that can take a profound turn. They are elaborate and not intended to be witty though they use pun, metaphors and allusions. Sijo is meant to be a song that was vehicle for religious and philosophical expression that was more personal.

Yun Sondo (1587 - 1671) is considered greatest Sijo poet. Born in Seoul, Yun Sondo was a government official during the Choson dynasty, but his straightforward character made enemies at court and he was banished for imprudent criticism of those in power. Thirteen years later he returned to become tutor to the royal princes but was later banished again. He spent most of his 85 years in his rustic country home, contemplating the nature of life, teaching and writing poetry. Yun is considered the greatest master in the history of Korean literature. His most famous composition is The Fisherman's Calendar, a cycle of 40 sijo. In both Chinese and Korean classical poetry, the fisherman symbolized a wise man who lives simply and naturally. Having observed fisherman at close quarters this blogger very much agrees to that.
The translator of Sondo’s poems faces a serious dilemma: whether to trace the meaning track (literal meaning and structure) or poetic track (theme and aesthetic). Clearly translation from culturally divergent milieu is rarely successfully.

The Fisherman's Calendar is a sijo cycle consisting of 10 verses representing each of the four seasons, a total of 40. The innovative Yun Sondo transformed the way the verses were written. The freshness, imaginative word usage and line structure set higher standards to which future writers could aspire. Here are some taken randomly from the collection. Chigukch'ong, chigukch'ong, oshwa that is repeated is meant to be represent sound of anchor chain and rowing. Like boat rowers in kerala use hylasa and other sounds that give rhythm.

The sun slides low to the west; it tells us its time to go home.
Strike the sail, strike the sail!
Evening willows remain a joy, flowers more amazing still.
Chigukch'ong, chigukch'ong, oshwa!
How many statesmen would envy this? Now why do I think of them?

I'd like to roam the tender grass, pick orchids and gromwells too.
Haul in the boat, haul in the boat!
How many could I carry in this leaf-like little boat?
Chigukch'ong, chigukch'ong, oshwa!
This morning I came out alone; the moon and I will go home.

I've put down the fishing rod to watch moonlight through the awning.
Drop anchor now, drop anchor now!
Night is sneaking up on me: hear the cuckoo send out his call.
Chigukch'ong, chigukch'ong, oshwa!
It brings me so much pleasure I can't recall my way back home.

Another fine day has ended; now it's time to eat and rest.
Secure the boat, secure the boat!
I walk the path in cheerful song; red patches peek through new snow.
Chigukch'ong, chigukch'ong, oshwa!
From my window I'll praise the moon till it sets behind hushed pines.

Meet Mr.Robin with no hood

You could mistake it for pied wagtail but for its upright tail and smaller size, Oriental Magpie Robin is black and white in color while female is greyish. Quite courageous it isn’t perturbed by human presence, constantly hopping and flitting. Found mostly in South Asia and East Asia (the reason for Oriental) they are quite common in gardens as also forests. This blogger though have rarely seen it in cities or gardens nearby, they seem to have vanished. This bird is the national bird of Bangladesh (called Doyel) and also seen in the currency notes. That is quite amazing.
This part of an interesting discussion that was generated following a report in Britain to shoot magpies as they are threat to other songbirds…

Monday 28th February 2005, I wasn't much impressed by the spokesman for this proposal on Radio 4 this morning. I think what is worrying is that the "It's the Magpies/Sparrowhawks what done it, Guv" school of ecology only serves to obscure the fact that this is a complex issue which involves our own use/abuse of the environment. Given that these shootin' folks & their sympathisers tend to enjoy a dominant role in the countryside, I find this worrying. If I was cynical I'd find it sinister. What was obvious, I thought in today's interview was that the RSPB spokesman (Andre Farrar I think) was willing to accept that song bird decline was complex whilst his interlocutor seemed fixated by a single cause,John
Jane Turner Sunday 27th February 2005,
You all know my views on this type of hogwash. I'm about to step on an aeroplane or I'd post the plethora of peer reviewed articles in respected journals showing that Magpies/Sparrowhaks etc have no effect what so ever on the numbers of breeding pairs of songbirds.
If they insist on using over-simplistic simplistic measure of "eats the eggs and young of smaller species" they would do better to shoot Jays. However both would be entirely futile and they'd do better to campaign for more songbird friendly farming methods.

