From the beach to the mountains and back home - log from the coast of Candolim

Most days since August have passed by with home chores and bits of writing, reading and drumming since I am recovering from knee surgery. But this morning started off differently. First up was the lovely early morning walk along the beach lit up by a hunter's moon.

 

Elrika, Pedro and the hunter's moon

When we got back home, I was happy to get a call from Gekut Medo from Bomdo village, Upper Siang, Arunachal Pradesh. He was calling me from a place called Yabo Rogle. Ten years back, Bomdo village had no phone network, but upon climbing to this point, an hour's uphill trek from Bomdo village, you could get a single bar of network. Imagine this. You are in a forested plateau at about 1100 m above sea level in the Eastern Himalaya. On one side you can see the snow peaks close to the Indo-Tibet border, and around you are 40-odd m tall oak trees, and then you get phone network to make calls since you have reached the network area of a tower two villages away! It is perhaps not a big deal nowadays since Bomdo has full phone network with internet and social media. Yet, when he said he was at Yabo Rogle, I was smiling. From there, two walking paths diverge; one going east towards Angong River and another further towards Mouling National Park. The last time I passed by Yabo Rogle, I was told some interesting facts about the place. It is a mandatory resting point during long treks where meals and conversations are had.

View from a point close to Yabo Rogle above Bomdo village

Rabin fruits

Koru mite fruits

 What he told me next made me even happier. The Rabin (Castanopsis species) trees of the oak family that had fruited when I was there more than a decade ago were fruiting again, and so were trees of Koru mite (Quercus sp.)! For my research, I had used the Rabin seeds, many of which we roasted and ate too. The trees mass fruit once every few years to reduce the impact of seed predation by pigs, rodents and other animals. A few minutes after the conversation, Gekut sent me the two photos posted here. 

My thoughts came back from Yabo Rogle to my chicken coop at home, where Elrika and I had decided to fix a swing for the chicken. The general idea is to keep them busy and happy, so we quickly put together a swing and perched a chicken on the swing. The chicken stayed for a bit but got confused by the sway and flew away. The swing needs a bit more stability, or perhaps they need to get used to it. Will work on it further tomorrow. 

Another highlight of the day was discovering that our favorite Japanese show 'The Midnight Diner' had returned back to Netflix after a seven-year break. We watched the 20-minute episode and got very excited that every Wednesday would feature a new episode.

Corina, a month ago

The next significant moment of the day was that the old dog Corina who we rescued from the streets during Ganesha festival went for her first walk with us. She had a great time, answered her nature's call in bulk and came back with us, which was her first excercise in over three weeks. When we had found her three weeks back, she had hundreds of ticks on her and a few wounds. She has healed.

Corina, out for her first walk with us ever

She will join us for all the walks from tomorrow on and get healthier. And just as the day was closing in, our naughty dog Cheeni, who spends half the day out at shacks and comes home for meals and naps, came back with a plastic bag filled with chapatis for her pack; so sweet of her. Earlier on another day, she had picked up a packet of tasty treats and brought it back home to share with the rest. 

On most dull days, if I just hang on to the happenings and keep busy, happiness comes in surprise packages, like it did today.

The depths of September

"And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about."

Haruki Murakami in 'Kafka on the shore'

Over the years, I've figured the things that keep my wavering mind in check; a long run, a walk in nature, a swim, a workout, stretching my body, a session of Jiujitsu, completing a long-due chore at home, playing and listening to music.

Of these, I was left with only the last option throughout most of September due to my recovery following a meniscus repair surgery in the end of August. First two weeks I was using a walker and the next two I was using crutches. So, most of the activities that keep me in good spirits were no more an option. I had to improvise.

I took stock of the things I could indeed do. Got my sticks and drum pad out to practice rudiments; something I hadn't been doing for years. I got my keyboard out to learn chords and guitar out to learn scales. I carried with me on the walker a toolkit for keeping myself occupied; a book to read, a book to write in, my reading spectacles, a laptop, a water bottle. I wrote a few articles including documenting some of my amma's recipes, a poem, I learnt some drum rudiments, a few keyboard chords and at least one guitar scale. I cleaned up the cabinet with my music collection of vinyls (photos of the albums on this post) and CDs and listened to some of them, pure bliss.

By the third week of September, the fog still caught up to me but by then a few things improved. I could go for a walk with my dogs to the beach everyday with my walker or crutches; something that I had been doing for the last 6 years. I could see the sea after two weeks, water always has a calming effect on me. I could play the kick drum with my right leg and got back on the kit to practice all the rudiments I learnt with the rubber drum pad. I made a few batches of fizzy kombucha and also hosted an air bnb experience brewing kombucha. I started helping out with the chores at home which my wife had been handling patiently for a couple of weeks. And the fog lifted. Every day I needed to set out and complete a couple of achievable tasks to avoid the fog in the bog.

I've got a few more tasks lined up to achieve in sober October too - some gardening, stretches and exercises that I can manage, some strength training, lot more writing hopefully and a lot less time on the phone, which I have been incessantly partaking in September.

September was indeed a storm but for sure it is coming to an end. And I have come out of it a changed person too! I will never again forget that being able to stand, walk and run is the biggest luxury, and will never forget the importance of keeping my mind's knives sharp, for, they rust easy. I like to think that the stormy September has taught me an important lesson.

Why I write

I read the words 'Why I write' in the Sin and Syntax book by Constance Hall about how appealing the phrase is with its rhythmic 'I I I' sound. For me, the question really is 'Why I try ta write', which is even more rhythmic! As the number of posts on this blog approaches a century, I wondered for some time about that today.

