Jet Set Weekend

“Wake up! Quick!” A frantic whisper from my wife - gazing ahead, her eyes almost popping out - stirred me back to life. I had dozed off waiting, waiting and waiting… A quick turn of the head in the direction of her eyes revealed a bright fiery orange something with black stripes some distance away, hidden partially by slender deep brown barks of deciduous trees. It was a tiger! A huge male (the guide put it down to about 200 pounds) tiger - sauntering through the bush land and scarce vegetation so characteristic of the dry climate of Ranthambhor National Park. Gorgeous, hypnotic, mystique were the words that came to mind in a snap! Bulky, yet regal in every move it made.
Ranthambhor, lying in a cradle formed by the Aravalli and the Vindhya ranges - two very old mountain ranges – in Rajasthan is home to around 30 odd tigers and along with Kanha, Bandhavgarh, Pench and Corbett ranks pretty high in the Project Tiger success list. So much so that tiger cubs from the park fitted with radio collars, (for the first time in India) are being moved to nearby Sariska for a fresh lease of life – rampant poaching by hunter gatherers from the Mogiya tribe unfortunately being the reason for its extinction there. In fact in one sting operation in the early nineties TRAFFIC (an organization that monitors the wildlife trade for the World Wildlife Fund) had discovered dozens of families in Delhi’s Sadar Bazaar engaged in the trade of animal body parts. After all a tiger skin can fetch more than $1500! As the availability decreases with tiger numbers, the prices soar. And with a buoyant Asian economy, affordability is only increasing. Wildlife protection forces are usually understaffed and the budget laid out for conservation by the Government is meager at best. The situation worsens when there are religious sites present within the premises of the reserve – as is the case with both Sariska and Ranthambhor. This allows unrestricted human entry within the park and makes poaching control trickier.
His highness paused for a second to cast a fleeting glance at his subjects – the event being noted and marked by a zillion clicks from all possible photography equipment on show from the zillion gypsys that had gathered there – word of the monarch spreads like lightning in these parts; and that too, if I may add, by word of mouth! The langoors, sambhars, cheetals, peacocks all play their own part in this evolved mode of communication which can be described in simple terms as an “alarm call” traceable even at large distances. The tiger turned its head and walked away apparently irritated by the high decibel levels being maintained in its realm; for few park visitors in India are aware of the etiquette to be followed in the jungle. For most, it’s just another outing on a weekend where they cut loose and yell at close to top of their voices and sometimes even go to the extent of littering the parklands!
Education and awareness of the importance of the jungle, not only from an aesthetic view, but also from an ecological perspective which has the potential for impacting the economy of the country, is imperative for its survival in the long run. This is something where the wild life department needs to dig deep and come up with plausible solutions. Without a nation wide awareness about the need and ways of the jungle, saving it would require a Herculean effort, not to say it doesn’t already does so!
The terrain of Ranthambhor is unique. At the far end there are the two mountain ranges forming a V like pattern. The near end is fenced by the huge Ranthambhor fort – built by a Rajput ruler and now largely in ruins. Nested in between is the major portion of the forest with tracts of undulated grass lands and three beautiful lakes. The grasslands here are different from the ones in Kanha where it stretches till the end of ones imagination; here, because of the hilly nature of the terrain the land climbs up now only to take a plunge the next to form a sort of valley – and all the while brooks, seeming to come from the magical places which are “the haunts of coot and hern” immortalized so well by Tennyson, spurt by in a hurry, sweeping away almost anything that dared hinder their march. What with early rains (mid-June) this year Ranthambhor was exploding with life. The usual dry dusty sparsely vegetated land was transformed into a bright green bushy garden with even the lakes taking on a greenish hue. Crocodiles or magar as it is known in India swarm the lakes which are also the hunting ground for a large number of wading birds including herons, a variety of storks, mallards, stirlings etc. The birds patiently look out for a catch – remaining stationary for minutes at an end sometimes - while the crocs appear to be prepared to wait as long as it takes to lay an ambush. Often one can notice a stork take a furtive step or two towards a potential prey only to squinch back on detecting a croc taking a sun bath in its way. Now and again we would come across a small brown hare nibbling on a light snack in the afternoon or a woodpecker making heavy weather of a thick dark bark of a tree as ancient as the earth itself. The hilly parts on the other hand provide a better opportunity to spot predatory birds and provide a breathtaking view of the plains below.
Unfortunately, Ranthambhor doesn’t have any forest rest house within the park. Hence, one has to put up at the various hotels outside the periphery of the park. The state tourism hotels are reasonably priced and have decent facilities, though the efficiency of service is poor. One good place to stay could be the Ranthambhor Bagh, owned and run by Aditya Singh, a dedicated conservationist and photographer. Herds of photographers, wildlife enthusiasts, naturalists etc usually drop anchor there during their visits to the park, hence one could be in for some very interesting and intellectually stimulating evenings with loads of tips and suggestions coming ones way. There one can also run into Salim Ali, a very competent naturalist and “tiger driver” who has worked with BBC on various projects. If one can enlist him for ones services as a guide during ones stay there one is assured of a trip worth remembering! At least the chances of spotting a tiger will surely move up by several notches.
Ranthambhor National Park, which is a part of the much larger Ranthambhor Tiger Reserve, lies in the Sawai Madhopur district of eastern Rajasthan. The Sawai Madhopur Sanctuary, followed by the Sawai Mansingh Sanctuary and the Qualji Closed Area lies further South-West of the park. Sawai Madhopur, the nearest rail head, is 5 hrs by train from New Delhi. Mewar express and Shatabdi both link the two towns with daily runs. The town is accessible by road as well, however what with roads being is poor shape, the journey might take about 9-10 hrs!