Gaz Shilton Well said Jane. Reminds of a conversation I overheard once between a man who had just given a talk about birds of prey at our local birdclub and a woman who thought that sparrowhawks should be shot because they took HER birds were being taken from her garden. She wouldn't listen when he mentioned the Tawny Owl does similar things because to her they were too Cute to do such things. And her attitude towards him when he mentioned her cat was taking more birds than their natural predators do, well I couldn't believe it!!!

Touty
Sunday 27th February 2005, 15:35
You all know my views on this type of hogwash. I'm about to step on an aeroplane or I'd post the plethora of peer reviewed articles in respected journals showing that Magpies/Sparrowhaks etc have no effect what so ever on the numbers of breeding pairs of songbirds.
Please don't muddy the waters by bracketing specialist predators / protected species (Sparrowhawks) with generalist-switching predators / unprotected ones (Magpies).
As regards the "plethora of peer reviewed articles in respected journals" I'm genuinely interested in them, so if you could post them when you get back. I'm very interested in the methodologies they use to demonstrate that generalist / switching predators have no effect (on songbird numbers) without removing them from the equation. Safe journey.

Touty
I read Thomson, Green, Gregory and Baillie's paper when it came out. I'll read it again, now that I'm wiser and older.
Here's a paper,peer-reviewed and published in Conservation Biology that takes a less rosy (and in my opinion) more balanced view of the arguments.
http://www.uea.ac.uk/~b102/pdfs/Cote&Sutherland_1997_cb.pdf

Jane Turner
Sunday 27th February 2005,
Here are some more
No evidence of any long-term effect on songbird populations in England including in urban areas (Wilkinson 1988, British Birds, 81,657-8; Gooch et al. 1991, Journal of Applied Ecology, 68, 1068-86), and in Berlin and Osnabrück (Germany) no discernible decline in their numbers due to P. pica (Witt 1989; Kooiker 1991). In rural area of Belgium, accounted for only c.*6% of predation by Corvidae on songbirds though comprising 50% of corvid population (Vercauteren 1984, Gerfault, 74 327-60); see Birkhead 1991 for review of European studies.

Jane Turner
I can see we are about to revisit the debate about post breeding numbers, which clearly predators do affect, and number of breeding birds the following spring, which evidence suggests there is no effect on! Lack of food in winter being the most likely limiting factor.

Touty Sunday 27th February 2005,
Thank you. I read Thomson, Green, Gregory and Baillie's paper when it came out. I'll read it again, now that I'm wiser and older.
Here's a paper, peer-reviewed and published in Conservation Biology that takes a less rosy (and in my opinion) more balanced view of the arguments.
http://www.uea.ac.uk/~b102/pdfs/Cote&Sutherland_1997_cb.pdf
# Tapper, SC, Potts, GR, Brockless, M (1996) The effects of an experimental reduction in predation pressure on the breeding success and population density of grey partridges (Perdix perdix). Journal of Applied Ecology, 33, 965-78
showed that (legal) predator control on Salisbury Plain for 3 years in one area (A) led to higher breeding success and spring pair density while in the area where predators were not controlled (B) breeding success and spring pair density declined. After 3 years the researchers switched the control from area A to area B and the breeding success and spring pair density in area A fell back to its original level whilst rising several-fold in area B. I grant you that grey partridges are not songbirds

Touty
Sunday 27th February 2005,
Forgot to say that the Loddington Study (completed in 2004) follows a similar if not identical methodology (actually removing predators and then letting them return, rather than area A and area B)

alcedo.atthisSunday 27th February 2005,
Jane, I do not expect a response at the moment, as you may be elsewhere, but your comment :- "Lack of food in winter being the most likely limiting factor." How does this relate then to the tonnes of food put out by bird-lovers on a daily basis especially during the winter, and even during the rest of the year. Are we as bird lovers creating an unhealthy situation of keeping the numbers high just to serve our consciences in doing our bit for the part of nature which we happen to like. Should we stop putting out this vast amount of resources, which is artificially keeping numbers well over the natural balance, and let nature take it's own course?Regards

This a study by Anil Kumar (Department of Zoology and Environmental Science, Gurukul Kangri University, Haridwar) and Dinesh Bhatt (Desert Regional Station, Zoological Survey of India, Jodhpur) on Oriental magpie robin found in the net I thought was interesting, it is about research done on different calls of this bird. This the preface para of the paper...

