Sahyadrica

Every year if you consider it as a number, you’re getting older. Every year if you consider it as a lesson, you’re getting stronger. And every year if you consider it as a journey, you’re getting wiser. I consider a year as a layer of all of this. People count years for you too, and they do it pretty well in my case by counting the grays in my hair. To those who’re worrying about salt-and-pepper, add a feather to it than cover it in fake colour! I look back on this day at the journey I’ve been lead on. Fortunately I always had my camera with me on these occasions, but have also missed it on many other. Along the way I learnt a few great lessons, but today I’d like to focus on memories of the time I spent in Maharashtra’s untouched shorelines and the historic central Indian highlands. I learnt that photography is not always about your subject, it is about you envisioning your subject, it is about you presenting your vision of the subject to the viewers. Here’s my vision of the jou...

The stone giants had put up a show by playing under the pre-monsoon showers of June the Second. A car had fallen prey to their nasty games. As we passed by its wreckage, staring at the giant sitting with his head in his hands, his hands on his bent leg, his large feet by the wreckage, sent shivers down my spine – it was awesome. Only a day ago I was roaming the hot and humid forests of Phansad Wildlife Sanctuary. We passed through blinding rains twinkling for a few seconds by lightening; silhouetting the somber figure of the stone giant from whose feet we turned left around the edge of Parsik hills range. If you follow this range down south, you will reach Panvel Creek as it pours into the Arabian Sea. The range continues as small hillocks as it spreads as Karnala Bird Sanctuary. South of this sanctuary, the range again breaks into small hillocks, several villages, towns, and roads crisscross this terrain, until, a little to the west – and closer to the sea – lie the typical coas...

[This post is part rant part figuring-out- life. It imparts some strong personal views vis-à-vis my own experiences in the wild or otherwise, and are not intended to be imposed upon the reader.] Cogito ergo sum ; I think, therefore I am; is a philosophical argument first made in 1637 by René Descartes. Simply put, to doubt one-self’s existence is to exist. It is said to be philosophy’s keystone from which one dives into the swirling thoughts of existence and nonexistence, of truth and lies. But if you think you exist, and therefore exist, you must also think others exist, but they may or may not indeed exist, for that thought is only applicable for yourself. If every person thinks the same, you could, like them, may or may not exist. With all its beautiful fallacies, the thought alone is enough to push you onto the next level of self-realization: that we all exist. And once you’re here, and you believe you exist, and so do others, self-realization is not only about yourself o...

A jackal cries in the shadow of rain Howling to the wind, in love or in pain, For whom, I wonder, by the waters untame  Into twilight, into the moonlight, in glory or disdain With a cry of sorrow or victory, that no man can explain With what power or prowess, that no man shall [ever] tame They lament for defeat as beautifully as they sing for glory. I’ve often found comingled tracks of the Indian Jackal, Canis aureus indicus , and the domestic dog, Canis lupus familiaris , in the muddy areas around the fragmented forests, but I can never tell the difference. I can simply assume it to belong to them, at least some of them; because I know they hunt this hillock. In the dark I hear a pack of these night-stalkers howling and yelping – for a fallen comrade or for securing a kill – I can never tell the difference, but their presence always fills me with gladness that they’re around. The calls are usually heard between dusk and early dawn. It starts first with yelps, soundin...

I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least – and it is commonly more than that – sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.   – Henry David Thoreau, Walking A storm is coming What wind brought me here I know not. Was it the scent that it carried, the call of the wild; that indescribable – insatiable – scent of nature, that bellowing – singing – of her children. I ask myself this. And I come to agree that it is this and more. However it was wrought not in my mind although I cherished learning it. It was born in my heart (and it is funny I say this because I’m fully aware my heart is just a muscle, and it is from my brain that these words flow). I haven’t found the answer yet, but I seek it. I am however no seeker of treasure nor tiger. Do I seek solace then, companionship, solitude, a mere fantasy? Do I seek to escape from the iron cold fists of the city? Do I...

You and we were the first to conquer You and we shall be the last —  The Bane of the Black Sword The possibility of seeing Crinum blooming in the first week of monsoon is higher than that during the second, and the following, and the next, until you’re left standing on a bed of broad, lush-green leaves like ripples on the land. Crinum latifolium When it rains, Crinum flowers will tower above the mass of leaves, on a pillar of pale green glowing under an overcast sky. You will see them drooping – not in weakness, nor in sadness – but in respect to the rains for which it is celebrating in delight, and for the land that has sustained it for countless generations, and for the chance for being one of the most beautiful creation of the union of the elements of water and earth. If only man could understand that he, like Crinum, is the son and the daughter of the basic elements of the universe, would he also stand not with pride but due honor to Earth? Crinum latifolium ...