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Monday, March 30, 2015

Story Time

These are a few stories I wrote for the young and young-at-heart ...enjoy!!

Puppets on a String
It was the last show in Bhaniyana. The puppet or kathputli troupe was moving on to the next village in the morning. The show featured an episode from the Ramayana in which Lakshmana cuts off the ogress Surpanakha’s nose and the brothers’ battle with Khara and Dushana. The tent was packed and the kids cheered every time Rama and Lakshmana scored a direct hit on the rakshasas with their arrows. They clapped and laughed when Surpanakha was humiliated. Ramdhin was in charge of manipulating the Surpanakha puppet. 
Afterwards, he carefully fixed her nose back, brushed her dress down with a soft cloth and then laid her gently in the wooden box which was her home between shows. There were two Surpanakha dolls — one that depicted her as the ogress and the other, the shape-shifting beautiful woman who tries to entice Rama. It required great skill on Ramdhin’s part to quickly substitute one for the other twice — once when she was watching the brothers and Sita and then when she changed back to the ogress. 
The puppet who was the ogress had bristling eyebrows, angry eyes, thick red lips, twin tusks jutting out of her mouth, long, sharp nails and wild-looking hair. The Sita puppet was the most beautiful, with arching brows, doe eyes, pink lips and long, flowing black hair.
After he had put the puppets to rest, Ramdhin settled down to sleep on the floor next to the wooden boxes. Inside the boxes, the puppets lay sleepless, eyes wide open, gazing at the wooden ceiling of the boxes that imprisoned them.
Ramdhin came awake suddenly. He had felt something brushing past his face. At first he thought it was a rat. He lashed out with his left hand. It connected with a solid wooden object. 
He sat up and rubbed his throbbing hand. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the wooden box containing the ogress puppet was lying on its side with the lid off near his mattress.Ramdhin looked around for the missing puppet. Had a thief crept in and stolen it while he had been asleep? Maybe it was the thief who had brushed past on his way out. Then he heard sounds of grinding teeth coming from the corner in which he had stored the Sita puppet. Had a rat got into the box to chew up the doll? 
Ramdhin jumped up with a muttered curse and ran to the box. When he looked in, the blood froze in his veins. The ogress was on top of Sita and she was busily tearing the stuffing out of the doll with her sharp nails, gnashing her teeth and grunting with pleasure as she dismembered her rival. Ramdhin’s scream stuck in his throat when she turned and glared at him with bloodshot eyes. Just before a merciful blackness engulfed him, he saw Surpanakha leap from the box, her talons extended and teeth bared in a triumphant grin.

The Genie's Revenge
Aladdin was once a rag picker who lived a hand-to-mouth existence. He was now a rich man and a lamp was responsible for his good fortune. One day, Aladdin had found a heavy old brass lamp in a dump. He took it home to clean it up. He planned to re-sell it in Chor Bazaar. He rubbed it with a soft cloth. He could see that it was an antique, etched finely with the script of a strange language. As he rubbed it briskly, there was a bang and dense white smoke filled the air. When the smoke cleared, Aladdin saw a giant of a man dressed in scarlet pajamas standing before him. He was naked from waist up. On his head was a silk turban and in its dead centre gleamed a pigeon’s blood ruby. Gold chains clinked softly round his neck. His head brushed the roof of the shack.
“W…w…who are you?” Aladdin stammered, cowering in a corner. “Where did you come from?”
He could not imagine that this monster had been squeezed into a tiny lamp.
“I am the genie of the lamp,” said the giant. “You have awakened me from a sleep of 4000 years. Now you are my master. Command me!”
That was the genie’s undoing because Aladdin’s greed was insatiable. Even after he became wealthy beyond his wildest imagination, he drove the genie mercilessly day and night.
One night, Aladdin went to sleep as usual. He had a weird dream that he was locked out of the house. He mumbled, “Let me in... genie, let me in!” He awoke feeling that he was a very, very small being trapped in a very, very small space. He yelled and tried to move about but bounced like a ball off the metal walls of his prison. Where was he? Was it a horrible nightmare? He thrashed about wildly. Claustrophobia overwhelmed him. He kicked and shouted and hammered at the walls.
All at once, he heard sounds. Voices drifted through dimly. Then a boy’s voice said, “Do you have any old things you want to dispose of, sir?”
A man’s voice replied, “Here boy, take this sack of discarded stuff. It was lying in the dump. There’s a brass lamp in there that might be good for smelting.”
“Thank you, sir.”
A terrible thought entered Aladdin’s head. Was he inside the lamp? Minutes later, Aladdin had his answer. Scorching heat flowed into the narrow space.
“Let me out, let me out!” he yelled. “Someone save me!”
His voice was lost in the roaring of the furnace and somewhere in the world far away, a genie was finally his own master.

An Amulet for Biru
It was around seven in the evening and I was almost home. I was trekking down to Mashnu where my parents had just settled after retirement. I was humming a happy tune and lost in a daydream, which was why I did not notice the big rock, half-concealed in the grassy track. I tripped and fell headlong.
I lay there winded. A few minutes later, I started when I felt a light touch on my shoulder.
“What happened, beta?” said a woman’s quavering voice.
I turned my head and found a nut-brown, wrinkled face half-covered with a white saree pallu, peering down at me. “Nothing serious, amma,” I said, and got up with an effort.
“Are you hurt?” she asked with concern in her cataract-clouded eyes.
“Just a few scratches I think.”
“Phir chalo, beta,” she said with a grin revealing three stumpy brown teeth. “I will give you a cup of tea. I live very near here.”
Dak Bungalow No.3 was a crumbling edifice with moss-stained walls. Night had fallen and a heavy silence surrounded us, broken only by the chirp of crickets and ominous rustlings and squeaks in the undergrowth. An owl hooted suddenly, making me jump.
The woman led the way into a damp, musty kitchen, the dim light from her lantern throwing enormous shadows on the wall.
“Haven’t had visitors in a long time,” she muttered. “Good that I have some milk left.”
She soon set a chipped cup of steaming tea before me. I drank it gratefully.
“Are you going to Mashnu?” she asked suddenly.
I nodded, wondering what was coming…
The old woman hobbled to a mildewed cupboard and brought out a blackened amulet strung on a thick red thread.
“You see beta, my son Biru is in Mashnu, He is a forest guard at the sanctuary near the town. This amulet will protect him from black bears. Can you please give it to him, beta… please?”
She looked at me, her eyes glinting with tears. I took the amulet from her shaking hand and put it in my bag.
“May God bless you, beta,” she said and touched me on the head with ice-cold fingers, sending a shiver down my spine.
I turned back at the fork and there she stood, her sari gleaming in the pitch black gloom. I almost ran the rest of the way home, arriving breathless at the door and prompting my parents to ask if I had seen a ghost!
I went to the sanctuary the next day. Biru took the amulet from me with bad grace mumbling something about ‘that crazy old woman’.
On my way home, I stopped at a wayside chai stall. The elderly owner was a friend of the family.
“I noticed you going in, beta,” he said, giving me a cup of tea.
“Yes, Uncle, I had to deliver an amulet to a forest guard called Biru from his mother.”
The man gave me a strange glance.
“Biru? Are you sure?”
I nodded, dreading what he was about to say next, goose pimples breaking out on my arms.
“Arre bhai, Biru worked here many years ago. He was killed by a black bear one night. His mother went quite berserk. She lives in the Dak Bungalow on the way to Mashnu. If she can get hold of some passerby, she gives him an amulet for her beloved Biru.”

