Monday, October 22, 2012

Lesser Goldenback aka Black-rumped Flameback



It’s always fun to watch a Woodpecker, and it does really make my day. I must have written about quite a few Woodpeckers in last many years. From White-rumped to Rufous to White bellied ...so on. This one here was spotted in the outskirts of Siliguri (North Bengal) sometime back, indeed one of the commonest Woodpeckers in India they avoid forest and are found near human habitat that has open space with garden and old avenue trees. 

Of Birds and Birdsongs” is a collection of essays written by M. Krishnan (forward by Zafar Futehally, edited by Shanthi and Ashish Chandola). I must admit that my knowledge of such a great man was rather sketchy, this book therefore was a revelation. What an amazing man.  In one essay he writes about our education system that still is devastatingly true (though the other day i was reading that schools with support of Agriculture department have taken up vegetable gardens so on rather seriously):

One of the chief defects of our education is that it fails to stir or inform the natural curiosity of every child in the life around. This failure is so sustained, so gradually asserted and insidious, that no one notices it –and then one is through with school, through with college, and wholly preoccupied with a life that is blind to the rest of creation. Few people realise how complete this lack is, for it is a lack not only in our education but in our culture too.

Krishnan as is evident was not only a great Naturalist but also an influential writer, his knowledge and experience found precise expressions in words that knit seamlessly into brilliance. This is one book you must have.

The cover picture (a painting) of this book quite coincidently has a Flameback (indeed a Black-rumped). These few interesting lines on Flameback Woodpecker in inimitable Krishnan style ...

I find these woodpeckers fascinating. They looks ornate and outlandish, like birds out of a fairytale; and they run easily up the shear surface, or slip down it, with no change in the rigidity held pose but for quick, sideway transposition, they do not look like birds at all. Their movements have that quality of change of place, without obvious, free use of limbs, that suggests clockwork. ....Actually, these woodpeckers represent no exotic, romantic survivals, but only extreme adaptation to a way of life. Their chisel-tipped beaks sound bark and crevices for grubs and wood boring insects most efficiently, and their stiff tail feathers serve as props in their precarious stance. At first it may seem strange that things as flimsy as feathers should bear body weight, but the weight of these woodpeckers is surprisingly little, and the tail feathers only help, in an adventitious manner, as a third leg. Woodpeckers are so used to vertical surfaces that movement along them is normal and easy for them –have even been observed asleep, stuck on to a tree trunk”.

The reclusive Muthuvan tribes of Western Ghats

Irittala kudi is about an hour’s trek from Marayoor (Idukki district, Kerala),Vijayan mashe was the local contact person who arranged the trip, of course permission was taken from the forest department. The trek has scattered elephant presence so one has to be careful. Overnight wind had brought down the crops that preceded the forest land. I was told that the sugarcane grown here are much sweeter, Marayoor jaggery is acclaimed for its unique taste. We did visit one shack where they were making the famous jaggery. On the way Vijayan mashe pointed to a crevice along the hill and said this was where a man was trampled by an elephant few months back. The man was drunk and ambled to his home late one afternoon. The elephant didn’t like it a bit and rest as they say is tragedy.  

One of the most reclusive tribes in India Muthuvans are found in the Adimali and Devikulam forest regions of Idukki district of Kerala, the largest concentration is around the Anamudi hills, the highest peak of the Western Ghats. The Muthuvan settlement is referred to as ‘Kudi’ and their houses are made of bamboo reeds thatched with leaves. They are mostly dependent on the forest products and cultivate essentials like ragi, banana so on. In some areas cash crops like ginger, pepper, lemongrass etc are also grown.  Though they nurture cattle they don’t drink the milk; meat even chicken is eaten only on special occasions.
The word Muthuvans is derived from the word "muthuku" which means ‘back’ in the Tamil and Malayalam languages. According to tribal legend when dynasty of Madurai was deposed, they crossed the mountains into Travancore and on their way the Muthuvans were the ones who carried the idols of deity belonging to the royal family on their backs. Another legend speaks of them carrying all their belongings and children on their back, even now unlike other people in the region the women carry their children on the back, therefore Muthuvans.
Muthuvans are one of the few tribes that actively try to avoid outsiders. Indeed they even evade eye contact and turn away their face from strangers. Muthuvans have a tradition of maintaining separate dormitories for unmarried males (the picture herein), and females. After they attain puberty they stay separate from families, and women, in particular, avoid outside males.
 
"Muduvans follow the matriarchal system and have an innate fear of outsiders and strangers. They used to be shifting cultivators of ragi and rice. They are also adept at hunting and trapping game. Over the years, they developed a symbiotic relationship with the environment. Their keen sense of sight, sound and hearing coupled with an innate fondness for animals made them skilful trackers…Muduvans are proud race and were unwilling to work in the restricting environment of the expanding plantations. However, from the inception of these plantations, they have served as guides, trackers and game watchers" (The Story Of Munnar by Sulochana Nalapat)
The law and order in the community is handled by a council of elders under the leadership of the Kani, the headman. Another headman ‘Thalaivar’ takes care of social issues. The language spoken is proto Dravidian closely linked to Tamil (visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7mv18CDWqaI&feature=plcp for video on Muthuvan songs) .  

from my scribble pad... 


Dissection of a Rat

Dissection of rat was a subject of study in school
disemboweled internals were identified and tagged
systems –Digestive, Respiratory, Excretory so on.
It doesn’t differ from us.
When the rat is cut, it dies
and stays that way
without any attempt to be alive.
Just like us.
We live and die
never making an attempt to be alive.
Where we differ from the rat
is never taught in the school.   


