Desicritics Category: Culture: Rural

Travel Review: Tusker Trails, Bandipur

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 12:19:03 EDT

Its raining ants!! I shrieked and jumped out of the bed. That was the only negative experience we had at the Tusker Trails lodge situated within the Bandipur National Park in Karnataka, part of the vast expanse of forests spanning Karnataka, Kerala, and Tamil Nadu - part of the erstwhile hunting grounds, quite literally, of first the Mysore Wodeyars and then, the poacher-brigand Veerappan. There were ants falling from the roof of our room right on our bed. It wasn't the fault of the management of Tusker Trials. They told us that the rooms had been fumigated but ants have a way of returning, especially in the rains. Our rooms were immediately changed and we spent our night in Bandipur in relative comfort after shooing away a pony who toddled towards us for an apple or two in the middle of the night.

Tusker Trails has a beautiful rustic look to it and is reasonably priced. The food is simple but delicious and the service prompt and friendly. The rooms are simple and pretty and the swimming pool inviting.

The safari provided by Tusker Trails into the Bandipur forests was fun and despite lasting two hours the picturesque scenery and animals caught off guard made it an exciting ride.

We drove at least 40 km into the forest and saw quite a few animals such as the Dhol (wild dogs), lazy cud-munching bison, deer, sambhar but missed the leopard sitting on a branch right above our jeep as we were too busy clicking away at the Dhols!

Which, obviously, came as a huge disappointment when a Venetian couple who had been in the Jeep behind us later on showed us pictures of the leopard who continued to sit at the same spot with a huge bellyfull of deer. But as we drove back to the Campus we heard another leopard snarling in the bushes and spook the deer that were busy grazing. But we didn't get to view the elusive leopard.

Deer are ample in Bandipur and so are wild boars. Tigers are a rare sighting but our safari driver swore he saw one ten days ago.

We did see wild elephants who turned tail and hid in the bushes waiting for us to leave.

The weather was cold and the forests were lush filled with beautiful birds like peacocks, bulbuls, woodpeckers etc.

When we returned to Tusker Trails by about eight in the night, we were pretty hungry and were greeted by candle lit dinner and congenial company.

Early in the morning we went for another Safari ride but got to see fewer animals - some bison, birds and some memorable scenic views. Ideally the evening safari is better than the morning one since by the time the morning safari starts, the animals go down by the riverside and the jeeps are not allowed to access to those areas.

After the morning Safari we had a hearty breakfast at Tusker Trails and drove on towards Ooty.

Bandipur is a good weekend getaway for nature lovers and those who still want the city amenities such as air conditioners, televisions etc could try the new Cicada Resorts.

Justice Delayed for Dalit Girl Burnt Alive in Uttar Pradesh

Madhu Chandra — Thu, 7 Aug 2008 11:48:36 EDT

The world was shocked by recent news of a six year old Dalit girl thrown into a burning bush by the upper caste villagers in India’s largest state of Uttar Pradesh in April, for which justice, even after three months, is still delayed.

A Fact Finding Team consisting of an International Human Rights group met Kamlesh and her parents along with Dalit leaders from her village. The story of justice delayed and the denial of medical and financial aid have been reported to the fact finding team.

Kamlesh’s parents are still in shock, suffering trauma and feel great fear of what will happen, if the accused happened to be released from jail.

On April 29, 2008 in the morning, in a village called Trauali Jhanauti in Mathura District of Uttar Pradesh in north India, Kamlesh was thrown into a burning bush by upper caste fellow villagers for the alleged crime of passing through a house which lies on the roadside toward the open fields where Dalit women and children used to go for open toilet.

When Kamlesh’s mother Manju, eighth months pregnant, attempted to snatch her from burning bush, she was thrashed at roadside and fell unconscious. When Manju came to her senses, she yelled for help. She pulled her daughter out from the burning bush, by the time 80% of her body was burned.

Kamlesh’s parents did not have a single penny to afford taking their daughter to the Hospital; rather they took her to the local police station with the expectation that the police would help them get some medical assistance.

The local police, after registering the complaint, took Kamlesh to the Government District Hospital at Mathura. She suffered five hours at the hospital before proper medical attention was given to her. After 36 hours, she was transferred to a bigger hospital in the district headquarters and later referred to Safdarjung Hospital in New Delhi, where she was treated up to her present condition.

The physical condition of Kamlesh is still grim. No proper medication has been given to her. Her right hand remains crippled, the right leg and skin all over the body are cracked and unhealed. She still groans with pain. Immediate treatment is needed to fully heal the burns.