Birds use a variety of vocal signals while communicating. These signals play an important role in their social life. A number of avian species often deliver either calls or songs or both in a variety of contexts. Information in a call usually relates to the immediate circumstances of the caller. This study characterizes different types of calls on the basis of their physical characteristics and socio-biological functions, in a tropical avian species Copsychus saularis (Oriental Magpie Robin). This species has been found to use mainly six types of calls, namely territorial calls, emergence and roosting calls, threat calls, submissive calls, begging calls and distress calls in their communication. In addition, members of this species have been observed to use escape call, anger call, etc. occasionally.

Vocal signals in birds can be classified into songs and calls. A number of avian species often deliver either calls or songs or both in a variety of contexts. In general, songs are longer than calls. The former represent complex vocalizations produced by males in the breeding season. The latter are short, simple and less spontaneous. The calls are contextual and often produced with reference to a particular function1. However, there are many examples of overlaps between simple songs and calls. The study of communication not only enriches our knowledge about behavior associated with signals, but also allows us to work out the evolutionary history of any species or relationships between closely related species.

Considerate Golden-fronted Leafbird

I heard this bird first, and saw some excited red whiskered bulbuls on a tree but then that is not the call of bulbuls said I and start the search on the leafy tree. It took me some time to spot the bird-it was Golden fronted leafbird, and t

ook almost an hour to get the above pic!!. I took many snaps but the bird is so brilliantly camouflaged (no wonder the name leafbird!!) and active, add to the fact that my camera lens are manual so by the time I had focused it would have flitted to another branch. All the while it emitted a melodious cheerful whistle, it is as if saying “ok it will take a while for you to photograph me, let me keep you entertained in the meantime!!”. Quite considerate, must say.

The Golden-fronted leafbird has vibrant colored plumage depicting hues of green, orange-yellow, black, blue, and turquoise. The bill of the leafbird is slender with an upper mandible that has a slight downward curved, and encloses the spiked tongue that enables them to feed on nectar. Their diet also includes insects and fruits such as berries and figs. They are primarily tree dwellers rarely seen on ground.

Haizi the poet who became a poem: as one blog says “Ha Zi’s life was a poem, an extremely short poem”. Haizi (originally Cha Haisheng but he named himself Hai zi meaning “son of the sea”…I like that not only the name but also the idea of naming oneself!!) was one of the most important Chinese poets of recent times. He lived for only 25years- on the day of his 25^thb’day he suicided (1964-1989). He belonged to the farming community but got selected into prestigiuos Beijing University, later had a teaching career (at Chinese University, teaching Political science). Look at the brilliant imagery the boy created in this poem “ocean overheard”, stupendous. It makes you shiver. Despite the fact that it must have lost something in translation, it is an amazing piece of work. Frankly I am not surprised that he suicided. That's what happens when reality collides with abstract images, at young age it can churn you into exhaustion and physically-emotionally vulnerable. I consider myself amazingly fortunate to read his poems, this wouldn’t been possible few years back. We need to thank technology and those who created Internet.

Ocean Overhead

Primitive mother
hides from a farmer
She throws his sickle in the field
drowns her baby in the well
and lets the field lie waste

In the lamplight it seems I’ve met her
She jumps into the ocean
and the ocean hangs over the barn
It seems the snow
of my hair and my father’s is burning.

This my dedications to Hai Zi

Spilled blood

Brittle red misshaped flowers
seep into the mud
arteries sift for kernel.

Inside words sprout, liberate
the soul
that fly the sky
and sail the oceans.