Srini’s Best Friend
When his parents said that they would be visiting his grandparents in Munnar for the vacation, Srini gave a war whoop of delight. He was ten years old, a bubbly, mischievous boy who asked a question a minute.
The moment they reached, Srini ran off to explore. He was still exploring, when it started becoming dark. He knew he had to go home or he would get a thorough scolding. As he walked past a banyan tree, a huge dog silently appeared and jumped up at Srini, almost knocking him down.
“Hey, stop it, get off!” he shouted, pushing away the black Labrador. It stood there, wagging its tail, its pink tongue lolling from its mouth.
“Where have you come from?” asked Srini. “Go home, grandpa won’t allow you inside.”
The dog trotted away obediently, turned down a bend and vanished.
The next day, it came running up to him as soon he was out of the house.
“Hello,” said Srini happily, patting it on the head. “Come on, let’s play!”
When Srini went home, the dog always stopped outside the gate, as if it knew that it was not welcome inside. It also never ever barked which was a bit odd, but it didn’t make a difference to Srini. He missed having a brother or sister and the dog was a boon companion.
Early one morning, Srini decided to go to the lake, though he had been forbidden. His canine friend, who he had named Kaloo, was waiting for him. The sandy bank was strewn with glinting coloured pebbles. Srini thought he would build a small fort and decorate it with the pebbles.
He needed just one more stone to complete the roof. As Srini gazed about him, he saw the stone he wanted, but it was in the lake. He waded out into knee-deep water and stepped forward to pick up the stone, when the lake bed suddenly sloped downwards. All at once, Srini was floundering in neck-deep water.
“Help!” he spluttered, for he didn’t know how to swim. “Help me!”
He felt a dark form beside him. It was Kaloo! Srini threw his arms gratefully round its neck. The dog swam slowly to shore and deposited the bedraggled boy on the sand.
His grandma took one look at Srini’s wet clothes and knew something had happened. Out came the story, amidst sobs. His grandma hugged him.
“Thank god you are safe! I won’t tell your mom and dad, but don’t do such a thing again!” she said sternly.
The next day, Srini and his grandma went looking for the dog, but it was nowhere to be seen. The watchman at the bungalow next door said there was a black Labrador which had belonged to the Cherians, but that they had moved out two years before.
“They had a small son. One day, he fell into the lake. Fortunately, the dog had followed the boy and it jumped in and pulled him out.”
“Two years ago?” said Srini’s grandma. “Are the Cherians still staying somewhere close by?”
The watchman said slowly, “No. There’s another reason why I can’t understand how you saw the dog. It saved the boy but sadly, it died of pneumonia a few days later.”

A Spirited Act
It was Sudhir Malhotra’s tenth movie on the supernatural. He wanted his latest movie to surpass all the others, but he had not yet found the lead actor to play the ghost! The ghost was to be the spirit of a former maharaja who haunted a historical fort.
Malhotra had auditioned hundreds of actors and he was exhausted. Night had fallen on the makeshift set built in a crumbling old fort in Raigad. There was still one more hopeful left to be seen.
Malhotra told his assistant irritably, “Come, come, I don’t have all night. Send him in.”
The man, whose name was Raghoji, sauntered in. He was very fair, tall and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and a feverish light in his grey eyes. His voice was deep and resonant.
“I am Raghoji,” he announced. He said he lived in the village below the fort and had acted before in tamasha. He took just five minutes to memorise the lines and to the director’s surprise, his delivery was faultless. The entry and exit were made without a single fumble.
Malhotra prepared the contract immediately thanking his lucky stars that he had found such a good actor. Raghoji inked his signature laboriously in an ornate Devanagari script and left, after promising to report to work at nine the next morning.
As the shoot progressed, Malhotra was more and more impressed by his new find, Raghoji. He was always on time, learned his dialogues in a twinkle and was generally a director’s delight.
“Cut!” said Malhotra as one more scene was completed to his satisfaction. “Raghoji you are out of the world!” He was all smiles as he clapped the actor on the back.
The rest of the unit was amazed at how Raghoji duelled as if he had been born to it and how he could change his costume and make-up in what seemed like bare minutes.
The film released in theatres at the end of the year and everyone agreed it was indeed Malhotra’s greatest effort. No one was surprised when it got the Best Film award from a leading magazine. Raghoji was the obvious choice for Best Actor. At the awards ceremony, there was thunderous applause when Raghoji went up to the stage to receive the statuette.
“Thank you,” said Raghoji and took the mike from the emcee. He cleared his throat and then spoke in his sonorous voice. “I once ruled over a mighty empire in the 17th century, till it was snatched away from me by the British. I wanted to experience the love and admiration of the living one last time.”
The mike fell on the stage with a clatter. There was a puff of dense white smoke and when it cleared Raghoji had vanished.