The little financial aid from government has not been enough to cover the medical cost. Kamlesh’s parents have taken loans from known friends and relatives to pay for the necessary medicines.

Kamlesh’s parents Saudan and Manju are illiterate and do not have any regular job nor fields to cultivate. They depend on their daily wages, which they hardly get 8 to 10 days in a month.

A local Dalit activist and leader of All India Confederation of SC/ST Organizations told the fact finding team,

“For years, Dalit community in the village have been the receiving end of caste instinct crimes such as the case of Kamlesh, but this is the first case that the police has arrested the culprit.”

Justice to Kamlesh and her parents for the crime committed against them is very shaky at this point. The accused and the upper caste communities are wealthier and have better connections with government authorities, through which the crime could be manipulated.

Kamlesh’s father Saudan says,

“Out of four names of the culprits registered in police complaint, three have been removed from the complaint and only one is arrested and put behind the bar without trial. We could be forced to withdraw the complaint against the culprits to compromise the case.”

The lack of sanitary facilities in the village was one of the root causes for ongoing crimes faced by Dalits of the village from upper caste communities. The Dalit village leaders feel that such incidents could be avoided in future, if sanitary facilities for Dalit communities were provided in their village.

Illiteracy, poverty, social oppression and lack of medical accessibility to the Dalits in the villages are the root causes of such atrocities and crimes. Economic and education empowerment of Dalit communities will play a vital role in delivering them their fundamental rights. Failing which, the economic condition of Kamlesh’s parents and alike of other Dalit families; will always fall short to give education to their children in the village.

Ignorance caused by the lack of education could be one of many factors for caste-based discrimination and atrocities, which Dalits have been suffering for years. Surely the stories like that of Kamlesh could be prevented in future through proper community-based education and amelioration of living conditions.

Travel Review: Camel Market at Birqash, Egypt

Kim — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 02:40:17 EDT

Egypt's Largest Camel Market, the Birqash Camel Market is 35 km away from Cairo. The best day to visit is supposed to be Friday, when the market is most lively in the earlier parts of the morning 7am-9am.

This market used to earlier take place in Imbaba, but as the city expanded, the camel market was moved to the suburb of Birqash which is at the edge of the Western Desert.

Hundreds of Camels are sold here everyday. But this is definitely not a market for the Animal lover. The animals aren't in pitiable condition, but they could be treated much, much better than they currently are.

Camels from Sudan are brought into Egypt on the 40 day road via Abu Simbel to the market in Daraw. The unsold camels are then loaded into trucks and brought to Birqash after a 24 hour drive. Camels also arrive from the rest of Egypt and sometimes from Somalia. These camels are traded for other livestock or cash and are mostly bought for farm work or consumption.

Photo opportunities abound, if you can get the angles right since the camels are almost monochromatic in color. The traders have wonderfully charactered faces and I would have loved to be able to take close up portraits and talk to them and listen to their stories. Unfortunately as a woman, taking close up pictures of men is not the sanest thing to do. And my Arabic is too limited to have had a proper conversation with them.

As an obvious foreigner, you will be charged entry to the market. (it has a gated entry) 20 Egyptian Pound per person. Then they may try to charge you an additional 10LE per camera. Once you enter, you will not face any obvious resentment. The traders are pretty welcoming of foreigners and try to make a buck or so by posing for pictures with them. There were at least 10 other foreigners the day we visited. The only thing to be aware of is to not behave like an Animal Rights Activist and they will pretty much maintain their distance for the most part.

The market extends inside for a distance with sections cordoned off by walls for certain traders. Small single level constructions provide basic housing for traders. The roofs of which are covered with bales of hay. There are basic ramps built for loading and unloading camels from the trucks.

Obviously not all the camels are sold and some of them may not be worth carrying back. Some don't even survive the truck ride to Birqash. Their corpses are carelessly strewn about the desert as you approach the market. There are a few pictures of that at the bottom. Please don't scroll to the end, if you are squeamish.

The Drive through the Nile Delta makes you forget that you are surrounded by the largest desert in the world and is very reminiscent of the UP and Punjab fields.
The River Nile in the background is of course, unique to Egypt .

Some of the camels have one of their legs tied to prevent them from running away.

Quality check of camels like horses is done by inspecting the teeth. This one showed us his teeth voluntarily.

