“Sights and Bites”

 

It was one of those late nights where the dull throb in my injured leg just wouldn’t let me sleep. I was stuck in that blue-light haze, doom-scrolling through social media to pass the time. Naturally, the algorithm decided to torture me with "Unmissable Spots in Bangkok"—stunning drone shots of shimmering gold spires, hidden rooftop bars, and vibrant flower markets.

My partner and I were supposed to have been there together in November, but familial reasons kept me home while he went solo. His entire fortnight of "sightseeing" had consisted almost entirely of Michelin-star street food stalls and legendary noodle shops.

Seeing the gorgeous reels on my screen, I felt a fresh wave of FOMO. I turned the phone toward him and pointed at a particularly breathtaking view of the city.

"Look at these places!" I said, my voice a mix of awe and accusation. "You missed seeing all of this, and only because you were too busy eating!"

He didn't even have the grace to look guilty. He didn't blink; there wasn't an iota of regret on his face. He just glanced at the screen and said calmly:

“It’s okay. I can still see those landmarks on the mobile. But I couldn’t have tasted all that food on my phone, right?”

He went back to what he was doing, and I just sat there, smarting. Because his logic was absolutely airtight and I couldn’t counter it!

Broken Spirits…

A friend was visiting Bengaluru, and my partner suggested, “Why don’t you ask him to join us for dinner?”

I looked up from my mobile. “I already did. He’s a 'maybe' right now.”

“If he says yes, we should open that new wine-flavored gin!”

“That would be nice," I sighed. "But he’s actually stopped drinking. Health issues. He’s gone completely cold turkey.”

My partner went silent, looking genuinely distressed. After a long pause, he whispered, “If you ever gave up drinking, we’d have to give away all our nice liquor to other people.”

“Why?”

“Well, what else would you do with it?”

“I’d break the bottles over people’s heads,” I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

He stared at me. “What?!”

“I’m not just going to waste it,” I shrugged.

“And how exactly does breaking glass over people help the situation?”

“I imagine I’d get the same high.”

My partner is now looking at rental listings and checking the locks on the bedroom door. I’m honestly a bit hurt—I thought I was being resourceful.

A Different Lens

For years, she had him filed away in her mind under "Inexplicable Success."

As colleagues, they were mandated to cover for one another, giving her an intimate view of his workflow—and it irritated her. While she stayed buried in the mechanics of routine, he was a creature of the periphery, monitoring just enough to ensure deadlines were met while spending the rest of his time discussing cinema, fashion, or harmless gossip. She bristled at his ascent, convinced the "blue-eyed boy" of the company was simply a man who succeeded without effort.

Years passed. They moved away to different cities and headed new verticals in the same firm. When he was in town for a conference, she thought she would meet him out of courtesy over coffee. She couldn’t. A freak accident put paid to the plans. 

*****

She returned home from a grueling physiotherapy session, nursing a body that felt as broken as her professional momentum, and she found a massive bouquet of flowers on her table. A call from him followed almost immediately.

"I saw the flowers," she said, her voice strained. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," he replied. His voice was just as before — calm and unhurried. "How are you feeling?"

"Restless," she admitted. "I’m missing key meetings. The Q3 reports are—"

He cut her off with a soft, easy laugh. "The work will happen by itself, you know. It always does. People like us spend our lives worrying about the machinery, but the machines are built to run."

"I've always struggled with that part," she said.

"Don't," he said firmly. "The reports aren't going to check on you, and the office won't miss you the way your health will. You matter. The rest is just noise."

When he signed off, the silence in the room felt different. While many of her "diligent" peers hadn't uttered a word, the man she had once dismissed had shown a side she never had paid attention to.

She realized then that she had mistaken his humanity for a lack of interest. Or, as his entitled behaviour. His success was no longer a mystery.

Blind Birder’s Guide to Dandeli!