I write to document thoughts that would otherwise fade away. Writing pins thoughts better than thinking them or conversing about them. So there, the first reason I write is mainly to document what I am thinking at a point in time. I remember writing my diary even in my school days. Looking back, it was gibberish but amusing to read now! 

Another related reason is that writing preserves ideas and stories with some sense of permanence. A story I wrote twenty years back in my blog is refreshed in my mind when I read the details that I included in my writing. The more details there are, better the reconstruction of the incident or the story. Last few days, I have been documenting my mother's recipes on another blog since she is around at home to help with the recovery following a knee surgery I had last week. Documenting them gives me a sense that our heritage recipes will be preserved in time.

Thirdly, there is an urge in me to share what I have learnt or discovered, without the focus on the person who is writing it. Passing on information that is interesting or is perhaps someday of some use to someone else; a recipe, a map, a person I met, a village I visited, an experience I wish I knew how to deal with or to expect at least.

There's also the hope in my writings that some of the articles can create awareness and kindle an interest in some plants, animals and landscapes that are truly worth conserving and portray the weight of the footprint we leave on the planet as humans.

There is, of course, some vanity in it. I write so others can read not just the (hopefully, interesting) information I present but also appreciate how well I present it. Over the years I have moved this reason to being less important to writing than the three mentioned earlier. It is difficult though, to remove the observer from the observed, and to swallow the pride that comes from being the observer and in the quality of the description of what was observed. It is a work in progress and I am constantly working on it. In the section 'Why I write' (which is the title of an essay written by George Orwell eighty years back!) in the Sin and Syntax book, Constance also writes about how writing is an aggressive hostile act, with words imposing on the reader's most private space. I am trying to be mindful of this while writing these days.

Lastly, and perhaps mostly importantly, there is the innate joy in writing that I also experience while reading something written well. I still remember the feeling I felt when I was reading pages and pages of The Hungry Tide sitting below a tree in Bhadra Tiger Reserve twenty years back, while anemometer readings were to be taken every hour for twelve hours, to document the patterns in wind. I also remember the pang I felt when I was in a remote site in Arunachal Pradesh, when I just finished East of Eden, and was silently crying to myself in a lone Inspection Bungalow. No particular reason to cry, but feelings flowed as tears, like spring water flows from deep within a rock, even when its not raining. I felt this again while reading Kafka on the Shore and wrote a blogpost just after finishing it. That piece happens to be my most favorite writing ever. That feeling is deep and priceless. 

If my writings can ever bring that depth of a feeling in anyone reading them ever, a nostalgic touch of their previous experiences, the tingle of a taste from their home when homesick, then the words have reached their destination; they have conveyed the feelings I felt from my thoughts to words to someones else's thoughts; journey complete. For these reasons, and others which are not yet obvious to me, I will continue to write, for as long and as well as possible.

The city breathes

Walking along a rainy pavement in a town with a Jamun (Syzygium cumini) tree on the side with steam rising from a foodstall hawker boiling beans to sell triggered this thought in me that the city is indeed an organism. A giant one with a huge footprint on the planet. 

You could watch a city closely and sense it breathing; wind and fresh air in, dust and smoke out.

It drinks too, from rivers, streams, lakes, and through bore-well straws inserted into the water table and spurts spent dirty water; black- and grey-water.

It eats besides healthy grains, vegetables, fruits, fish and meat, dozens of combinations of these, and excretes solid waste; debris, landfills and night-soil.

Corporate offices and industries comprise its heart and the busy streets and train lines of the city its arteries and veins, blood vessels that get clogged with vehicular traffic when the heart is pumping hard.

Money travels as blood through the city from the lowest economic strata to the highest echelons through a complex web of transactions, barely in the reverse direction.

This ever-expanding super organism certainly needs to go on a diet and loose some weight if it has to sustain though. It has to stop growing both vertically and horizontally. 

The air needs to improve by including more parks and trees within, and reducing the number of vehicles to declog its arteries and veins. The spent water needs to be treated before being discharged into water bodies and water table. It needs to eat healthier food with fewer chemicals.

On another note, perhaps this organism needs to have fewer mitochondria, i.e., fewer humans, the ones that produce energy to run the city. But we have surpassed that number decades, if not centuries, ago!

The vada pav season

Monsoon has always felt like a watershed season in my life. Before I explain why, I want to mention some lucid memories of rains, chronologically; memories which I just need to close my eyes momentarily to cherish.

Kindergarten

The faintest oldest memories include heavy rain in Hyderabad as my sister and I are moving in a cycle rickshaw ridden by Ramu uncle, from our schools to hom. In a cycle rickshaw the hood being up doesn't really prevent the rain from making its presence felt especially if its even a bit windy. But worse was Ramu uncle getting completely drenched, but he seemed to not mind it!

School

Vada pav is certainly the snack of champions!

In Mumbai, when it rained, the skies came down to meet the ground. It was the kind of rain that can stop trains and shut schools. That would be the best day of my life. It felt like I had gained an extra day in my life to enjoy, play, and cherish. My fondest memory was collecting all the coins I could find around the house, inside drawers, old wallets, and in the prayer room and heading to the nearest snack shop for a steaming hot vada pav with fried chillis. Its literally the only thing that I miss of that city! 

College

In Bangalore, the rain was very well behaved; It would often stick to schedules and leave when done, no encores or unexpected downpours. You could go about doing your chores with just a raincoat or an umbrella. I don't remember a single day of college being closed due to rain, which was a pleasant expectation in Mumbai.