Unloading of Camels

Sold camels being taken away in a pick-up

Some of the character-filled faces

Warning: The pictures below are quite gory. Please do not scroll down if you are easily upset.

Death is inevitable, but I wish they could at least dispose the bodies in a less conspicuous and more humane fashion, rather than just leaving it out to the elements.

Some of the facts, come from the Lonely Planet guide for Egypt

Youth Beaten To Death Over One Rupee

DeeptiA — Tue, 27 May 2008 02:34:21 EDT

How precious is human life actually ? We read all the time about thieves getting lynched in the rural and semi-urban areas of our country; as well as hang our heads in shame when some local caste panchayat or even the actual parents or relatives actually kill their own children pretending that their children have brought dishonor to their lives.

However, in a new low, you can actually measure how low the value of a human life actually is. It is Rs.1, that one rupee shiny coin that many of us in cities do not even claim can purchase anything worthwhile. In this incident, a youth ran away with a gutkha packet from a village shop in West Bengal, and was then chased by a mob that finally caught up with him and then beat him to death. This is a horrible manifestation of the new low that have shown for the value of human life. Don't believe me ? Read this article:

A 22-year-old youth was lynched at Dakshin Duilla village under Andul police station in Howrah on Saturday for filching a Re 1 pouch of gutkha (tobacco-laced pan masala) from a shop. The shop owner and other villagers involved in the incident are absconding.

The angry mob caught up with Rahiz near a bamboo grove, some half a kilometre away from the shop and beat him up with whatever they could lay their hands on, including bamboo poles and farm implements. Samanta and the others fled after the youth collapsed. Passers-by saw the youth and informed police. By the time police arrived, Rahiz was dead.

These incidents keep on repeating from time to time, and we also read about them and ignore them as no impact to our own life. That may actually be true, they may not have any direct impact on our life, but are a sign of the breakdown of law and order in the countryside. A mob can dispense instant justice, and the people forming the mob are sure that they will not suffer anything because of their action.

The Lion People

Deepa Krishnan — Sun, 25 May 2008 15:37:27 EDT

Everyone knows about the Masai of Africa, but have you heard of the Lion People of Gujarat?

My daughter went to Sasan Gir Lion Sanctuary, and brought back this portrait of a Maldhari herdsman.

The Maldharis are buffalo-herders, who live in little mud nesses inside the Gir forest. Like the Masai, the Maldhari count their wealth in cattle and build their ness with a thorn enclosure to safeguard livestock from predators. But unlike the Masai, the Maldharis are vegetarian and do not slaughter their livestock for meat. They live instead, by selling milk and milk products, and use the earnings to barter or buy vegetables.

Maldhari homes have no electricity or running water. Every morning, the Maldhari men take their cattle to the forest to graze, while the women gather firewood and grass, draw water, and tend to the home. While letting their cattle graze, the Maldhari have to keep a sharp lookout for Gir's Asiatic lions, for whom the cattle are an easy target.

They're good looking people, these men, aren't they? Sharp features, confident, and so very macho. Maybe you'd be macho too, if you had to watch out for prides of hunting lionesses, with only a stick or an axe to protect your herd? The lions take 8 out of every 100 cattle that the Maldhari own, but the Maldharis do not hunt or kill the lions. They have learned to live alongside them.

The Forest Department believes Maldhari cattle over-graze the forest and deplete its water resources, making life difficult for the deer, nilgai and other ungulates of Gir. In addition, they fear domestic cattle will bring disease into the forest, wiping out the last surviving pure breed of Asiatic lions.

But other conservationists say the Maldhari herds are still vital to the survival of the lions. A 16-month study monitoring six Maldhari nesses in 2006-2007 established that almost 50% of the diet of Gir lions consists of Maldhari livestock. If you were to remove the Maldharis from the park, the study says, it would significantly affect the lion density, pride size and structure.

Sasan Gir has a complex set of problems. The biggest one is that it has too many lions and too little space. So there are territorial fights among the lions, and this leaves the smaller and younger males with no choice but to look for new places outside the protected area. Gir's lions have now started migrating outside the park. I'm glad they are reclaiming the lands where they once roamed, but this brings them into populated areas and creates new sources of conflict. Relocating the lions to another sanctuary would be a good idea - but the Gujarat government doesn't want to move the lions out of Gujarat, so it blocked a plan recommended by the Wildlife Institute of India to move some lions to Madhya Pradesh.