Kipling's Den?

Anyone who has sat through the popular Disney animation film “The Jungle Book” or browsed through the book of the same name by Rudyard Kipling will concur the setting is idyllic. It is often said that Kipling had Kanha at the back of his mind while immortalising the jungle life in his story. Need anything more be said? Isn’t it the ultimate praise that can be showered on a jungle? Set in the eastern fringes of the country’s heartland – Madhya Pradesh – this 940 square kilometre of wilderness is beauty personified.

We arrived at the MTDC resort at Mukki (the park has 2 gates – Kisli and Mukki), close to the main entrance of the park one morning, the weekend just before Christmas. Immediately after lunch we set out for our first Park ride. Almost as soon as we entered we were greeted by a herd of Cheetals (spotted deer) grazing languidly some distance away. As we moved ahead, the road, lined by Sal trees on both sides, suddenly opened up into a vast meadow reminiscent of the East African savannas. The yellowish hue of dried grass contrasted splendidly with the deep green bush land on its periphery, capped perfectly by the royal blue canvas above. On and off one can spot a Sambhar reaching out to pluck leaves from the scattered trees or a flock of Cheetals making their way to the nearest water-hole. And then the gypsy would enter a dark, cold, thickly wooded part of the forest, entirely impregnable to the soothing winter sun; and then again we would come out through a serpentine path in the middle of a swamp, with flocks of mallards and other wading birds, not to mention the egrets, herons and the kingfishers hovering above, waiting for the opportune moment to plunge at an unsuspecting prey. It is this contrast - of terrain, of flora, of colour, of scent, of light and shades – that makes Kanha exhilarating.

“Pitter-patter, pitter-patter” - little drops of water hitting the glass and dripping off onto the window sill woke us early the next day. We rushed to the door anxiously. We were touring in an open gypsy – ideal for safari. Rain would ensure that we had the hood on and that would spoil the ride entirely. Thankfully, it turned out to be dew dripping from the leaves above!