Ganpati Bells the Cats
The air was filled with indignant squeaks, like a thousand doors with rusty hinges opening at the same time. Whiskers bristled and black button eyes flashed fire. Tails whipped furiously from side to side and ears twitched angrily.
What in the name of heaven was happening in the Abode of the Gods? Mount Kailas trembled with trepidation.
The cause of the hullabaloo was the IX Convention of Mushikas. Like the eighth before it and the seventh and the sixth, no solution had still been found to the age-old problem that had plagued mice down the centuries. The million-karashapana question was: Who will bell the cat?
Of course, you couldn't expect just one cat to live here. There was an army of the feisty felines in Shivaloka. During the day, they arranged themselves tastefully like fluffy rugs of different colours all over the place. The ganas would trip over them as they went about their errands and curse. The cats would open one eye, glare balefully at the ghosts who walked, and then go back to their naps.
At sunset, they would awaken and pace the corridors of Shivaloka regally, looking for tasty mice to put in their khichdi. The mice would cower fearfully in dark corners. The glittering green eyes would bear down on them suddenly like a pair of searchlights. There was carnage every night and surprising though it may sound, the mushika population was dwindling. They had to do something about the cats.
The Convention broke up for lunch and the hall that legions of mice had dug out beneath Mount Kailas echoed with the sound of a multitude of gnawing teeth. Little groups of mice stood here and there, chewing juicy baby corn cobs, crunching on crispy peanuts and slurping on delicious honeyed panaka.
"We must find an answer this time," said Rajatakesha, a mouse named for the line of silvery fur that ran down his back.
"Yes," said Mundita who had a coin-sized bald patch on her head. "The stress is making my fur fall out."
An antique bell was rung (yes, that very same bell that generations of mice had tried to tie around the cat's neck and failed) and the mice scurried to the centre of the hall to listen to Mukhyashika the venerable elder.
"Ahem!" he said finally in a gravelly voice. "Has anyone any new ideas yet?"
There was not a squeak to be heard for two whole minutes. Then a whisper ran round the room. Someone had raised his or her paw!
It was Vidushika, the stand-up comic.
He looked around boldly and said, "Let's ask Ganpati to help us!"
There was a chorus of squeaks.
"What?!" exclaimed everyone. "Why would Ganpati help us?"
"I overheard him the other day complaining to his dad," replied Vidushika, "that he didn't have a vehicle to transport him.
"One of us could offer to be his vehicle if he bells the cats!" Vidushika continued. "He can do it in a jiffy. He just has to throw the bells around their necks with his trunk!"
There was stunned silence, and then Mundita burst out laughing.
"Don't you know how fat Ganpati is? How could a mere mouse bear his weight?" she said.
"I can do it!" shouted Prabala making everyone jump. Prabala was a fitness freak who exercised with Indian clubs. He strutted about now showing off his biceps.
"Yes, yes, yes!" cried all the mice. "Let Prabala the mighty mouse, be Ganpati's vehicle! Then we can be safe forever! Three cheers for Prabala!"
And that's how Ganpati belled each of the cats in Shivaloka in return for a mushika vahana. The cats? They didn't like it one bit, not at all. However, Ganpati promised to feed them as many delicious modaks as they wanted as a reward. After all, he had an endless supply, especially during Ganesh Chaturthi!

The Toothless Fairy
Ronnie opened his mouth wide, positioned the cheeseburger in between his teeth and chomped down hard.
"Fall out, fall out!" he whispered to himself as he chewed. "Come on!"
Ronnie was eight years old. He had started losing his baby teeth when he was six. He had been terrified when the first one had fallen out, clinking into his glass of milk. He had tasted salt and when he probed the gap and pulled the finger out, it was coated with blood.
"I loth my toot. I loth my toot!" he had yelled. "Therth tho muth blood, I'm dying!" 
"Ronnie dear, it's just your baby tooth," his mother had crooned. "If you keep it under your pillow tonight, the tooth fairy will take it and leave you a gift."
Ronnie had dried his tears, carefully removed the tooth from the glass, washed it, and placed it under his pillow. He had tried to keep awake to see the fairy. However, he had fallen fast asleep. When he awoke the next morning, he had found a gleaming Hot Wheels car next to his pillow. A Bugatti, something he had always wanted!
"Wow! The tooth fairy actually knows what I like," he had exclaimed with glee.
He wondered why someone would want his baby teeth and where she got her gifts from. But he was quite happy not to have answers to these questions!
He checked his teeth every morning when he brushed to see if one of them had become loose. He shuddered to think that he might swallow a tooth and miss getting a gift. He knew he would have 20 gifts by the time he was grown up. That was the number of milk teeth that would fall out.
Ronnie had read all about teeth on Google, enough to impress the dentist who he saw frequently. He was lazy about brushing his teeth and fond of eating sticky toffees. Most of his milk teeth had fillings.
"The tooth fairy is not going to want your teeth anymore," warned his mother. "You'd better brush twice."
Not that the warning had any effect on Ronnie. Even brushing once was a chore. He was usually half-asleep and moved the brush around desultorily in his mouth. He gargled quickly because the toothpaste left an awful aftertaste of chalk in his mouth.
Now, to his great delight, he heard a satisfying crunch. Ah! That would be the left incisor. To his parents' chagrin, he put his finger in his mouth and poked in the debris of the chewed-up burger, searching for the tooth.
"Ronnie!" his mother exclaimed. "Stop doing that! It's so disgusting."
Her mouth set in a grim line when she saw people at the adjoining table in the hotel stare at Ronnie.
"Gotcha!" said Ronnie.
He grinned cheekily and deposited the tooth in a paper napkin. He wrapped it up carefully and put it in the pocket of his jeans.
That same night, he was woken up by a bright beam of light. A tiny woman with gossamer wings was hovering over the bed.
"The tooth fairy!" gasped Ronnie, coming fully awake. "Have you brought my gift?"
"No more gifts," said the fairy. "Of what use are your rotten teeth to me? I can't even chew with them!"
The fairy opened her mouth and Ronnie saw that her teeth were black with cavities. A whiff of nauseating bad breath floated towards him, and he gagged.
"Are those really my teeth?" he groaned.
"Yes, really," said the fairy, and then vanished slowly like the Cheshire cat till only her black smile remained.
At breakfast, Ronnie surprised everyone by asking for a new tube of toothpaste.
"I'm going to brush twice from today," he announced.
"Oh wow!" his mother said, hiding a smile. "That means I can cancel your dentist visit next week and hold my puppetry workshop after all!"

Butterflies in My Stomach
Shabnam hated the phrase. She never ever used it in her compositions or when speaking. It raised such an awful image in her mind. Just imagining fluttery, soft-winged creatures with eerie antennae and thin tongues flying about in her stomach made her queasy.
Before every test in school, her best friend Punita would whisper wickedly in Shabnam's ear, "I have butterflies in my stomach." Shabnam's stomach would start churning.
"Stop it!" she would whisper back fiercely.
Moths came a close second on her 'hate' list. Sometimes one would fly into her face or zoom around her table lamp. She lived in the terror of finding a moth getting inside her pants hung on the clothesline. Shabnam would whisk every piece of clothing thoroughly before putting it in her cupboard. Her younger brother complained about the mini tornado it whipped up.
"Suppose it crawled up my pyjamas when I was asleep? Ugghhh!" Shabnam would shudder in disgust.
One night, her worst nightmare came true. When she pulled out some tops from the back of the cupboard that she hardly wore, there were fat white slug-like things roosting in the darkest corner. They were moth larvae. She shrieked so loudly that the people in the adjoining building came to their windows to gawk. Her parents rushed helter-skelter into the room and it was some minutes before they could get sense out of Shabnam. She was standing frozen in front of the cupboard, her hands clutching the sides of her head, her mouth open and her eyes popping out with shock. Her father later remarked that he had thought of the Edvard Munch painting The Scream. Shabnam just stared at him balefully.
Dad! He could be so dense at times. Not one person understood her phobia (it was called lepidopterophobia, by the way, a suitably yucky name). Not Punita. Not mom. Anyway, from that moment on, Shabnam became even more obsessed with keeping butterflies and moths out of her life.
That very week, as luck would have it, Mrs.Arora, their biology teacher, announced that they would be visiting a Nature Centre the next day to attend a 'Breakfast with Butterflies' session. Shabnam tried to get out of it by pretending to fall sick in class, but the teacher saw through her ploy.
"Shabnam, I am going to have a test when we return!" she announced with a gimlet glint in her eye.
With a quaking heart, clammy palms and what else, but butterflies in her stomach, Shabnam climbed into the bus.
As Shabnam peered hesitantly into the terrarium containing the eggs of a butterfly, the guide said it was called the Striped Blue Crow. A butterfly called a crow! The hairy caterpillars gave her the heebie-jeebies. The sticky-looking pupae hanging from the underside of the leaves, made her want to throw up.
"Now, pay attention girls!" said their guide Shuba. "You can see an actual Striped Blue Crow being born."
Shabnam didn't go too close, but she was fascinated nevertheless. The cocoon split open and a greyish, bedraggled creature struggled out of it bit by bit. It emerged fully and clung to the stem for a moment, as if breathless. Then it fluttered a bit and before the girls' rapt gaze, it opened marvellous golden-striped wings. The upper wings were inky blue with white spots. The butterfly hung on for a minute, opening and closing its wings as if testing them.
"Oooh!" breathed out the girls in unison. "It is so pretty!"
They let out a muted cheer as it flew up into the open air. And then, a miracle happened. Shabnam stretched out her hand with shining eyes. It floated softly towards her and settled on her palm, its wings glittering velvet gold and blue as it caught the sun.