Five state highways pass through Sasan Gir, and there is a widespread limestone mining nearby. There's a cement plant barely 15 kilometers outside the protected area. There are 23 temples, and 250,000 tourists every year. In an area that has very little rainfall, these human activities drain scarce resources, and leave the waterholes dry in summer (Lions in Gir have fallen into human wells!).

Instead of fixing these issues (which involve influential people and big money), the government has got it into its head that the Maldharis - a community that does not poach - are the chief problem.

In my view, the biggest threat to the Asiatic lion is not the Maldharis. The biggest threat is that the only 300-odd surviving Asiatic lions in the world are all hemmed together in one small forest. A single epidemic could wipe out the entire species. This is a disaster just waiting to happen.

Travel Report: Naldhera - Abode of God

Deepa Krishnan — Sat, 10 May 2008 00:44:07 EDT

It's that crazy time of the year when the endless heat begins to get to me, and I long for cooler places. This time, we picked Naldhera, a little place near Simla, in the cool slopes of the lower Himalayas.

To get to Naldhera, though, we had to start from Chandigarh - which was even hotter than Mumbai!

We took the 10:00 a.m. flight from Mumbai, and landed in Chandigarh when the sun was climbing high. The heat hit us like a furnace when we got off the plane. The tarmac was hot and dry and blindingly white as we walked towards the shelter of the airport building and collected our bags.

Chandigarh airport looked like a disaster zone from the outside. The May heat rose off the concrete in dizzying waves. We ran for the safety and relative coolness of our Toyota Innova.

Apparently they're converting Chandigarh to an international terminal (Chandigarh has become such an IT and BPO destination these days). I have only one piece of advice for the airport authorities: plant some trees! We need the shade!!

Lots of little shops like these dotted the highway. This one offered watermelon and sweet lime juice. Punjab also grows a wide range of fruits - oranges, lemons, mangoes, litchis, guavas, pears, peaches, plums, grapes and berries...what a wonderfully fertile land! I didn't see any fruit farms by the side of the road, so I was really disappointed. All we saw was these invitingly cool fruits on the hot dusty highway.

Finally, we reached the foothills of the Shivalik mountains. A brief break for lunch at Parwanoo (Timber Trails), and we were off climbing up further. The road had sharp curves, it was cool and pleasant, and I rather envied this man riding free and easy on his two-wheeler.

It was dark by the time we reached Naldhera. The wooden chalet we stayed in was beautiful, with a balcony on the upper floor, and a patio. But it was only in the morning that I figured out how pretty the scenery was. I sat and listened to birdsong at 6:00 a.m. The trees rose behind the cottage, tall and straight, everything around me was serene and perfect.

(Well, almost perfect. By seven a.m., they were piping this irritating outdoor music on a tinny music system. Can you imagine ruining the peace of this place with bad music?)

Breakfast was in a big community dining hall. They served us masala-tea on request, spiked with fennel. I'd never tasted that before.

At ten a.m. we set off on a trek up the mountain. Well, I say up, but in truth, it was downhill first, and then a climb back! The initial phase was easy, but it got steeper as we went along. The reward - beautiful views of green cedarwood forests. And no piped music! We saw an elderly couple - and old man and woman - carrying loads on their heads, climbing up. We, on the other hand, struggled with the uphill climb, and had to stop frequently for rest. This sort of thing always makes me feel very "urban" and very stupid.

The next morning, we set off for Tatta Pani, a place on the river Sutlej where there are hot springs. Tatta Pani is a local corruption of Tapta Pani - Boiling Water. The Sutlej at Tatta Pani is a forceful river, carrying with it mud and silt. The temperature of the river is 4 degrees, but right near the river is an underground spring which feeds hot water into the river.

The water of Tatta Pani collects in many places along the river bank, and forms shallow pools like these. Algae grow in the hot sulphur. The rock pools disappear in June, and reappear in November after the rains. It has something to do with the water levels in the river. I'm glad we went in May.

The hot water flows into the cold river. At the place where the two waters mingle, it is very pleasant. The kids had a great time stepping into hot water, and then jumping into the colder stream. Lots of laughing and shouting!

But Tatta Pani is not all about fun. It is also famous for its curative properties. This hopeful family of father and two sons had come to cure the ailing father. One son sat with the old man, while the other son made a little private pool for the old man to bathe. There was something about the way they sat together that had a deep impact on me - perhaps it was their simple quietness.