An unflattering name for a miming cuckoo

Brainfever bird is a medium sized cuckoo that is a resident of South Asia, it is also referred to as Common Hawk Cuckoo. It resembles Shikra- the bird which it mimes not only physically but behaviorally too. Even a keen birdwatcher could be fooled by the resemblance- banded tails and bars on the abdomen and flanks, it even does sideways movements of tail on alighting just like Shikra. Shikra’s beak though is typical raptor type while Hawk cuckoo is straighter meant for catching insects. Like all cuckoos Hawk cuckoo too is a brood parasite (mostly babblers).

Though a secretive foragers it produces one of the famous bird calls. They produce frenzied triple call that rises higher and higher into crescendo. Now Indians found it quite romantic and interpreted the call as pee-kahaan (where is my beloved?) or in Marathi as paos-ala (the summer is coming), incidentally papeeha -the Hindi name for the bird, was favored by poets over centuries in this part of the world. Brits though had some tough time in a hot humid country infested with malaria and diseases so it is easy to imagine why they found the calls irritating, also the bird is at its vocal best in summer moonlight, just the time when sahibs were finding it difficult to sleep in the sweltering heat and tossing on the bed and lo the frenzied bird call. Things couldn’t been nastier for colonizers!. And so thought it is brain fever!. This blogger though takes serious exception to these names. Why not Papeeha?. It sounds beautiful and quite apt too.

The pictures are taken on a morning walk at Malampuzha reservoir (in Palakkad), walk few Kms along the reservoir you get to see some picturesque scenes, huge mountains on one side and plantations on the other. Need to add here that I was terrifically lucky to glimpse this bird as it is quite difficult to locate and yes just about manage to photograph it.

One of my favorite poem is a Hindi poem by Mythili Sharan Gupt “ma kah ek kahani”, we had to study this in school. This probably the first poem that gave me glimpse of the beauty of the world of poetry. What an amazing poem!!. Its about a mother asking the child to choose what is right, ethical. Beautifully woven this simple poem still touches me. Lines like "kah ma leti he leti, raja tha ya rani" or lines like "nyay daya ka dani, tune guni kahani". Simple but profound, the conversation style used in the poem makes it endearing.

माँ कह एक कहानी

"माँ कह एक कहानी।" बेटा समझ लिया क्या तूने मुझको अपनी नानी?"
"कहती है मुझसे यह चेटी, तू मेरी नानी की बेटी
कह माँ कह लेटी ही लेटी, राजा था या रानी?
माँ कह एक कहानी।"
"तू है हठी, मानधन मेरे, सुन उपवन में बड़े सवेरे, तात भ्रमण करते थे तेरे, जहाँ सुरभी मनमानी।"
"जहाँ सुरभी मनमानी! हाँ माँ यही कहानी।"
वर्ण वर्ण के फूल खिले थे, झलमल कर हिमबिंदु झिले थे, हलके झोंके हिले मिले थे, लहराता था पानी।"
"लहराता था पानी, हाँ हाँ यही कहानी।"
"गाते थे खग कल कल स्वर से, सहसा एक हँस ऊपर से, गिरा बिद्ध होकर खर शर से, हुई पक्षी की हानी।"
"हुई पक्षी की हानी? करुणा भरी कहानी!"
चौंक उन्होंने उसे उठाया, नया जन्म सा उसने पाया, इतने में आखेटक आया, लक्ष सिद्धि का मानी।"
लक्ष सिद्धि का मानी! कोमल कठिन कहानी।"
"माँगा उसने आहत पक्षी, तेरे तात किन्तु थे रक्षी, तब उसने जो था खगभक्षी, हठ करने की ठानी।"
"हठ करने की ठानी! अब बढ़ चली कहानी।"
हुआ विवाद सदय निर्दय में, उभय आग्रही थे स्वविषय में, गयी बात तब न्यायालय में, सुनी सब ने जानी।"
"सुनी सब ने जानी! व्यापक हुई कहानी।"
राहुल तू निर्णय कर इसका, न्याय पक्ष लेता है किसका?"
"माँ मेरी क्या बानी? मैं सुन रहा कहानी।
कोई निरपराध को मारे तो क्यों न उसे उबारे?
रक्षक पर भक्षक को वारे, न्याय दया का दानी।"
"न्याय दया का दानी! तूने गुणी कहानी।"