Later in life

In the Western Ghats, sipping tea, beer or rum with friends with a fire on the side while its raining is etched in my mind.

In Bomdo, Arunachal Pradesh, it could rain any time of the year but largely during 9 months of the year. Everyone would go about their chores with interesting rain gear, some made of bamboo and cane, some even stole my greenhouse plastic to make shelter from rain! Days were spent listening to the rain on tin roof and reading a book or writing. Or make a fire and cook a meal while having a drink since there was nothing much else to do. Weeks were spent in this way, when it felt that life and work were stuck in inertia. But those days taught me valuable lessons; to enjoy the moments when life slows down and to remain calm and occupied till it got sunny.

A Bomdo family planting rice seedlings in their jhum field in heavy rain

These days

Goa monsoons coincide with the tourist off-season; so its just wonderful. Beaches are empty and rains give me the same nostalgic vibe I used to feel in Bomdo, except there is electricity, internet, chores, and the phone! We did have a storm once though, some coconut trees broke like matchsticks! A big branch of our mango tree came down too.

Today

This year the monsoon is different though, too little rain and too late but yet the watershed moment in my life has been to be diagnosed of chondromalacia patella and meniscus tear in my knee. Remember the post in which I talked about underestimating normalcy? Well it turns out my meniscus had torn by then and I will be needing a surgery in a couple of weeks from now.

Either way, I look forward to getting the knee fixed and returning to active life within a month after the surgery. Reminiscing about the past is my favorite thing to do when its raining, which is probably clear from this post!

Finding Uno

Last August, I was trail-running in Divar island, Goa, a great place for that; mangrove bund trails all over with lots of birds and calming backwaters. One evening while passing a house, I saw a dog with half it's face swollen up and hanging quite badly. I wasn’t sure I saw it right. Also, I was training for a marathon and thought that instead of stopping, I would check on the dog after the run. But I did not go back to check on it as it had turned dark and I was tired.

Two days later at the Divar jetty point at Ribander, I possibly saw the same dog in the bus stand. It smelled like there was a dead animal around, and when I looked at this dog, it had lost half its face, including an eye. There were maggots feeding on the flesh. I was shocked, but I tried to focus on what I could do next. A kind man was also sitting at the bus stand and felt bad for this dog too. I asked him to stay there and check on the dog while I went to my place and got a disinfectant spray for the open wound, water and food for the dog. 

I returned, but as soon as I sprayed the wound it scurried into the mangroves and did not return. Half an hour later, I returned home and figured the next morning I would meet the dog, first feed it, and then spray the disinfectant. But the next morning the dog was not there. I thought to myself that maybe it's suffering had ended and that it had passed on.

But I saw the dog again the following morning in a worse condition. Considering it's state, I decided to call a vet to put it down and called Dr. Pinto who lives in Candolim. It is a 45 minute journey to Divar and he suggested we give it another chance and asked me to call PAWS - Panjim Animal Welfare Society. At the same time, my friend Russell Cardoso from Divar came around and made calls to PAWS too. An hour later they came and caught the dog and took it to their rescue centre in Panjim.

Of the two hours I had spent already with this dog, I observed two things, the dog was supremely resilient and never seemed like it had given up. The second observation was that the dogs yelp was so moving that I was in tears; once in a while when the pain got too much, he was yelping but not often. I heard about three of these long yelps and my heart sank for the dog.

At PAWS they started the long process of treating the dog. Cleaned the wound and the maggots, operated on the wound and the process of recovery had begun. They were kind enough to give me updates through videos too, considering they are working on dozens of dogs every day. They also spayed the dog. I decided that I would visit this dog twice a week at least with some food. The problem was that one cannot turn up there with food for only one dog since there are at least fifty dogs there being treated along with a couple dozen cats. Each time I went there, I would take a few supplies for the other dogs too. Hats off to the Heads Up for Tails folks at Panjim. When they got to know that I was taking food for a dog that was rescued, they gave me bags of treats each time I went there and asked me to go back there for more.

Meanwhile, he was recovering, very slowly but steadily. Two months later, PAWS called me to say that the dog is now healed, it was time to take a decision whether to leave him back where he was found. With one eye lost, he may not do well in the streets since he will not be able to judge the danger from moving vehicles. So, we decided to take him home. Only problem was the 7 dogs already at home! As an old dog, perhaps eight years old, will he be able to be part of the pack and will my dogs attack him. We decided to take the chance. It would definitely be better than dropping him back on the streets.

Elrika named him Uno – the one-eyed pirate dog! Gradually he adapted to us and to our home. First month he slept outside the home on the patio, then moved in to the hall. After a month he started going on long walks on the beach with the dogs. A month later he started doing two walks a day and playing with Elrika and me once in a while. When we would return from outside he would come wagging his tail and jumping, imitating my other dogs. That’s when we felt that he was now one with the pack. He also started walking part of the trail without a leash. The problem was that if he would smell any food he would follow that trail instead of walking with us. Initially too, in the first month, he would go running daily towards the wet waste collection truck in the morning and also regularly raid our compost bins. He probably ate trash all his life since all his front teeth are completely missing! Now he eats vanilla ice cream once a week, beef bones on Sunday, and chicken/fish/beef with rice two meals a day. Good life!

From a dog I was sure we had to put down to a member of the home pack, eating, playing and exercising well, he has come a long way. About eight years on the street, a week or more with an open wound on the face, two months recovering in a cage at PAWS, we finally found Uno and from Uno he became Numero Uno!