An Indian paradise flycatcher in flight

The Great Non-AC Escape

It was another "Harsha Special," and after missing the last two trips to Dandeli, I was determined not to let this one slip away. I readily agreed and even dragged Sambhu into the mix. Naturally, in true "me" fashion, I delayed booking until the very last second. This resulted in a charming journey via a non-AC sleeper bus, followed by an hour-long cab ride (bless Harsha for organizing that, or we’d probably still be on the side of the road).

Flame or ruby-throated bulbul. It is the state bird of Goa!

We arrived at the Old Magazine House early—far earlier than our upgraded suite was ready for us. However, any frustration was quickly muffled by a sumptuous breakfast and the sight of a small army of tripods already stationed at the bird-hide, looking like a metallic forest.

Malabar grey hornbill

Gear, Gadgets, and Forgetting Everything

The three-day workshop was under the Fuji banner, giving all participants access to some serious glass - including medium format cameras and some telephoto primes. Harsha led the workshop as Fuji’s brand ambassador. 

Grey jungle fowl is endemic to India. It is a protected species

I’ve known Harsha and Shweta for six years now. We have done several wildlife trips together, led by Harsha (including Masai Mara, Kenya). Association with Harsha extends beyond photography. There are other friends too - notably Sathya and Deva - but they weren’t part of this trip. 

Shweta and Harsha

Unfortunately, my packing skills haven’t improved with age. I managed to arrive without adequate memory cards and forgot my battery charger adapter. Harsha and Shweta stepped in to rescue me—a recurring theme in my life that I suspect hasn't seen its series finale just yet.

Red-breasted flycatcher

Also called a taiga flycatcher, it is a winter migrant to India. 

A Colorful Dilemma

To appreciate my love for birding, you have to understand my starting point. The first bird I ever photographed was a Magpie Robin; at the time, I didn't know its name, nor was I aware it existed. Before I started these trips, my avian classification system was simple: Crows, Sparrows, Chickens, Peacocks, and Swans. Everything in the water was a "Crane" (imagine my shock learning that's not a real catch-all term), and every raptor was an "Eagle."

Malabar trogon male

Malabar trogon female

To make matters more interesting, my vision is a disaster—I am both shortsighted and colorblind. It’s a bit like trying to solve a Rubik's cube in a dark room. My companions are incredibly patient saints who help me not just see where the bird is, but also point my lens in the right direction, for which I am eternally grateful. Thank God birds don't judge; they just sit there being majestic while I squint at them.

Indian blackbird. Belongs to the thrush family, and is known for a rich, flute-like song 

The Art of Sleeping In

On the day we arrived, the group headed to the local timber depot in pursuit of Hornbills. We didn't join them, and judging by their disgruntled faces when they returned bird-less, we hadn't missed much. We were supposed to join the second attempt the following morning, but the alarm clock lost the battle. When the "nature walk" call came at 7:00 AM, I politely declined in favor of my pillow.

In retrospect, laziness was my best tactical decision.

Orange-headed thrush

It is known for its vibrant colours and complex, melodious song

The Grand Prize

By skipping the depot and the nature walk, I was stationed at the hide when the Star Attraction appeared: the male Paradise Flycatcher. I have been chasing a glimpse of this elusive beauty for six years, ever since seeing Harsha’s photos. Seeing those long, flowing tail feathers in person right at the start of the day was worth every missed alarm and forgotten memory card.

Paradise flycatcher (male). Distinct for its flowing white tail feathers

The last day of the trip, Sayambhu and I headed to the timber depot in Dandeli. Surprise! There were tree-full of Malabar pied hornbills to see and and click. It’s another matter I missed clicking them while they took off into the skies, thanks to the speed at which I operate! We also managed to sight some owls and a couple of other birds while at the depot. 

Black naped monarch

It’s also called black-naped blue flycatcher 

Over the two days, we saw roughly twenty species, including various Flycatchers, three types of Hornbills, the Malabar Trogon, and the legendary Pitta. Along with clicking pics, we also made some new friends! 

Malabar pied hornbill

Hornbills are known to pair for life!

After a satisfying trip, we returned to Bengaluru by train—having already decided that if the train failed, we were simply going to flee to Goa and fly home. The best thing about the trip? Sayambhu picking up clicking skills like a past master. All pics of pittas and trogons are to his credit.  Left to me, I’d still be ruing that I couldn’t focus in time!