Scimitar Babbler: early morning boom



There is one bird that I hear quite often is Scimitar Babbler, its call is rather fine tuned Caucal. They have curved bills almost like a Scimitar, hence the name. It is rarely seen in the open so difficult to spot. Like all Babblers they are seen foraging the undergrowth mostly in mixed feeding flocks.   

Kaifi Azmi: the pinnacle of Urdu poetry 

Kar chale hum fida jan-o-tan sathion
ab tumhare hawale watan sathio

These lines are so much etched in the collective memory of Indians that it is difficult to think of any song that defines patriotism. Kaifi Azmi happens to be one of my favorite poets, his lines are straight from heart, and carry much subtlety and nuance. It is such an experience to read his lines…

Many years back I used to keep away two weeks for one poet, so that I took lot of time to read each and every line, and then ruminate over, re read so on. It was an amazing experience to enter poet’s world at its own pace. Kaifi Azmi is one the poets whom I have spend substantial amount of time.  Apart from being a poet he was an amazing human being. His concerns were always well articulated, it was a treat to listen him talk. Few months back I happen to see a documentary on him in DD. It is amazing that his close friends included some very common people in the village. We have, as a society, lost that inclusive and innocent world, it is a terrible loss. I also think that his presence in movie Naseem was one of the most endearing.   

Many of his poems are available on the Net, also I had one book by Pavan Verma translation (there is much to be desired), I am here taking two poems (one an incredibly popular song from a movie) from the Net….let’s not spoil it by translating!!    

वक्त ने किया क्या हंसी सितम
तुम रहे तुम, हम रहे हम

बेक़रार दिल इस तरह मिले
जिस तरह कभी हम जुदा थे
तुम भी खो गए, हम भी खो गए
इक राह पर चल के दो कदम

जायेंगे कहाँ सूझता नहीं
चल पड़े मगर रास्ता नहीं
क्या तलाश है, कुछ पता नहीं
बुन रहे क्यूँ ख़्वाब दम--दम

Another one, that is my favorite… 

मैं ढूँढ़ता हूँ जिसे वह जहाँ नहीं मिलता
नई ज़मीन नया आसमाँ नहीं मिलता

नई ज़मीन नया आसमाँ भी मिल जाए
नए-बशर  का कहीं कुछ निशाँ नहीं मिलता

वह तेग मिल गई जिससे हुआ है क़त्ल मेरा
किसी के हाथ का उस पर निशाँ नहीं मिलता

वह मेरा गाँव है वो मेरे गाँव के चूल्हे
कि जिनमें शोले तो शोले, धुआँ नहीं मिलता

जो इक ख़ुदा नहीं मिलता तो इतना मातम क्यों
यहाँ तो कोई मेरा हमज़बाँ नहीं मिलता

खड़ा हूँ कबसे मैं चेहरों के एक जंगल में
तुम्हारे चेहरे का कुछ भी यहाँ नहीं मिलता

From my scribble pad

Martyr

Truth is a house
without any occupant.
Innocent idealism stays as tenant
till existential realities knock the door off.
Later its a hideout
from remorse and chastening.

Occasionally someone is locked in
and called a martyr  






Friday, September 28, 2012

Grey bellied Cuckoo: watch out for the brood parasite

 Grey bellied Cuckoo is another of those Cuckoos that lay its egg on other birds nest; in this case the unfortunate victims are warblers.  Caught this male in Chinnar forest where we had gone for birding sometime back. It was quite a success about 82 bird species were documented, including some rare sightings like Sirkeer Malkoha and Blue bearded Bee eater. 

José Rizal: the eternal hero of Philippines

 I'll go where there are no slaves, tyrants or hangmen
Where faith does not kill and where God alone does reign.

 
I thought of writing about someone from Philippines after derogatory references to its culture by colonial writers that I quoted in my blog www.depalan.blogspot.com. José Rizal (June 19, 1861 – December 30, 1896) is a venerated figure of Philippines who was executed by colonial Spaniards. Apart from being a medical doctor he was also a prolific writer, poet, painter and sculptor. His advocacy of peaceful means rather than violent revolution makes him forerunner of Gandhi as one of the earliest non-violent proponent of freedom.

To the Philippines

(original sonnet was written in Spanish)

Aglowing and fair like a houri on high,
Full of grace and pure like the Morn that peeps
When in the sky the clouds are tinted blue,
Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps.

The light foam of the son'rous sea
Doth kiss her feet with loving desire;
The cultured West adores her smile
And the frosty Pole her flow'red attire.

With tenderness, stammering, my Muse
To her 'midst undines and naiads does sing;
I offer her my fortune and bliss:
Oh, artists! her brow chaste ring
With myrtle green and roses red
And lilies, and extol the Philippines!

Our Mother Tongue
(A poem originally in Tagalog* written by Rizal when he was only eight years old)

If truly a people dearly love
The tongue to them by Heaven sent,
They'll surely yearn for liberty
Like a bird above in the firmament.

Because by its language one can judge
A town, a barrio, and kingdom;
And like any other created thing
Every human being loves his freedom.

One who doesn't love his native tongue,
Is worse than putrid fish and beast;
AND like a truly precious thing
It therefore deserves to be cherished.

The Tagalog language's akin to Latin,
To English, Spanish, angelical tongue;
For God who knows how to look after us
This language He bestowed us upon.

As others, our language is the same
With alphabet and letters of its own,
It was lost because a storm did destroy
On the lake the bangka 1 in years bygone.

(Tagalog is a major language of people in Philippines.  The word Tagalog derived from tagá- meaning "native of" and ílog meaning "river". Thus, it means "river dweller")

From my scribble pad…

From the shadow of empire

The tongue has its own language
that the mind doesn’t understand
the mind has its own language
that the soul doesn’t reach.
Words, meanings and reasons
shift in the cataclysmic barrenness  
of alien, native, bastard’s tongue
born in the opportune scramble of near past.