Uno is all healed up now. I tied some ghungroos on him just for this photo!

A Jhola filled with seeds

Exactly an year ago, a friend and I planted a seed in an island on a river.

We had to prepare the site for the seed to germinate, survive, thrive and grow. There was garbage in the site, the soil which was mostly rubble was devoid of any nutrients, and weeds and climbers had overgrown in the space arresting the growth of both the understory and the overstory. 

The house to stay at the site had not been cleaned in years, the roof was leaking when it rained, and there was no running water and the electrical connections had to be repaired. We fixed all those first; bought a giant tarp to waterproof the house, fixed the electric lines, and cleaned the well to start using the water.

Next we started the big task of clearing the garbage; at least a hundred bags of trash: glass, plastic, shoes, schoolbags, bottles, slippers, umbrellas, we basically looked through the non-degrading consumables of a family over a few years of stay at the site.

We then cleared the weeds and climbers; it took at least 300 man-days of hard work. We piled this vegetation to mulch it and turned it every month to transform it to rich soil with humus to create a layer over the rubble soil beneath.

We then planted the seed. A rare-endangered-endemic-evergreen-unique hard-to-find seed.

If this seed took off, the place could change, there would be a canopy, birds, bees, butterflies, and others, and they would bring other seeds and pollinate the flowers. There was a real chance we could upturn the place from a place bereft of flora and fauna to a place rich with biodiversity.

The flapshell that lives in the pond now

A month later, the seed did germinate which made us very happy. Even watching the first few leaves on the plant got us so excited that we celebrated. We went fishing in the open well and caught some fish and made a sumptuous meal. I will always remember how my friend caught the fish in the night; with a butterfly net! The Tilapia fish that are invasive to this site have been introduced by the humans earlier and they have a devastating effect on the native fish and other aquatic fauna. Best if they are fished out.

Months later, upon clearing the weeds further, I found a Flapshell turtle that was stuck in a rubble hole; possibly had not moved in a long time. I picked it up and released it in the open well and it sprung to life. It really felt that the plan to plant this seed was leading to so many other parallel good things for the site. Slowly, ever so slowly, other birds and plants started visiting the site; I saw a red spurfowl, another day a monitor lizard, and another day a python and so on. 

A spurfowl came by!

Few more months passed and the seedling turned into a sapling; we celebrated more. The seed had survived the monsoon and then the dry period had started in October. We realised the seed needed water. So, we connected a pump 50 meters away from the water source—an open well, and watered the soil. Our dogs were happy too and walked around the site jauntily enjoying the new space they had moved into a few months back. The cinnamon tree that my friend had cleared climbers from was blooming well and even flowering! Nine mango trees around were fruiting and we picked more than a thousand coconuts from the 25 coconut trees around. I dried the coconuts and made precious coconut oil. We felt that with all our efforts the place had turned or at least had started to turn!

A shikra came by     

Nine months later, the seed had turned into a tree. We had done to the place what Getafix from Asterix and co. had done by dunking the seed in magic potion. The tree flowered and then fruited and I tasted the fruit; sweetest thing I have ever eaten. It is now a tall tree, more than 20 m tall with Grey hornbills and Green pigeons periodically visiting and also hosts nests of several birds too.

That's when things turned for worse. The owner of the site where we planted the seed decided to make another group of people the custodians of the site. A month later, that group told me that they now had their own plans for the site and that the effort we had put in was ‘deeply appreciated and that we could not be thanked enough’, which translates to ‘We don’t need you anymore’. I had to move from the site leaving everything behind: the tree that grew from seed, the dogs and all the other living and non-living beings I had become familiar with.

This was a lesson I learnt in the worst possible way I had ever imagined. Never plant a seed in someone's land not knowing what the they would do with the land after the seed becomes a tree. And never, never do any work, even if you are very passionate about it, for free.

A grey hornbill came by too!

People who know me may have by now realised that I am talking about the rare-endangered-endemic-evergreen-unique hard-to-find seed of hope that can grow from a seed to a 20 m tall tree within days. Some may have also figured the place and the people I am talking about. The details hardly matter; valuable lessons were learnt and I surge on ahead, for, my Jhola is full of such seeds to plant and nurture elsewhere. 

So long and thanks for all the fish!

Dribble scribbles

Every morning between 6 and 7 am, I grind coffee beans. Dark, roasted, strong, aromatic beans. As I grind them, the sound and the smell churn out thoughts. And these days, more often than not, I write.

Last June, my wife got me a hand grinder and the way I drink coffee changed forever. Earlier, I used to buy coffee powder and make coffee in a moka pot.

A handful of beans go into the grinder, and I turn the handle slowly. Usually for 17 to 20 grams of coffee, I would turn anywhere between 250 and 300 times; good exercise for the hands too! When the beans are done the handle turns free; it is time to brew.

She also bought me a goose-neck kettle. I fill up about 200 ml water and turn the stove on. In a minute the  kettle lid starts dancing to a wild rhythm, the next step for the coffee is complete.

I put paper over a pour-over coffee filter, empty the ground coffee beans onto the paper and then I pour the hot water slowly over all the powder once and then I wait. Second time, repeat the same. Third time, empty the water in the filter and wait.

Meanwhile, five minutes back, I had soaked a table spoon of rolled oats with four tablespoons of water. I turn the blender on for a minute, and voila, we have oat milk! Depending on the day, I might add a little cocoa power, a bit of sugar, or a date or date syrup to sweeten the milk.