A Gift for Dad
Shikha felt sorry for her dad. He was in front of the mirror, combing his hair. He usually spent hours doing it. It was very funny because he didn't have much hair!
Dad caught 12-year-old Shikha's eye and winked. "You girls don't have to worry. You just run a comb through and presto! You have great-looking hair that stays put all day!"
He glanced down at Tuppy their Lhasa Apso. "Even Tuppy here has enough hair for two dogs though he is so small."
Then he ran his hand over his own smooth head and sighed. "Not me. Guess I should have expected this. Your grandpa went bald too, but not at thirty-five."
He pulled up the thin strand of hair from the side and tried to camouflage the bare spot on his crown. The strand flopped down after five minutes, looking like an orphaned comma!
He always joked that he was saving money on haircuts, hair oil and shampoo, but Shikha could tell that he badly wanted a sleek, shiny thatch of freshly-shampooed hair that he could gather up into a 'puff'.
Shikha couldn't bear to see him so miserable about his hair. He was such a poppet. She loved the movie Mrs. Doubtfire because the character played by Robin Williams was so like her dad — fun-loving, kind and full of laughter.
His birthday was coming up in a month. Ummm…what should she buy him? Yes! That was it! A wig! Shikha googled 'wig' and hit 'enter'. She was amazed at the number of sites that came up. She could even upload Dad's photo on the site and try out the wigs to see which would suit. Wow!
She finally settled for one that had nice 'quiff' in front. She had saved up a bit of pocket money but she would have to ask her sister Sujata to chip in since it cost a wee bit more than she'd expected.
The package arrived a week later. Mom knew what it was because she had to ask her permission to order it online. When Shikha had told her, she had smiled and said, "Oh, good idea, dear!"
Shikha hurried into her room with the package, Tuppy following close behind.
"Tuppy, get away! Shoo!" said Shikha.
She set the package on her bed and cut it open carefully. There it was! A perfect head of hair for her dad! She wrapped the box nicely and stuck a big satin bow on top.
"Hmmm, that looks pretty," she said to herself. "Doesn't it Tuppy?"
Tuppy wagged his bushy tail and sniffed at the box.
Shikha put it in the bottom shelf of her cupboard behind some clothes, and banged the door shut. Ufff! It never closed quite tight. Then she went to eat dinner, humming a happy tune.
The next morning, she ran to the cupboard and opened it. She gave a gasp. What had happened to her present? The paper was in tatters, the box was open. There were holes in the wig where the hair had been gouged out by sharp teeth.
Tuppy! He had chewed up her precious gift! Shikha tried to redo the box, her body shaking with sobs.
"Shikha, sweetheart, what happened?" asked her dad coming in. "Why are you crying?"
"Oh, daddy, I bought you a present. Look what Tuppy did to it!"
She held out the wig, tears streaming down her face.
"Shikha, what a thoughtful gift!"
Dad went to the mirror and put on the wig. He struck such funny poses that Shikha burst out laughing. She hugged him.
"Happy birthday, daddy. I am so sorry…your gift is all spoiled."
"That's okay…a full head of hair with a few holes. Better than no hair, right?"
He pulled out his mobile phone.
"Come on, let's take a selfie. Handsomest dad with the sweetest kid in the world!"

The Tree that Ate Kites
Arjun finished his homework, hurrying through it, eager to be part of the jostling crowd of boys at the kite shop round the corner.
"Uncle, uncle, please give me that green one with the big blue bird," he shouted above the hubbub, "and one manjha, too."
The shopkeeper smiled. "Be careful not to cut your hand on the manjha!" he warned while handing over the bag.
Arjun pulled a cheeky face and edged out of the shop. He headed to the maidan.
"Must remember not to go near that tree," he muttered to himself as he prepared his kite.
There was a massive fig tree that stood in a corner of the maidan. It was bursting with fruit and there was plenty of bird traffic weaving in and out of its branches. The ground below it was squishy with rotting half-eaten figs.
The boys feared the tree because it snared their kites with amazing regularity. During the kite-flying season the tree was festooned with tangled and torn kites. They fluttered and flapped in the breeze like Tibetan prayer flags. The boys had named it patang khau and it actually seemed as if its gnarled branches stretched out to catch a kite and gobble it down.
"You know, it eats kites," Bobby had whispered to Arjun once, looking at the tree with round, terrified eyes. "The next day, you can't see your kite hanging there anymore!"
Arjun hadn't believed him at first but once his kite had tangled in the tree's branches. He had tried to pull it out and then given up. He had gone on to flying another kite. When he was going home, he glanced at the tree and was shocked to see that his first kite was no longer there just as Bobby said! He had run home then without stopping, his heart thumping loudly. That night, he dreamed of the tree. A huge mouth opened in its trunk and it was full of gnashing teeth. Its sharp branches reached down to grab him, when he woke up with a whimper.
Today, he would not sacrifice his kite to the tree. He would stand with his back to the tree, facing away from it. Soon, he had his kite aloft and as it soared up into the sky, Arjun carefully let out the manjha, holding the running spool between his hands. His heart lifted and sang too, as the kite rose higher and higher, till it became a tiny speck.
Suddenly, the string jerked in his hand. A moment later, Arjun heard a soft thump behind him. Distracted, he lost control of the kite and it whirled down, spinning crazily in the air. Arjun ran backwards and sideways. He tried to slacken and tighten the manjha in turn, but the kite refused to heed him. It fluttered down… down… and into the waiting arms of the fig tree.
Arjun quickly rolled up the string and tugged. It was no use, the kite was stuck and now it tore with a rending sound. He turned to go, when he heard a fluttering sound. It was a pigeon and one of its wings was slashed and dripping blood. Arjun knelt beside it as it flapped its good wing weakly and blinked its pink eyes at him.
"I'm so sorry, little bird," he said and tears filled his eyes. "Did the manjha from my kite hurt you?"
Arjun spread his handkerchief on the ground and lifted the bird onto it. He pulled up the corners and got up gently, holding the bird in its makeshift sling. For a long moment, he gazed at the tree.
"You were not gobbling up our kites, you were looking after the birds," he said softly to it, stroking the pigeon. "Wait till I tell Bobby how wrong he was! Won't he be surprised?"