The two brothers spent half an hour creating a little pool for their father. They worked quietly and efficiently, with no noise. Here is the second son. The pool water was hot, so every now and then, he would dip his fingers in the cold river water. It took the two brothers nearly an hour to make a large enough pool for the old man to lie down. After the old man stripped down and had a bath, they took him wrapped in sacking cloth to the nearby priest for prayers. I didn't photograph the prayers - but the sons sat with him all through it.

Tatta Pani is also a major place of pilgrimage. Large numbers of people come to bathe in Tatta Pani in the month of Magha (Jan-Feb), when it is believed that a dip in this water washes away all your sins. And they come on Baisakhi Day in April. Funnily, they also come on January 26th, Republic Day! (Sometimes I think I will never understand my fellow countrymen.)

This family was making a tula-daan, a donation. It looked like an offering to offset the influence of Shani (Saturn). The offerings to Shani are strange - black gram (urad), black clothes, iron, oil and leather (that's what told me it was Shani - these set of scales had a pair of black leather shoes). In the tula-daan, you weigh yourself on the balance, and donate these things equal to your weight. The donation goes to the brahmin priest.

That afternoon, I went to the mall at Shimla. The mall is a long road full of shops. No vehicles are allowed on the road, but for tired whiny kids, a group of guys offers an innovative stroller service. For 50 rupees an hour, you get your own stroller, and your own personal pram-pusher along with it! So momma gets to shop in peace, with kids trundling along safely contained in a little stroller. Oh and the kids get to play tinny music as well.

Himachal is synonymous with apples. The stores in Simla stock apple wine, but also stock several other kinds of wine from locally grown fruits - strawberries, grapes, pears, and even rhododendron wine. We tried some of them...but I didn't quite like them.

Lots of woolen products are also on sale. I bought not one, but three pashmina shawls. The shopkeeper was a smooth talker who spoke flawless English, and showed me how the entire shawl could be pulled through a finger-ring. I was hooked.

The next morning, we set off for Chandigarh. Ranjit Singh, our driver, was a madman on a mission - to get us to the airport in time for the flight. We hurtled down the slopes at dizzying speeds, and had to stop midway when everyone started feeling truly carsick. The roadside dhabas serve the most amazing masala lemon-soda, by the way. As we neared the lower slopes, I bid goodbye to the hills, and turned my thoughts homewards.

For more photos and the full story, here is my flickr travelogue.

Photo Essay: Tramway Trek in Parambikulam

Tanay Behera — Thu, 1 May 2008 09:15:59 EDT

I had to cover close to 50 kms in two days, trekking thorough one of the best biodiversity hotspots in India. Can I do this or I can't, a cloud of incertitude eclipsed my mind. With this dubiety kicking in mind, I boarded the bus a late Friday night after the day’s work hoping that the weekend would end up with some exciting experiences.

The next day morning, I woke up as the bus stopped in search of the correct route when we reached Pollachi. While we were motoring along the road planked on both sides by trees, I could see big billboards of Jayalalitha and Karunanidhi which confirmed my curiosity that we were in Tamil Nadu.

But we were going for trek in the forests of Parambikulam which is in Kerala. The puzzle got resolved when I learnt that the only entrance to this wildlife sanctuary is through the Annamalai Wildlife sanctuary which is in Tamil Nadu. We paid all the necessary fees at the check post to get into the sanctuary and the sky appeared a bit cloudy that day.

Along with few others, I was going to start my trek which is commonly known by the name 'Tramway Trek'. There is a little bit of history to this which says...

The tramway was set up in 1905 under the visionary of Maharaja of Cochin Sri. Rama Varma to transport Cochin teak from Parambikulam to Chalakkudy. From there it could be exported to the rest of the world thorough the Cochin Harbour. The total stretch of this tramway is close to 49.5 miles running through the thick forest, crossing many rivers and the time taken to cover this distance was 9 hours. It was around 1953 that this tramway was stopped for a number of reasons.

All that remains today are the remnants in the form of rails, bridges, wagons, etc. A couple of years back as a befitting tribute to the centenary of the Cochin State Forest Tramway, an eco-friendly trekking plan was launched along the tumbled down tramway route. The foot trail along this rail trail will give an opportunity to see the remainders of bygone days of the transport system, besides seeing hundreds of birds and animals including tiger, elephant, sambhar, spotted deer, sloth bear, porcupine etc.

This is one of the best managed wildlife sanctuaries in India.

The bus took all the trekkers near the gate of the Parambikulam Dam, which was the starting point of our trek. From the bus, what we saw were a pleasure to eyes, peacocks dancing in the woods and spotted deer milling around.