Empty some oat milk onto a flask, and the coffee onto it, and close the flask lid. For the next twenty minutes, each warm sip of this coffee wakes me up further and prepares me for the interesting day ahead.

And as I finish writing this, it is time to brew another one! One thing is for sure; this morning ritual is making me write more!

The curious incident of the cat in the day-time

Yesterday, as I rode my moped along a narrow curvy road in Candolim Goa, from the corner of my eye I saw someone lifting up a big white cat and placing it by the side of the road. I turned back to check if it was dead and saw that the cat was a big boku (a male cat in Konkani) and was in fact alive and taking short breaths, each breath ending with a short meow-like call. 

The cat's eyes were golden with narrow black vertical slit pupils and looked intense. On a side note, I recently found out that predators such as cats have vertical slit pupils and prey species such as deer have horizontal slit pupils. As I looked at his eyes, I could not have fathomed what could be going on in that active feline brain of his but I was sure he was in pain. I was convinced that the cat would die because he had an injury on his leg with some bleeding and probably had an impact injury on the head too. I thought that I would wait for a minute or two to see him die; I could not get myself to leave before that. I lifted up the cat and put him in shade since the tarmac was hot and the May-sun was intense at noon.

I asked the guy who had picked up the cat if he had any water to give the cat, upon which he left on his bike to get a bottle of water. I sat by this big boku comforting him during his last moments of life. Water was brought and I tried to get the cat to lick some water but it was in shock and showed no response. I cleaned his wound and face a bit and it spun me a sudden look but did not follow it up with a sound or action. In a few minutes, a couple came by on a scooter who knew the people whose cat he was. He stepped off his bike and touched the cat, upon which it sprang up!

It certainly looked like one of his seven lives had come to life and while it limped a little on the leg that was wounded, it moved very fast and shook off his last few minutes of trauma! I was sitting there on the ground by the side of the road with a bottle of water and was suddenly looking silly. I slowly got up, started my moped and off I left, smiling that the boku was still alive. I am unsure if it went on somewhere else and collapsed or got completely alright. Maybe I can look for it the next time I go there.

I realised I should ride my moped slow when there is no emergency. Although on this occasion I was slow enough, there are other times when I am moving swiftly to be somewhere on time. This incident, I am hoping, will remind me to ride slow and enjoy the ride, take in the view. I also realised one more—perhaps more important—thing. Whenever an animal is fallen by the side of the road, I must check whether it is alive or dead; it may be alive and immobile and desperately need someone's help.

The beachkeeper

The beach in front of the house (photo by Satheesh PM)

Along the Western coast of India in Karwar district is a place intentionally kept hidden that can be visited either upon recommendation by a previous visitor or invitation by the host. Three sandy beaches, one rocky one full of diverse tide pools, four Mudhol hounds, and big boulders at the edge of the beach make this place ethereal.

This beach is a hidden treasure accessible only by kayak (photo by Satheesh PM)

 

As Elrika and I reached the laterite plateau next to the sea, Satheesh, who has set up the mentioned place arrived in his Isuzu and asked if my car has 4-wheel drive; I said yes its a Duster 4WD. He inspected the clearance and the four-wheel housing of the car and concluded that my car couldn't make the journey down to the place. So we parked the car at one of the properties on the plateau and drove with him to the property by the beach. I agreed with him after driving down. My car would have got stuck in the sand right next to the house we were to stay in.

Holigarna arnottiana with fruits

Holigarna arnottiana with fruits

Satheesh purchased these three properties 17 years back and has been delicately taking care of the place by planting trees and ensuring that the tidal vegetation and the hillslopes around are not encroached upon or cleared. It was an absolute pleasure to see a large Holigarna arnottiana, an evergreen tree endemic to the Western Ghats, on the slope facing the house on the beach.

Meticulously, he renovated an existing home with the choiciest of material; old used wood, earthy clay flooring, lovely colours on the walls and all the amenities one would have access to in a 5-star hotel including a sea-view loo and bathtub. Being in a semi-wild tucked away beach with all these amenities gives you the 'Englishman-in-New-York' feels, wild but cosy; slowly you slip into the well curated ambience here.

Tired from the drive, after an evening conversation with Satheesh about his experiences and dinner, we slipped into a deep sleep to the calming sounds of the sea; we were less than 10 m from the high tide water line. Last time Elrika remembers sleeping with the sounds of the sea was during her field work in the Andamans. An hour after we slept, we were woken up by the sound of pre-monsoon rain and the air got very cool.

The tide pool on a clear day (photo by Satheesh PM)

Periwinkles on a rock

          Periwinkles on a rock

The next morning we walked up to the rocky tide pool and although it was only early May, it felt like monsoon since the sea was stormy and rough and the water in the tide pools was murky. Still, Elrika took a dip into what looked like a one-person-size tide pool and found interesting organisms. 

Snorkelling in a true infinity pool (photo by Satheesh PM)

    

That is the most interesting aspect of a rocky tide pool; the closer you look, the more alive it becomes with diverse organisms such as mussels, barnacles, oysters, crabs, limpets, chitons, periwinkles and other such lesser known tide pool-dwellers that often home in to the exact spot they were in during the last low tide.

On the drive back from the plateau to the beach again, we saw a laterite mine that is still active. Laterite was being cut as we passed by like the sweet Mysore Pak in rectangular blocks. Over the next day, we learnt that in June last year, a 6000 hectare area, 8.2 km along the coast and 6 km into the water was declared a Marine Sanctuary. The hope is that the Forest Department would have the funds and manpower to patrol the sanctuary to stop the mining on the plateau and trawling in the sea within the sanctuary.