We entered the park at day break and headed straight for a ticket counter to enrol ourselves for the ‘Tiger Show’ in case the mahouts who leave at around the same time to comb the forest in search of the big cat do return with news. As and when the mahouts report a ‘sighting’, the word is spread and the forest officials reach the spot with a few of their tame elephants. All vehicles are stopped at a distance from the spot so as not to be a source of disturbance for Sher Khan. (To what extent they are successful, however, can be a matter of extensive debate.) The visitors are then led through the dense foliage by haathi to catch a quick pricey glimpse of the elusive monarch (it costs Rs.200/- per head over and above the cost of the park ride).We enrolled and went about our usual park ride. We sighted a Barasingha couple (Swamp deer), found only in Kanha, grazing nearby. In fact there is a special protected area for the Barasingha whose population had dropped to less than 60 a few years back. Careful preservation however has raised the number to over thousand now. And then came the news! Only a rumour from the driver of a passing gypsy to begin with, we received confirmation soon after. Sher Khan has been spotted! We drove at almost break neck speed for the next half an hour or so to collect our token at the enrolment centre and head towards the spot, with the terrain changing gradually from level plain to a hilly one.

The first impression was that of disappointment. When one visits the wild or makes a conscious decision to tour a less frequented place, the last thing he wants is the companionship of a horde of fellow humans – and that’s exactly what lay in store for us here. The whole place thronged with gypsies. The officials had a tough time in keeping order. Their repeated pleas to ensure that we don’t step out and await our turn in silence, however, helped create an atmosphere of suppressed excitement. We were fifth in line. Each elephant could carry only 3 people. We anxiously anticipated our turn as one by one the elephants left for the rendezvous with the King, urging the Almighty to use all His powers to keep it rooted there a little more. Finally our turn arrived. Climbing up the ladder with cautious steps, for the huge brute was insistent on rummaging through a pile of dead grass and sneezing continuously, we took positions on its back. Positions, we thought, would be strategic in providing us with the best view. With our cameras ready and the mahout “pulling the trigger” with his whiplash, we were off!

I have often wondered the reason why there aren’t too many television programs on Indian wildlife. All those lovely shows that we see in National Geographic on African safari! Aside from a program or two, there’s very little on India. The answer hit me from all sides while seated on the elephant. As soon as you step inside the bushes from the jungle path, the first thing you realise is that the visibility drops to less than a few yards ahead. On top of that moving around becomes next to impossible. No African forest comes as close in terms of the dense foliage and undergrowth to the tropical forests. It is simply not viable for a crew with all its equipments to move amidst this maze of branches, fallen trees and cluster of bamboos. The elephant is the only useful mode of transport. Neither is a zoom lens of much use where your view is blocked by an impenetrable mesh of leaves and branches for most of the time. For haathi, it’s a cinch though. He surged ahead, dextrously using his snout to remove the twigs and shoots that attempted to stall his progress, before long we were there. And there lay the regal Khan, resting, possibly after a sumptuous meal, under the shades of the forest canopy. The crackle of dry leaves had informed him of our arrival. He looked up at us for a moment with that royal air. Just long enough for us to press the shutter. Royal ‘sighting’, being high in demand, no sooner had we had the chance to overcome the initial awe and get down to clicking a few snaps, the mahout had already used his whiplash and we were off once again.
“Off season mein aiye babu….pura ghuma sakte hain....season mein bahoot mushkil” cries out the guide assigned to us. Evidence of what he says is all around. Christmas and New Years being pretty much vacation time for most, there are almost 170 gypsys at a given time in the forest making viewing animals pretty much difficult. The noise and whirl of dusts drive most of the animals into the thicker woods. Hence, what the officials do is allot specific routes for every vehicle entering the Park. Thus one remains restricted to a small portion of the jungle. Even then almost at every turn one can expect to stumble over other vehicles. During off seasons since the guide can take one through the entire forest, and with vehicle population being far lower, chances of ‘sightings’ are much higher. Summers are anyways the best season to sight game. With sources of water shrinking, animals are forced to gather in the few remaining water-holes, thus, making it easier to track and view.

So, pack your bags this summer, beat the heat, and head for the wild! This breathtaking beauty lies only a few hours journey by car from Jabalpur. Unless one is a ‘wild’ fanatic, the ideal thing to do would be to club it along with places like Jabalpur, Panchmari, Amar Kantak or north to Khajuraho, Orchha, and Gwalior etc., or even west to Sanchi and Bhimbetka. It’s worth every penny!

A Magical afternoon!