The Veggie Monster
Ten-year-old Kushagra let himself into the house, ravenously hungry and wondering what was for lunch. When he lifted the lid off the dish on the dining table, he made a face. Bhindi again! Why did his mother have this mistaken notion that this icky vegetable which looked like dripping snot when cooked was 'good for the brain'? After years of forcing it down his throat in different 'tasty' forms — besan bhindi and bhindi pitla, stuffed bhindi and bhindi fry — he still hadn't managed to make it to the top of his class. Why couldn't Mom make delicious fried potato, pasta oozing with cheese and yummy pizza every day instead? Kushagra quickly ate the chapattis and jeera rice, and then stuffed the bhindi into the rose pot, digging it into the mud so that it became mushy and unrecognisable.
Yesterday, it had been yet another unpleasant surprise. Red pumpkin bharta! Kushagra couldn't for the life of him understand why most Indian vegetable dishes looked like an oil-slicked murky red swamp with bits and blobs floating in it. Mom believed that vegetables were good for growing children. She was a health food fanatic and usually boiled, baked and steamed to Kushagra's eternal disgust, when she could very well fry, grill and deep-fry.
She even gave him carrot and beetroot sticks for short break. The shame of it! His friends had sniggered and he had quickly emptied his dabba into the dustbin and bought a samosa from the canteen instead. The final ignominy had been the karela chips. He had choked and spat out the first bite.
And cabbage! That was the pits. The day Mom made cabbage, the whole house stank like a gas chamber and Kushagra pointedly wore a mask till the evil deed was done. The first thing he did when he came home from school was to shovel the cabbage into a plastic bag and bury it deep under the rest of the garbage in the bin.
Kushagra had caught a thoughtful look on Mom's face recently. Maybe she was wondering why he had stopped protesting about the vegetables she made for lunch. Let her, chortled Kushagra silently. He somehow wolfed down the dinner, vegetables and all, thankful that it was only once a day.
One night, Kushagra suddenly came awake. The alarm clock glowed 2 a.m.
A sudden smell assailed his nostrils making him gag. It was the awful smell of weeks-old rotting vegetables. Kushagra held his nose and turned on the table lamp and froze. There at the side of the bed stood a dripping, slimy vegetable thing. It had a round cabbage head, messy coriander hair, an oblong red pumpkin stomach, floppy snake gourd legs and arms, and worst of all, bhindis for fingers. One of the rotten bhindis prodded him in the chest, leaving a trail of white-dotted green slime.
"Snot, ehhhh?" it said in a phlegmy voice. "I'll show you what snot is!" and it ran ten cold dripping fingers down his cheeks.
The cabbage head opened a cavernous mouth and let out an almighty belch, wafting a horrible gassy mist towards him, "Now how do you like that, boy, huh?"
The pumpkin stomach collapsed inwards, and oozed an orange-red slush like blood. "Would you like to make a bhartha out of me, would you, would you?" it whispered in squishy tones.
And then the thing took a squelchy, swaying step forward, as if it was going to hug him tight. That was the last straw. Kushagra leaped out of bed and ran towards the door, screaming.
"Mom, Dad! Help! Save me, save me!"
"Kushagra, Kushagra!" It was his Mom shaking him. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

When his mother next made bhindi, she was taken aback when he gobbled it up quickly, as if he was afraid it would bite him if he didn't bite it first!

Monday, March 2, 2015


A Hatred of Heights 

I dreamed that I was in Mumbai, on Juhu beach, standing in knee-deep water, feeling the pull of the sand below my feet as the waves crashed and then receded. The sun was setting, a ball of orange-red light. Against the darkening purple sky, a flock of rosy starlings spread outwards like smoke. A few stars were already visible, little points of brightness, winking in and out. Behind me, I could hear faintly, the screams of my friends who were riding on the Ferris wheel.

Soon, I would join them at the stall selling eye-wateringly spicy bhelpuri and panipuri and stuff myself till I was sick. I hated heights. I preferred the water and could gaze at the sea for hours. Sometimes, there were ships on the far horizon and to me they seemed like self-contained worlds. I often wished I could sail away and travel, looking in wonder at new people, places and things.

I came awake, the dream fragmenting, but the taste of stinging bhel still on my tongue, and walked over to the window.


You know, my wish came true. I got to sail, not in a ship, but in a spaceship. The glass bubble in which I live floats in an ocean of brilliant stars in the Andromeda Galaxy. I am still terrified of heights. Ironical isn’t it? I have all the sunsets (and sunrises) I could possibly want. Sometimes, just sometimes, though, I yearn for the undulating landscapes, the gentle blue skies and restless seas of home. It was called Earth I think.

Sunday, November 23, 2014

This is a piece I wrote for One India, One People for their column Know India Better

A Birding Paradise…
…and how to make the most of it!

With over 1300 species of birds, India is one of the world’s most coveted destinations for bird watchers. Even bustling metros like Mumbai and Delhi boast of a count of 150-200 species!