Satheesh has been documenting the marine strandings on this beach over the years, a Baleen whale, a humpback dolphin, and an olive ridley turtle had been washed ashore. He also rescued a seagull that fell off a white-bellied sea eagle's nest, which flew away after ten days of care. He has over a hundred observations on iNaturalist of marine and terrestrial organisms. Overall, Satheesh's story is inspiring...holding on to a place and taking care of it in the way he is, is indeed motivating. Every natural place on our planet needs that much care and attention.

On a last note, the Thalassery food cuisine delicately tuned by Satheesh deserves a special mention. The food adds to the mystery of the place; parboiled rice, fish curry and fish fry, boiled banana, pickle and papad feels like a visit to Kerala for a meal! The fish was very fresh since the fishermen are closeby and every dish had been meticulously planned and executed; the food is indeed poetry in taste.

Atypical Goan day

 [the title similar to my other post 'Atypical Bomdo evening', you might enjoy that one] 

Status quo is highly underrated. I realised it the hard way today. The day was like any other day in my home in Goa. Wake up at 530 thanks to a friendly lick by my dog Cheeni, head to the beach with the dogs so they get their long walk, play and good exercise. 7 am, come back, release the five chicken from their coop; they are hungry and at least one of them wants to lay an egg! Grind the precious Third Wave coffee beans for twenty minutes and make a brew; I love this slow process, I smell the coffee way before it is made. Water the plants and note things ready for harvest, usually squash, brinjal, chillies, papaya, guavas, or bananas. Feed the chicken. French press the ground coffee powder, drink the coffee, again slowly. And then on Tuesdays, leave for a Jiujitsu session.

Jiujitsu has changed my life over the last year. A game of body-chess, it teaches me to not panic in adversity. Big guy, 90 kg heavy, sitting on top of me and me going breathless; no problem. Keep breathing, make the frames, break the posture, slide in, sweep the guy down! Sounds basic, but took me a year to learn to stay this calm. It is a bit like scuba diving, the calmer you breath, the longer the oxygen tank lasts and you can enjoy the view. Replace those with lungs in Jiujitsu! Anyway, we drilled some moves for 45 minutes at the Lighthaven gym today and it was time to roll, the part in which you remain calm but assertive with the body. I look forward to the rolls in every session at the gym; its the time to practice what we have learnt.

One roll done; each roll is about 5 minutes long, which feels way way longer during the roll! I was on to the second one and within a minute my leg got entangled, knee got twisted and then the leg got locked, I could not straighten my leg anymore. I excuse myself from the roll, apologising to my partner and sit out the rest of the rolls; thanks to Jiujitsu perhaps, I don't panic. It was time to go home and get this damn leg straightened. Asked my friend to start my TVS XL100 bike since I could not kick the bikestarter with the right leg and ride home, 17 km away! This has happened twice before in the last year, and usually after a few hours, the lock unfolds itself and I am fine. So I have been and am calm and got home back to more chores.

Limping around the house, I feed the chicken again at 330 pm. Could not walk the dogs in the afternoon, so I opened up the home gate and being such nice dogs, they went for a stroll by themselves and came back, one by one; I am very proud of them. 5 pm, cook the dogs food, 7 pm feed them. Still limping.

At 730, I am hoping that by the time I post this, my leg is back to normal and that I cherish the importance of normalcy, and I would never again underestimate it! Rex, my big dog never left my side today, he probably knows something is wrong with me! Its impossible to know what can and might happen in the next moment. So I will cherish every mundane activity and conversation as much as possible and live in the present—all this is obvious but I realise it much more on a day like today.

Cut to 9 pm and I was able to click the knee back lying on my bed facing down and straightening my leg. The leg is back in position and life moves on again. I feel normal and this is so precious. Thanks to the leg lock I read several pages of the 'The ghost eye' book by Amitav Ghosh, and focused on reading or writing. And I wrote this article to remind myself about this day! Tomorrow, back to the usual schedule again. But I look forward to it!

I will for sure wake up smiling at 530 am, and wonder what the day holds. I am expecting definitely less pain than today! As I tuck myself in at 10 pm, I think to myself, 'What an atypical Goan day'!

An ode to a tree

Thanks to Divya Mudappa and TR Shankar Raman for remembering
which sapling I planted two decades ago! Thanks Tanaya Nair for the photo.

Out there somewhere far away, 

on a beautiful hill near a gushing stream,

stands tall an evergreen rainforest tree, 

grew from the seedling you had sown.

While a busy bird perches on it

to get a good view of its prey,

another sucks whole a juicy berry, flitters away.

Flying wonders come visiting the bright red flowers,

walking wonders march along, root to branch.

The roots speak to the soil through friendly-fungi

and the branches host socials with ornate orchids.

When it is hard to sleep at night,

and you feel you didn't change a thing,

remember that seedling-tree may one day, even become a hub-tree.

A Dueulogy

I always nap in the afternoon when home in Goa. This afternoon I woke up with the shock of knowing that Suresh Jones—a dear friend, founder of the Loris organisation, inhabitant of the 'Marlboro country' in Madanapalli, keeper of the Eastern Ghats in Chitoor district, a knowledge repository of the biodiversity around Madanapalli and Rishi valley, and above all a very kind human being—is no more. In fact that he had passed away a week ago. Recovering from this shock I realised that it is important to pen down a few words remembering him even if I am a week late. May his soul roam the Eastern Ghats which he fondly loved and took care of.