The route offered some fresh sites that made me indulge in fantasy as if someone was using the river water bed as a mirror to teach the basics of reflection.

The trek started at around 10AM and by now the sun was shining bright and smart. The entire trek course was along the river and it was amazingly beautiful.

Since, the initial trek path is flat and regular, I was looking for some excitement and it was just the right time that our guide showed us a herd of elephants near the river bank. After drinking water and cleaning themselves, the elephants moved towards the trek route and this was an ultimate moment of excitement. These colossal creatures were just 60 meters away from the group. We were all lying on the forest’s leaves carpeted floor like soldiers in a war field and I positioned my camera lying down to get a perfect composition. People wearing white shirts and caps immediately put on something non-white because elephants react aggressively to white color. We were resting on the forest floor with pin drop silence, except for the sound of the birds chirping in the woods and the crackling sound that one gets when walking over a bed of dry leaves till the gang of elephants and calves (total number was around 15) passed by.

It was 11:30 AM by then. Our guide told us that, we could catch some more wild actions since this was the time when a bunch of tigers would plunge into the river for some coolness. Hope ran high, but we couldn’t trace them. But we spotted few crews of deer and sambhar, but these species being a sensitive lot, vanished when they encountered a foreign element in their territory.

The gang reached a small tribal colony in the midst of the forest at around 1:30 in the noon for a small break after having trekked for around 10kms. The entranceway to the tribal colony was a bridge across the Kuriakutty River. The bridge though not in operation, still stands intact and the rail line snakes through some thrilling landscape.

Lunch was served to us by the tribal people, which comprised of simple rice, sambar and cabbage fry dished out in dry leaf plates. The food provided the much needed energy and the journey started again. The dry forest was slowly given way to dense evergreen forests.

En route, we traced many birds such as grey hornbills, the great pied hornbills, etc. Also I found some snake's outer skin, hanging from the branch of a tree.

As I was trekking through this abode of greenery, a lot of emotions swam through my mind. And one needs to be in such a secluded place to feel vulnerable to the wild, exhilarated, beatified, commoved, expectant, anticipative, disappointed and happy at the same time. There was exquisite greenery all around with no presence of human beings and I was walking alone with music on my ears courtesy my iPod. It just appeared that the road ahead was never ending.

It was around 5 PM in that we reached the endpoint of day one trekking. The night stay was in an anti poaching camp at Muthuvarachal right next to the flowing river at an elevated altitude. Just imagine the excitement, when someone is there in the dense forest, with the only source of light as either the moon-light or the candle light. Insects creaking and mosquitos' bombinating to attack were the only sounds that one could hear. Even though this camp was at a raised tract, surrounded by trenches, there were still chances of tracing some wild animals in the pitch dark.

We had dinner, which was boiled rice and legumes again courtesy, our tribal friends. We woke early in the morning the next day at around 6 AM and set out for a walk. The jungle was fresh with the earthy smells of the morning. Strolling through the luxuriant vegetation, we saw some pugmarks of a leopard and marks left when the prey was dragged over the dampish soul.

We returned from our morning jaunt and had our breakfast at around 9AM. Then we started for our return journey which lacked verve and we planned to trek till lunch time. As I trekked I could see lots of 'manchans' (tree-top houses) but the most interesting finding was a bird studying center in the heart of the forest. This unit is built in the honor of late Dr. Salim Ali, a renowned ornithologist who had found more than 100 species of birds, traveling on the tram way route.

I saw a wide variety of insects, frogs and other creatures during my return journey. It was around 2PM that, we all had lunch in the same tribal colony, where we had food the previous day. Since we were drained out of energy, our guide asked us to take the Tempo traveler else it wouldn't have been possible for us to leave the forest by 6PM.

As the vehicle was traversing through the bends and the curves of Western Ghats, the scene of the Parambikulam dam was breathtaking from a higher altitude. The next break point was to see the largest and the oldest (as it is close to 450 years now) teak tree in the world, Kannimara Teak. Parambikulam was once home to some of South India’s finest stands of teak but most of these are now replaced by teak plantations, which cover around 9000 hectares of forest land.

We saw a couple of monkeys, lion-tailed macaques, Indian Gaurs too from the Tempo traveler. By now it was 6PM and the return journey to Bangalore started. We made a couple of stops on the way back for dinner and for having tea from road side stalls and before we could realize, we were back in the concrete jungle by 4:30 AM.