Becoming a Bird Brain
Pack a pair of binoculars, a bottle of water, a cap. Switch off your mobile. Set out for a forest at dawn, a little before the sun is up, when the sky is faintly tinted with pink and gold. Wander into the quiet, cool shade of the tall trees, far from the madding crowd. Stand perfectly still. Hearken to the trills, twitters and cheeps of the wingéd marvels that flit about in the trees or root for grubs in the grass. Spot a bird with your naked eyes first and then use your binoculars to get a closer look.  No sudden movements or sounds. Breathe in and out softly and keep your eyes focused. You have entered the magical world of bird watching!
Birds come in every colour of the spectrum (and some hues not found in any paint box) and their melodious voices and graceful movements are a feast for the eyes and balm for the soul.  After three years spent visiting numerous wildlife sanctuaries and wetlands across India (and locally in Mumbai), I can vouch for the fact that there is no greater stress-buster than a morning spent watching birds.
India has around 1300 species of birds, some of which are resident, and others which migrate here from all over the world to feed (and breed) in the monsoon and winter months. The northeastern region has the highest bird diversity with 850 species.
Bird watching or birding has become a popular pastime in India, especially in the last ten years. The number of serious bird watchers or birders is growing and is probably in the region of a quarter of a million. Of course, considering that we are more than a billion strong, this figure is negligible compared to the millions of bird watchers in a country like the USA which has around 750 bird species or the UK which has a mere 600. Birders in these countries are usually wealthy and middle-aged and women make up more than half. They also have active associations like the USA’s Audubon Society and the American Birding Association and the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (UK), that issue rare bird sighting alerts and hold regular bird watching galas such as the Great Backyard Bird Count, the Christmas Bird Count and the Big Garden Bird Watch. There are competitions too, like The Big Year in the US (a film was made based on a book of the same name), in which birders aim to spot the maximum number of bird species in a calendar year.
India has caught up. It has its own competition that kicked off in 2005, the annual HSBC India Bird Race, which is a 12-hour ‘chase’ held in different cities from November to March. In its initial editions, before it was widely covered in the media, most people thought it was like a greyhound ‘race’ involving birds!
While birding is a multi-billion dollar enterprise in the West, and in some countries like Japan and Australia as well, it is picking up slowly but steadily in India, especially among young professionals and the well-to-do. Many are in it for the fantastic opportunities for photography it offers.
There are a handful of excellent birding guides or expert birders, based in different parts of India and nature tour outfits that arrange for birding expeditions to reserves like Corbett, Dandeli, Ladakh and Bandhavgarh, as well as places like Jamnagar and Bhigwan for water birds (waders and waterfowl). Some like the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) even arrange for birding and wildlife watching trips abroad.
The Basics
The beauty of birding lies in its simplicity. The hobby will not burn a large hole in your pocket unlike indulging in adventure sports or arranging jaunts to pricey resorts. Since the usual sightseeing hurly-burly is completely avoided, birding hotspots can be explored in a space of 3 or 4 days or even over a weekend, in which one can sometimes tot up a count of 100-150 species, depending on the region. If one is going to remote areas like the northeast which has an amazing number of avian species, one has to factor in more time (and money) but of course that also depends on where one lives!
Equipment consists of a pair of good binoculars that are available in the range of Rs.8000–Rs.12000.  One can also invest in a swanky pair of Swarovski binoculars which cost a whopping lakh of rupees or more! An avid birder considers that a wise capital expense because, since there are no moving parts in binoculars (except for the focus adjustment dials), they last a very long time if properly maintained.
Spotting scopes (which are a little like telescopes) are another ball game altogether. A bird sitting a mile away on a dead tree stump miraculously comes into focus in all its brilliant clarity through a scope. However, a scope comes at a steep price (upwards of Rs.12000, tripod extra!) and lugging it around can be quite painful. Usually, birding guides carry one or two spotting scopes and if a bird condescends to sit in one place for more than five minutes, then everyone has a chance to see it. This entails mastering the tricky manoeuvre of being first in the ‘scope line’!
A book about birds found in a particular region, or what is known as a ‘field guide’, is a must. There is the trusty Salim Ali’s Book of Indian Birds or the ones by ‘firang’ authors like Pamela Rasmussen (Birds of South Asia) or Grimmet and Inskipp (A Pocket Guide to the Birds of the Indian Subcontinent) or Krys Kazmierzcak (A Field Guide to the Birds of the Indian Subcontinent). That will be another Rs.700-Rs.900 please! The guides are invaluable for both the novice and the expert. They feature paintings of birds in realistic colours and in various angles, including flight (which is important for identifying raptors like eagles) and details about sizes, sub-species, habitats and calls.
You must also remember to stock up on dull-coloured clothing, a hat for protection against the sun and sturdy shoes for tramping in the mud. Birds have good eyesight and bright colours like yellow, red and white are like warning flags. Earthy shades like dark brown, green and grey are the most suitable.
For first-timers, it makes sense to bird with an experienced person initially. There are Internet groups which one can join. The group sends an alert to all members whenever there is a local trip. For example, Birds of Bombay is a group on Yahoo. The Mumbai Bird Club and BNHS post regularly on it. Social networking sites are also a great way to hook up with birding enthusiasts all over India.
Right at Your Window
The best way to begin is to watch the birds outside your window—literally, in your backyard! That’s how I took the plunge after my first local group bird watching stint. You will be surprised at the number of avian species that have adapted to living in the urban jungle. Birds believe in frugality—they need some trees, a smattering of seeds, insects or fruits and a source of water. Fruiting trees like the ficus species or fig trees (peepal for instance) are bird magnets. Flowers like the powder puff and hibiscus are favoured by nectar-drinking birds. Trees also provide safe homes for nesting birds. I can guarantee that you will see at least a dozen species right outside your home if you listen and watch carefully every day for a week or two and in different seasons.
I am sure there are some species which you may have already ‘seen’ but not really ‘noticed’. These are crows, mynas, sparrows and pigeons. Do you consider them pests? Pigeons and crows probably are. Try to look at them with different eyes, the eyes of a pair of binoculars. Note the glittering sparkles of green, blue and purple in a pigeon’s neck (the correct species name is blue rock pigeon, by the way). Look closely at a house crow’s beak. Does it sport a bunch of soft furry feathers underneath like a funky beard? Have you ever chanced upon sparrows taking a mud bath? Do you know why they do it? To get rid of skin parasites! Incidentally, male sparrows are bigger and have darker markings on their wings.
Crows love to play games. You must have had one dive-bombing you as you walk on the street, or seen a bunch of them riding the roof of a city bus. A flock will suddenly erupt out of the trees, cawing madly. Then they will all settle down and be so quiet that you will hear not a peep till the next raucous hullabaloo. Truant crows have a mischievous habit of cawing outside your bedroom window at the crack of dawn, in a grating, guttural tone as if they are rolling marbles round in their throat. And if you feed them even once, they’ll be back at exactly the same time every day. They have memories like elephants, so you miss a feed at your own risk!
Mynas are chatterboxes. Thankfully, unlike the poor crows, they have sweet voices. They are pretty birds who look like they’ve dipped their beaks and feet in a bowl of haldi. They sport a scintillating dash of yellow mascara besides!
Parakeets, which are related to parrots, are city slickers. They move about in flocks and create a racket that will shame a bunch of noisy kindergarten kids. Their screeching is so loud that you can hear them even when they are flying way above you. Unmistakably green, with long tails, candy orange beaks and beady black eyes, there are two kinds—the rose-ringed which has an almost-there pale pink collar and the Alexandrine which has stylish red epaulettes.
Raptors are birds of prey (kites, falcons, harriers, eagles). They have wicked talons, hooked beaks and razor-sharp eyesight. A tumult among the pigeons signals a black kite (also known as a pariah kite) on the prowl. Crows are more courageous. They will harry the kite, boldly flying at it, till it leaves the area out of sheer frustration. Black kites are common in the big metros because they have become scavengers and Municipal dumps offer a sumptuous feast.
A surprising bird is the white-throated kingfisher. Surprising, because kingfishers are supposed to live near lakes, rivers and estuaries. This one, however, has adapted and does very well for itself, fishing for scraps in urban nullahs and rubbish tips like the black kite. Kingfishers sit in a dumpy fashion on wires and poles and a long, thick red bill is an immediate giveaway.
Flying In
Come winter and birds that live far north (in the cold reaches of northern Russia and Asia) prepare for a trip to warmer climes, to find food, breed and collect some frequent flyer miles. These are the migrants, the only globetrotters who don’t need passports or visas to fly across borders! India is a favourite watering hole for winter migrants, especially water birds and raptors. For birders the months between October and March provide a veritable feast as nearly a quarter of the 1300 species (around 296 species) throng wetlands in the coastal states both in the west and on the east, including Gujarat and Maharashtra, Rajasthan (Bharatpur and Tal Chhapar) as also areas like the Rann of Kutch and the Sunderbans, in fact wherever there are good sources of water and sufficient food. Some migrate further south. Birds also migrate within a region, from upper altitudes to lower altitudes in winter and back again in summer. Sometimes a bird which doesn’t usually come to India strays off its course and lands up here. It is then called a vagrant, a bird hobo, and you will be lucky if you see one!
Migration is affected by various factors. Scientists think that global warming has played a big role in recent years in the dwindling numbers of migratory birds. For example, the Siberian crane which was a regular visitor to Bharatpur’s Keoladeo Ghana National Park, stopped coming there when the ponds and lakes dried up in consecutive years. A prolonged summer in the northern hemisphere confuses migrant birds and they start their journey too late. When they arrive in India, they find that winter here is already over! Migrants may starve if they don’t find food at their rest stops or they may be shot down by hunters or caught in the crossfire of war (for instance in countries like Afghanistan).