Suresh Jones in his home in Madanapalli with his cherished dog Lassy

I was in touch with him once every month at least and knew that he was unwell for a while and was visiting Bangalore for kidney dialysis. A few months passed without calling him, and I kept telling myself I need to check on him, but alas I am more than a week late.

I have fond memories of visiting him from Bangalore. I once rode up to his place from Bangalore on a bullet bike I borrowed and a few times in my car. As we would reach his home, he would lay out in excitement the wonderful plan ahead. For dinner, there would be the secret ancestral recipe of garlic-pepper pork with just five ingredients and rasam. We would bring a few beers back home towards the evening and of course an evening walk was always planned through Marlboro country, a landscape that had rocky hillocks sprinkled with shrubbery with millet and rice fields around.

The 'Marlboro country' that Suresh loved and cared for a lot

We would chat about music, nature conservation, wildlife, our dogs and other pets, and life in general and then in the night look at the sky while closing up a beautiful day. Although I have a bunch of memories of a dozen visits at least, I feel I need to think hard to come up with the details: the sightings of the yellow-throated bulbuls, visiting the caves and caverns, his long descriptions of the geological faults on the rocks, the myriad plants along the way and their scientific names, one that literally stands out is Shorea roxburghii, which is largely restricted to the Eastern Ghats.

In all, with his passing I further realise how fragile life is and how much we need to cherish what we have, acknowledging things out of our control and commiting to trying to do the things that are indeed in our control. I hope you roam the Eastern Ghats with the yellow-throated bulbuls, the lions, the four-horned antelopes and Shorea roxburghii trees Suresh. I will always remember our wonderful times together and how kind and affectionate human being you were.

The gentle giant with a heart of gold

A friends family arrives to my Goa home every year during the new year eve. We play a little music, we discuss life, we visit a Japanese restaurant for lunch, we grill some fish and vegetables for the eve, we dry some coconuts and make oil, and sometimes we exchange musical instruments. I gave Mallika my guitar for a year couple of years back, I gave Mallika and Gokul a few drum lessons and sold Gokul drums last year, and this year Mallika left her guitar for me.

Trying to play a song a day, three days back I tried the song 'Heart of Gold' by Neil Young; turned out quite nice. Shared it with a few friends on a WhatsApp group of close friends whom I have known for two decades at least and for some reason I asked them to share their music and other creative experiments too, "Life is short" I told them, with no apparent context.

The next day we hear that one of the friends in the group Ashwin is no more. Passed away in Valparai, Tamil Nadu. Most of us on that group and many other folks who have known him are in shock and disbelief. He was one of the nicest, warmest, kindest persons I know. I had met him in Mysore around 2010 and we shared some pork recipes, few beers and some field tales. I visited him at this field station from where he was monitoring and helping mitigate human-elephant conflict for years.

Photo by Ovee Thorat

As I absorb the tragedy and come to terms with life, I do realise something even more deeply what I've known and was aware for years. If you have a wish list, a desire to do something, a craving to learn something new, an old friend to catch up with who you have forgotten for a while just because life came in between, a desire to get healthier, want to try running a marathon, or anything else, do it Now! For years, I have been wanting to get back to writing and the inertia just kept it that way, but this shock has made me want to pursue everything I have been thinking I will do tomorrow, next month, next year, now.

Life is indeed short and this man with a heart of gold will always live in my memory.

 

Lows and highs—ebbs and tides—fall and rise

The sea water during high tide on a beach gushes in loudly and surprises me with how high it rises. It moves in slowly but reaches out far in and grasps as much sand and other substrate as it can and drags it back. Then, there is a lull that lasts a brief moment. Apparently, it is possible to realise this lull, to even hear the silence, before the tide turns. Within a few seconds, the low tide begins and slowly the water recedes, till the next lull and the next high tide—an infinite cycle.

My mind works in the same way, in as far as I have known. There is no way for me to find out if it works this way for others too. There is a period of a lowest-low and then slowly the rise begins. In this phase, I can usually accomplish a lot more things than I expect of myself. And for both these, I have triggers. Having lived with this cycle as long as I have been around, I have started documenting what the triggers are. For several years, I was grappling with the lows; calling them blues, depression, listlessness, lack of motivation, and other similar words. I am still dealing with them, but I am now more aware of the patterns. There are highs and lows and brief peaceful moments in between and there are triggers for the switch between the phases. As long as I am aware of this chaology, I can address, a few times avoid, and at other times even remain calm through a storm. In the chaos lies the peace within; and it is inevitable for me to embrace it.

The triggers must differ for others but a run, a long walk, some time spent gardening definitely can tip my mood from a low to high or a good one to better. Writing, definitely helps too as you possibly figure seeing this blog and its posts! In any case, being aware of each of these phases and knowing that the tide will turn for sure is immensely useful.

I look forward to writing more often on my blog this year; see you back here in a few!

Rex takes me to the sea everyday.

A legacy lives on

The first time I met Yoayella, whom I affectionately call Yoyo, was during Elrika's month-long seagrass survey around the main Andaman island. A small humble, ever-smiling, strong, and hard-working person from the Karen community from Burma. He has been working with Elrika for over a decade. After several tiring snorkeling sessions, he would still have the energy to go back into the water and spearfish. 