Since I was tired, I took some rest before the grumbling and groaning Monday work started, unwilling to let go of the endearing and striking Sunday. Monday, I had a business meeting in the Taj Hotel at Bangalore, and then when I was having lunch there in the neatly manicured gardens, it just reminded me, how life changes suddenly. Just 24 hours ago, I was in the woods having food in a tribal colony and now I am in a restaurant, with a great assortment of cuisines.

Well that's how life is. Take it as it comes.

The remaining pictures of the trek are here in this album.

Increasing Communication - Declining Communion

Shantanu Dutta — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 11:45:44 EDT

An interesting article from the British paper, The Guardian caught my attention recently. It bemoaned the fact that a large number of post offices were closing in the British country side, particularly inconveniencing the elderly for who the post office was more than a place to buy stamps and post letters; in deprived urban areas, post offices are banks for local people and crucial sources of benefits. In rural villages that have lost schools and every other shop, it is often the last local service left standing. The post office is the last community hub left.

India’s villages haven’t got there yet, but our towns probably have. We don’t have any more community hubs left any more and a sense of community in the bigger cities is all but gone, surrounded as we are by walled houses, often enclosed by high gates and fences and manned by dogs and security guards. In fact the one thing to be said for slums is that because of their forced deprivation of space and privacy, they have to create communities to manage their clutter and chaos.

As in many other cases when environments change rapidly, the elderly are perhaps the most affected. In the area where I live, in the parks that still fortunately still survive in some numbers. They throng the neighborhood parks in the evenings and some times in the early mornings but though they have the companionship of their peers, they appear lonely. The young are missing as they are busy with their own pursuits; some times grand children are to be seen, but this strange bonding is often the bonding of the bizarre – the grand parents are stand in baby sitters for their sons and daughters and baby sitting is the chore that they often perform as a retainer ship for their board and lodge.

The younger lot often has set up shop in platforms like Facebook or Orkut. There is a community for folks who live in my community to meet up on line or Orkut and Facebook and BigAdda and all the rest. Whether the online communities will really amount to any thing, I suppose only time will tell, the research is too young yet for us to have any clear findings on which to base conclusions.

Coming back to the closing post offices, one of the key reasons cited for their closing is the fact that due to the ease and cost of sending e mails, no one or virtually no one in the UK is writing conventional letters, sticking stamps on them and then trundling along to the post office to post them. For some, real time communication is every thing and instant messaging has begun replacing e mail which is slowly becoming passé. Similarly another key revenue stream for the Post Office, the greeting card business in the holiday season – with people sending fewer and fewer Greeting Cards.

I do not know how many of us still have old letters – papers yellowing with age and fragile; but billowing with emotions and over flowing with the fragrance of friends, love and laughter. Although I too have moved with many others to the electronic era and write few letters myself, there is still the sense of mourning at the passing of an era that I at one time have known and loved. There are letters that on a given day I might still take out and read – letters with a hand writing, some smudged ink and perhaps a fraying envelope but encased lie within words that inspired and encouraged and conveyed hugs and embraces that physical distanced dis allowed but an envelope with a stamp and a heavy footed post mark could still convey.

Can a print out of an e mail do that or an emoticon on an IM? Sure they have their uses and are fast, reliable and robust for business communication. But outside of Business, though e mail is not going to go away any time soon if ever, I am sure that an e mail print devoid of signatures, distinctive hand writing styles, words and letters can never replace the sense of communion and community and friendship that can really nurture on life’s long and often lonely journey.

Book Review: Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson

Shantanu Dutta — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 14:09:02 EDT

I have never seen snow falling on cedar trees but have seen snow fall over spells in the Himalayas covering every thing in sight gradually with a curtain and a cover of snow. It has a bit of a mystical experience for me – ethereal beauty of certain intensity on one end and a deep sadness and amplification of past losses and regrets that one knows can never be redeemed on the other. But with all this mixture, my reminiscences of snow and snow fall are

Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson is one such luminous book where nostalgia, beauty and realism blend. It is another multi layered book, a love story at one level, a court room drama at another and a living history of what it meant to be a Japanese American in the US in the Second World War time and its immediate aftermath. At this last level , it documents the treatment meted out to Americans of Japanese origin at that time and the perennial odyssey of minorities having to prove their loyalty time and again around the world – in different times , contexts and ways- some how, some things sadly never change and perhaps never will. Very deservedly, it had won the PEN/Faulkner award in 1994.