Birds which are found in the same areas throughout the year are called residents. Some of the commonly-observed (widespread) residents besides of course, the ubiquitous crows, pigeons, mynas and sparrows, include the red-vented and red-whiskered bulbuls, the magpie and Indian robins, coppersmith or crimson-breasted barbets, ashy and plain prinias, tailorbirds, purple sunbirds, cattle egrets and pond herons.
How do birds know which way to go?  Some birds fly throughout the day and night and some fly over immense stretches of water without a visual landmark to guide them. Researchers think that birds orient themselves to the magnetic field that surrounds the Earth and that they navigate by the Sun and the stars.
Birding Hotspots
Avid birders travel to different places to see different species, especially endemics. Endemics are birds which are found only in a restricted area and nowhere else. For example, the Malabar grey hornbill, the Nilgiri laughing thrush and the grey-headed bulbul are endemic to the Western Ghats.
Some of the areas listed among the top ten birding destinations are: Kutch, including the Great and the Little Rann which lie in the path of migrating birds. Here one can see the Indian bustard and water birds like cranes and raptors like harriers and eagles. Going a little to the east, you have the Bharatpur sanctuary in Rajasthan, a haven for water birds. Move down south to Goa. Yes, I know you think at once of golden beaches and azure seas but Goa has eight kingfisher species, imagine! Travel deeper south and you have Thattekad Sanctuary in Kerala, famous for the Sri Lankan frogmouth and owls. Turn northwards now, right up to the foothills of the Himalayas. Uttarakhand’s Corbett National Park, Sattal and Pangot are wonderful places, not only for tigers but for birds like the ibisbill, the great slaty woodpecker and the koklass pheasant. Going eastwards, Lava and Neora in the Darjeeling district of West Bengal harbour some exotic species, for instance, the satyr tragopan and the rusty-bellied shortwing. Hold your breath, for now we enter a veritable wonderland of birds. This is the northeast. Arunachal’s Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary and Namdapha (beware of the leeches here!), Assam’s Kaziranga and Nameri reserves and of course, Sikkim, are a birder’s dream come true. You can see birds like Ward’s trogon and the beautiful nuthatch (that’s its name, I’m not joking!).
This is definitely not an exhaustive list, for there are countless other spots all over India like Ladakh, Kashmir, the Ranganathittu sanctuary and Nagarhole in Karnataka, Andaman and Nicobar Islands and green lungs near big cities (the Sanjay Gandhi National Park and the Sewri mudflats in Mumbai or Sultanpur in Delhi) which teem with birdlife.
Birding Tours
There are several groups and individuals who take enthusiasts to different birding hotspots. There is Manoj Sharma who owns Pheasant Jungles and leads tours in Corbett, Sattal and Pangot; Jugal Kishore who is a birding expert from Gujarat; Adesh Shivkar and Mandar Khadilkar of Nature India Tours in Mumbai; Hemant Ogale who runs Whistling Woods in Amboli, Maharashtra and Pankaj Lad of Canopy Goa. There are several local experts based in the metros and in the specific nature or wildlife reserves who act as both local resource persons and birding guides.
Birding tours are a class apart. Rest assured that it will not be a typical Indian ‘touristy’ thing with partying, ‘naach gaana’, ‘antakshari’ and loud chatter. Expect to awaken at 6 a.m. and drive, walk or sometimes climb, miles through the forest. Expect to go for a night walk to see nocturnal birds after a tiring day spent birding. Expect to stop every now and then and endlessly get in and out of buses, cars and jeeps when a bird is spotted. Expect very basic facilities at remote places like Eaglenest, where there is no electricity, no running water and only tents for accommodation. Expect disappointment if promised bird species don’t show up or if rain and mist drive birds into the bushes. Expect complete absorption in, and single-minded passion for, birds from tour leaders and fellow-birders.
Above all, expect a once-in-a-lifetime experience that will leave you thirsting for more, and more and more!  Expect miffed family members who cannot understand what it is you run after and why you spend tons of money on going to places featuring absolutely no mod cons. Expect curious questions from friends and colleagues who will one day tell you, strangely enough, that they have started looking at birds and regard you as some sort of avifauna ready reckoner!
Watching birds gives you that rare ‘Aha!’ feeling. It leaves you feeling at one with creation, at peace with yourself and everyone around you. It leaves you with a gleam in your eye and a song in your heart. It leaves you with a feeling of wonder that there are still some breathtakingly bright and beautiful things left. All things considered, birds make life that much more worth living.
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Do’s & Don’ts
Here are a few tips for novice birders. I would not be so presumptuous as to call myself a veteran but I have learned a little something!
·         Don’t be disheartened if you cannot spot a bird immediately. Birds normally don’t sit still in one place especially when they are foraging for food in the early morning. Even experienced birders can sometimes fail to spot a bird.  What seems like a bird may turn out to be a trembling leaf or a giant bumble bee or a dead twig! It takes plenty of time and oodles of patience, but the wait is well worth it.
·         First locate the bird by its sound. Then track its movement with your naked eyes. Lastly raise your binoculars and point them at the spot. Adjust the focus. You may have to keep shifting as the bird moves about.
·         Don’t shout or point if you see a bird that others haven’t. It will frighten the poor thing away. Quietly communicate its location using clock positions. For instance, “If the trunk of the tree is 12 o’clock, the bird is at the 3 o’clock position or at the 9 o’clock position.”
·         Use other trees or bushes to pinpoint location. “It is sitting on a branch of a tree behind that is in line with that tall tree in front of us.”
·         Buy your own binoculars and field guide. Nothing is more annoying to the others in a group than if you borrow theirs.
·         Don’t pester people around you by saying, “What? Where? I can’t see it!” Observe the direction in which everyone is looking and try to zero in. If you still can’t see it, don’t lose your cool. Most birders are very generous with their help to novices and eventually someone will point it out to you.
·         Don’t rush forward or crowd to the front. Wait till everyone is in position.
·         Don’t be selfish and keep a sighting to yourself. Share information with others, but do it quietly.
·         Don’t try to ‘flush out’ a bird from the undergrowth by crashing into it or dashing around. That’s not nice.
·         Some birds can throw their voices like ventriloquists, so the direction of the sound may be misleading!
·         Never disturb a nesting bird or try to peek into a nest or steal the eggs. Even photographing a nest is a ‘no-no’ as the flash may disturb the bird which might then abandon the nest.
·         Try to learn as much about the bird as possible after observing it by using your field guide.
·         Learn to recognise the calls of common birds first. There are websites and CDs available with recordings of bird calls. Listen and try to remember.
·         Playing back recorded bird calls or imitating bird calls or making bird sounds to lure them out of hiding is not ethical. Birds are territorial and it may traumatise them if they hear a call but don’t see the ‘rival’, or ‘mate’ if it happens to be the breeding season.
·         Water birds (waders and ducks) are easier to watch than other species since they congregate in one spot and don’t move about too much. It may be a more rewarding experience for a first-time birder to start by observing these.
·         Maintain a disciplined queue at a spotting scope. Take just five seconds to look through it to give others behind you a chance. The bird may not be so obliging as to linger there till everyone has had a look!
·         Ask questions and be curious and interested in whatever is happening around you, but at the appropriate time, not when everyone is busy looking at a bird.
·         Don’t wander away from the group or chase after a bird on your own. You can get lost.
Remember, if you see fewer birds than expected or none at all, just being in the midst of nature is in itself refreshing and rejuvenating.
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A Birding Glossary
There are some terms that birders use frequently which might sound like Greek to you if you are a fresher! Here are a few.
Flyway – A route used by migrating birds between their breeding and wintering grounds.
Frugivorous – Fruit-eating.
Insectivorous – Insect-eating.
Jizz – The characteristic qualities of a bird which make it instantly identifiable, even in flight. For example, the stout red bill of a kingfisher. Veteran birders can recognise a bird merely from its jizz.
Life List – a list of all the birds that a birder expects to see in a lifetime. A handful of birders have seen more than 8000 species of the world’s 10000, but it is an expensive, sometimes uncomfortable and time-consuming affair, turning what should be a pleasurable activity into an OCD.
Lifer – This doesn't mean a convict sentenced to life! It means the first time a birder sees a particular species of bird. One can expect to see more than 100 lifers in the northeast of India.
Mobbing – When a group of birds try to drive away an intruder especially a larger bird of prey like raptors and owls. Crows mob kites.
Raptor – A bird of prey like eagles, harriers, kites and falcons. Vultures are not considered raptors because they feed on dead meat. They are scavengers.
Skulkers -  Birds which are shy and try to hide in the undergrowth.
Trash Birds – Birds which are there in such large numbers that they become pests. For example, blue rock pigeons and crows in cities.
Twitcher – A twitcher is a birder who obsessively pursues rare birds in the hope of striking them off on his life list.
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Web Resources
One very good way of learning more about birds and birding is by visiting websites that are hosted by birders in different cities. For instance, there is Delhi birds (delhibirds.com), Kolkata birds (kolkatabirds.com) and Bangalore birds (bangalorebirding.com). There are also bird photography websites like India Nature Watch (indianaturewatch.net) and Birds of India (birdsofindia.net; indiabirds.com and surfbirds.com), facebook groups like Indian Birds and yahoo groups like Birds of Bombay and BngBirds. For bird calls go to birdscalls.info or natureclubsurat.org which also sells bird calls on CDs. BNHS and WWF also organise local, national and international trips, the information about which is given on their websites.
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Birder’s Eye View