Brrrrr! The wind was killing – it seemed to be blowing a gale – so chilly was it that holding the bricklike Minolta SR-7 steady was an ordeal in itself! To the locals however, it was a gentle, soothing, refreshing breeze typical of fall, bringing with it a sense of “the last happy days” – epitomised so well by Keats - before the harsh, frosty, gloomy winter sets in. I was freezing on the outskirts of a Dutch village.
Village??! Ha! Well, that’s what they call Breukelen. However, to one for whom the visual association of the word is a multitude of mud huts, some covered with thatched bamboo and some with red clay tiles, cow dung slapped on the walls of almost all of them - connected by a network of uneven threadlike patches of land - de-grassed by ages of footfall, this was a far cry. This was a regular township. Rows of pretty cottages with even prettier little gardens in front – flowers of different hue and size popping out from the grass, with furry little kittens crouched between the stalks, fenced by uniformly pruned small hedges – the entrance marked by a waist high whitewashed wooden gate and little children playing with their roller skates nearby - pretty much reminiscent of the world of fairy tales one found oneself steeped in as a child. Probably due to reduced pollution or probably due to some unknown reason, the colours here appear so much brighter, the images so much sharper, as if suddenly, the brain was manipulating the images formed by the eye using its own Photoshop!
I walked along the canal, past a few cherry orchards towards a bridge that crosses into Breukelen. The bridge appeared like a mirage at a distance – and as I came closer, human forms seemed to emerge from the fog as if some conjuring sorcerer was flaunting her wizardry. This was one long row of fishermen sitting still like sculpted works of art with fishing rod in hand and a bag of bait next to the portable chair. For nearly more than half a minute no one moved! No one spoke! They just sat there as if glued to their seats with sealed lips and gaze fixed on the rod as if strength of mind was all it took to get a finned one to swim into its grave! Fishing, I learnt later, is a major leisure activity with the Dutch, across all age groups. Thursday being working, understandably, this was an old men’s troupe.
Leaving the fishermen to their meditation, I took the bridge. I had walked no more than a few feet, when a blast of cold wind caught me unawares and threw off the scarf that wrapped my ears. Groping about for a few minutes, for it was difficult to keep ones eyes open, I managed to recover. The wind surging down the canal was, by virtue of being able to flow unobstructed, much stronger. I somehow managed to cross over, stopping only for a few seconds midway to drink in the breathtaking view!
Breukelen bears some resemblance to colonial small towns in India – albeit it is much more beautiful. There is a main thoroughfare that cuts through the village and connects it to other towns. Branching off from this artery are narrow lanes on which the residential and other town buildings stand. Running parallel with the road system is an intricate canal system which enhances the beauty of the town. Some of the houses in fact directly open onto the canals with small paddle boats tied to the entrance. What with ducks quacking and the flame coloured leaves – characteristic of autumn – scattered all around, “idyllic” was the only adjective that came to mind that could aptly depict the scene! The houses here are almost all built in the same style with sloping roofs and never more than two stories in height – most of them being cottages with only a few apartments – the situation being entirely different in larger cities like Amsterdam. Even the colour combinations and decoration are same creating a notion of uniformity. The windows typically are adorned by white laced curtains with small flower pots on the sill. The entrance is usually through a ubiquitous small garden in front of the porch and a yet smaller backyard bringing up the rear. The public houses like the bars, cafes restaurants, grocery stores, banks are all lined next to each other near the town centre. The eating houses with their pretty interiors done up entirely in wood and often lit be a few candles render a distinctive old world charm. Coupled with the whiff of some exotic dine, the feel is enthralling, delightful and unreal!
Nature, as has often been observed, is notorious for its unpredictable bearing. Though we often lament at her inconsistency, this diversity and the consequent mood changes on offer, holds us in significant awe. Within a quarter of an hour of entering the village, a swirling motion began in the air and the mist began to thin out and disappear, reminiscent of the last cold winds of winter being shoved out by the first spring air, bringing with it a fresh lease of life, in Fellini’s Amarcord. Slowly, the sun peaked out – a mild patch of light on the church spire to begin with, it brightened with every passing minute till the entire town basked in the bright, warm light. Even here, the indiscernible presence of a fairy Godmother waving her magic wand and directing the change of scenes, stupefying us, mere mortals was unmistakable!