The brooding, lonely some what defeated character of Ishmael Chambers towers over the pages of the novel – a war veteran with one arm amputated and some one who never quite made it in life – but in spite of all the pain that filled his life, a man who never lost his decency and big heartedness. Ishmael is the son of a small time journalist on the tiny island of San Piedro where many Japanese Americans live and where following Pearl Harbor, ethnic stereotyping begins to happen.

As he sees his father valiantly trying to portray other facts in the local newspaper - the story of the many Japanese Americans and there numerous contribution to local society at a time when the flavor of the season is to be xeno phobic, Ishmael and his father discuss some timeless questions about journalism: “Not every fact is just a fact”-he (Ishmael’s father) added.” It’s all a kind of balancing act. A juggling of pins, all sorts of pins that are what journalism is about”. ‘This isn’t journalism.’ Ishmael answered. “Journalism is just the facts.” “But which facts?” Ishmael’s father asked him.” Which facts do we print, Ishmael?”

The unspoken answer is that a true journalist prints all facts and if he has a bias or a tilt, it is to report to highlight, to under line, those facts that others are not reporting, others are pushing under the carpet, that others are perhaps even hiding, a journalist is not just a man with a camera and a pen- he is a man who is called to be an advocate on behalf of those who are unable for one reason or another can not speak for themselves.

The most poignant section of the book is the one dealing with the aborted love story of Ishmael Chambers and the Japanese girl Hatsue Miyamoto, who eventually ends up marrying a man from her Japanese community, partly because of the interruption caused by the war and partly because when push comes to shove, human differences driven by ethnicity, language, race and religion will always remain to haunt us….. seemingly for over. This book of loss, lamentation and grief casts a long shadow indeed.

Book Review: Whitethorn Woods by Maeve Binchy

Shantanu Dutta — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 09:18:01 EDT

Whitethorn Woods by Maeve Binchy is an extremely readable book once you get used to the fact that it is neither a traditional novel nor exactly a collection of short stories. The first few chapters seem to be a bit disjointed and there is a struggle to discern how the diverse characters link up. Once the reader gives up the effort to look for a direct connection and starts concentrating on the many characters that populate the book, it is an extremely warm and entertaining book.

The hub of the book is a Catholic shrine in a traditional Irish village dedicated to St. Ann, mother of the Virgin Mary in an Irish village by the name of Rossmore. Although the local priest, Father Flynn is skeptical about its religiosity, the local people have all gone there to pray for as long as one and his notional superior, the semi retired Fr. Cassidy can remember. People come to the well to make their wishes for marriage, children, cures of diseases, and success in other endeavors. Many of the characters have slim ties to one another through family connections, having gone to school with one together, or employment.

The undercurrent of the book is this shrine which is likely to be demolished soon. Rossmore used to be a small village but no more – traffic has significantly increased in recent years and there is talk of a new express way being built that will cut down the traffic passing through the town but will take away the much loved shrine from their midst. It is this development that makes people think through their connection to the shrine and over the years.

As Binchy brings to life person after person reminiscing about the Whitethorn Woods and the statue of St. Ann and their personal equation to it, we get to see the entire spectrum of human nature of human emotions bared before the statue of St. Ann and some memorable characters come to life – Neddy, the simple but golden hearted man who calls himself “Not the sharpest knife in the drawer but the luckiest”, that will remain with me long after the book has been shelved, though with so many characters to choose from, each reader can pick an choose their personal favorite.

In a subtle and understated way, Maeve Binchy tells us the story of an ancient county coping with change. There are references to the time when Ireland used to be poor and people as a result of the well known potato famines or the over all poverty prevailing. The new express way is a symbol of the many other ways in which Ireland is changing as is the devotion to St. Ann. The parish priest is befuddled as church attendance is declining by the day but the devotion to what is essentially a folk shrine shows no signs of abating and indeed the looming express way about to be built divides the town because to the modern irreligious, it is a sign of prosperity, new and better paying jobs and a thriving economy. But to the tradition bound the destruction of the shrine is nothing but a permanent end to a way of life they have always known and admired.

Two things stay with you after you have finished the book. The first that it is possible to say a lot without being preachy. She could have written a tome about tradition and modernity or about continuity and change but she didn’t. Instead through the format of a novel she has allowed the reader to raise their own questions and through the characters who inhabit its pages, she has offered some perspective but not pat answers. To sum it up, “Whitethorn Woods” is a novel which is really a fable wrapped up as a story. Certainly worth a read!