Mohan Varadarajan, co-founder of a software company called Knolseed Technologies, is based in Bangalore. He talks about how birding changed his life.

In 2008, I was taking a sabbatical from work, and on a whim I attended a "Naturalist Training Program" conducted by Jungle Lodges & Resorts (A Govt of Karnataka enterprise). The 3-day experience was an eye-opener for me, and my first formal introduction into the wonderful world of "birding". The next few
months were exciting times. I started going out on bird watching trails in every available green patch within Bangalore (my city). I noticed birds where there were none before.  Camera-shy coucals and malkohas, leafbirds, sunbirds and flowerpeckers smaller than my thumb. Even exotic paradise flycatchers, right in the heart of the city. I found out (to some embarrassment) that everything that hovers is not an eagle. Most of them are in fact, kites. And of eagles and kites, there are many—black-shouldered, Brahminy, short-toed and crested.
And the surprises just kept coming—the precise engineering of the nests, the changes in plumage with mood and season, birds whose arrival signals the monsoon (pied-crested cuckoo), and those that depart with the winter (Indian pitta). Observing bird behaviour is a fascinating activity. The plot has all the makings of a box-office potboiler. There are the moles who infiltrate and plant their egg in another's nest (the Asian koel), the sirens who distract and destroy (the drongo, which imitates bird calls to distract and steal eggs), the mob that persecutes (crows), and the good guys (barn owls) who destroy the moles (literally).
These winged wonders have drawn me to distant places all over India, and with each trip, I've learnt a bit more about their world. I have met interesting people who share my passion for bird watching and made some good friends. And each time, I have returned home happy, but longing for more. Bird watching has led me to a better understanding of the significance of avian fauna in the larger web of life. Recognizing that our own well-being is closely linked with their survival, has been humbling.
I have come to appreciate the import of Senegalese poet Baba Dioum's words:
"In the end, we will protect only what we love.
We will love only what we understand.
We will understand only what we are taught."