To see him spearfish is other-worldly! He would wear a mask, snorkel, and fins and dive down with a spear, descend and often wait behind a large rock for a shoal of fish. Snap a grouper, hook it to a line, and continue—business-as-usual. There were five of us on the boat, so two big fish or three smaller fish would be what he would target. By the time I've taken several long breaths at the surface, Yoayella is still waiting behind a rock; I was just probably breathing more just looking at him holding his breath that long! Corals with several colours, hundreds of fish, the sunlight diffusing from above to the seabed, an occasional big fish or a big shoal of small fish, and Yoayella spearfishing, all make a fascinating sight. It is a vivid memory I just need to close my eyes to recreate, no photograph needed. 

Lunch on the boat was standard; Dal, potatoes, and rice with some fish. This continued for so many days that while passing some villages, we would exchange a few fish for a local chicken. And sometimes we would have 'Nappi' a tasty fermented-shrimp-paste. Our boatman Alonthey had got Nappi and he was keen on buying brinjal/eggplant. We were confused, what connection does a brinjal have with Nappi? So, when we bought brinjals, he roasted them on the stove and mixed Nappi with onions and chillis, and it did taste divine! But I drift; back to Yoayella.

Last week, I snorkeled with him over a reef and he was accompanied by another person—his kid Kane. We went to his home at Karmatang from Mayabunder and he had a set plan for us. We were all going to 'picnic' by the beach, that is, eat a big brunch after snorkeling for a few hours beyond the Karmatang beach on the east. As we reached his home, we were offered a welcome drink; fresh coconut water, and the reception committee was Yoayella, his wife Phoolmani, his son Kane, and Kane's cousin Chintu. Yoayella has diversified his livelihood now after years of trying to get into a Government Department. He has pigs, chickens, ducks, and paddy and is planning on opening a small local groceries shop too, besides working with the Nature Conservation Foundation. After having the coconut water, he offered us bananas, which were delicious too. He announced to us his plan and brought out all the picnic food; a big bucket of rice, chicken curry, Nappi, dal, salad, and beans sabzi. All to be carried six km away to the beach. He also has a basic Maruti Van now; I say basic because the engine works and the wheels are fine; sitting behind we even got a look at one of the shock absorbers from inside the vehicle! It seems a bit tricky, but whatever works, works here in the islands.

We got to the beach and that's where I saw something which made me write this post.

As we donned our equipment, Yoayella casually took Kane to the sea wearing a mask himself and with another one for Kane. While I walked so delicately on the slippery rocks to reach the sea, Yoayella was already there in 5 feet of water with his kid hopping from one rock to another and now Kane is piggybacking over him and Yoayella is talking to him and taking short dips into the sea and getting Kane acquainted with the sea. Sometime later, he was teaching Kane how to swim as well, basically telling him everything Kane needed to know to get comfortable in the sea. Kane is about five years old and already getting familiar with this habitat that comprises a big part of their lives. I imagine he will get better at it with time, maybe he will spearfish in a few years too. Someday, I'd like to watch him from above, admiring what he's doing, much like his dad. 

Photo by Evan Nazareth

A Noble island

Imagine firstly a ten-hectare wooded parcel of land, next imagine it's an island with hardly any people living on it and very few inhabitations around the island, so in the night the sky lights up with stars brighter than the horizon. Add to that mango, jackfruit, betelnut, pepper, and coconut plantations, to name a few, and a beautiful home to stay in. Lastly, add a house at the end of a pier, only accessible by a boat, following the 2014 tsunami. That's precisely what the Noble island is—that and a lot more.

We had a day to spend at Port Blair and we asked Tanaz and Shiraz Noble if we could visit the island they own and kayak around it and they were happy to take us. What followed was a drive across half of Port Blair town to an approach point where the boat awaits to take us there. Right at the approach, things change drastically; plastic waste and rubble piled up close to the approach but as you walk the last few metres close to the waiting boat, things get serene quite immediately. There are only the sounds of the mellow waves and the view of Rhizophora and their majestic aerial roots at the edge of the Noble island; they look a bit like J R Tolkien's ents with long roots as tall feet.

Once we got to the island, Tanaz and Shiraz briefed us about the safety issues related to kayaking and how to make the paddle strokes hydrodynamic and efficient. Crossing the 10-degree channel, from Barren island to Havelock, and Rangat to Havelock are just some of Tanaz's amazing kayaking feats. Off we went for a short tour of the island.

Paddling correctly took a little while. Mahesh Sankaran was on my kayak and quite often our paddles would bump since we were not synchronised, but soon it all came together. Often, we paused to hear the enthusiastic information about how to identify and understand the different mangrove species; there were two species of Rhizophora, which are often at the mangrove front since with aerial roots they can tolerate higher tide variations than other species, a species of Avicennia found closer to the shore and Sonneratia species with snorkel roots, Ceriops with interesting 'knee roots', and Bruguiera, also with short knee roots. Often, while identifying terrestrial species, we look at the bark and leaves but with mangroves the roots themselves are a great starting point. This information will certainly change the way I view and understand a mangrove forest in the future.

After an hour or more of kayaking occasionally seeing the kingfishers, the whimbrels, the teals, and mudskippers we took a look at the house on the farm. It had solar lights, rainwater harvesting, wifi, a kitchen complete with all necessities, a large 'working' room, and a bedroom, overall, a dream home!

We spent about three hours in all in the island, and on the way out got a look at the 'water house' that is only accessible through a ferry, another basic house with a fantastic view and vibe. Someday, would love to stay there and appreciate the view, the waters, the forest, the plantations, and the island more. Until then, it is nice to know that such a 'noble' island exists! 

Do take a trip to the island to see the ents and the other plants and the birds, and experience the calm of water and the conversations with the lovely people.