Indian pitta. Also called navrang because of its colourful feathers!

Birding trips are great to learn not just about birds, but the importance to preserve our nature, ecology, and earth. Any birding trip invariably teaches you loads of patience. Also, you realise that you have to click a few hundred pictures of each bird to get a few good ones! I wonder how those who clicked with film cameras managed back in those days!

White-bellied blue flycatcher

I’ve shared the pictures of birds from the trip all through this write-up! (Captured despite my best efforts to forget equipment). If you need any tips about a birding trip to Dandeli, reach out with a comment!

Jungle owlet, a variety of small owl 

The Resolution!

The office cafeteria was a graveyard of crumpled napkins and smears of chocolate frosting—the aftermath of the mandatory New Year’s cake-cutting ritual. Over tea and coffee that were getting colder by the minute, the conversation had inevitably turned into a competitive sport: the listing of New Year’s resolutions. “I want to travel to a different destination each month”, “This is the year of me working on my own start-up”, “I will get my music video out”!

Rati sat back, cradling her mug, watching the exchange with a quiet, persistent smile. She was a spectator to the noise rather than a part of it.

"Rati, you’re being suspiciously quiet," one colleague noted, pointing a stir-stick at her. "What’s on the grand agenda for the year? Or are your aspirations too high-profile to share with us?"

"She’s been sitting there like a sphinx while we’ve poured our hearts out," another added with a laugh. "Come on, spill."

Rati shifted, her shyness momentarily visible. "I only have one," she said softly. "To be happy."

There was a beat of silence, then a burst of skepticism. "That’s it? That’s a bit generic, isn't it? It’s like saying your resolution is to breathe."

"It is and it isn’t," Rati replied, finding her footing. "It’s been my resolution since last year, and I suspect it will be the only one I keep for the rest of my life."

"But how is that a resolution? Where’s the plan? The gym membership? The 'New Year, New Me' hustle?"

Rati took a deep breath, her gaze steadying. "Look, this might sound a bit philosophical—maybe even like a lecture—but if you’ll just hear me out..."

"Oh boy, here goes the Professor!" someone called out. The table erupted in good-natured groans and laughter. "The nerd is coming out to play!"

"Quiet, you lot," a friend interjected, leaning in. "I’m actually curious. Let her speak."

"I can't believe we're getting a sermon on January first," another whispered loudly.

“Let’s hear her out first! We could get to diss and dissect her afterwards!”

"Hem, hem!"

"Fine, fine! I’m all ears now. Maybe it’ll cure the hangover."

"Or give us a fresh one!"

The table dissolved into another round of chaos—people talking over one another, lighthearted ribbing, and the genuine, messy sound of friends enjoying a moment of shared irreverence.

Rati didn’t cut them off. She simply watched the laughter ripple across the table, the way her friends leaned into each other, and the bright energy of the room. When the noise finally dipped into a small lull of expectation, she didn’t deliver a speech.

She simply gestured to their smiling faces.  "This," Rati said, her smile widening. "This is what I meant. My resolution."

Shunted But Not Shaken: Your Guide To Handle An Exile

 

A colleague called me out of the blue. I was buried under work, so I gave them the classic professional "rain check."

"Sure Sir. I will wait for your call," they said, with the kind of ominous politeness that suggests something is up.

When I finally called them back, they were at lunch with friends. "Sir, I’ve received my transfer orders. I need to talk. But right now, I’m drowning my sorrows in biryani. Will call you this evening."

The news was - as expected - unpleasant: they were being uprooted from the lush, craft-beer-filled comforts of Bengaluru and shunted to the back-of-beyond boondocks. Their pleas for reconsideration had been met with the bureaucratic equivalent of "Do I know you?" The powers-that-be told her they had been in the city too long. Their replacement had already arrived, bags packed and hovering, leaving them no choice but to pack their own.

"Sir, you were exiled to the Andamans for two years," they said, voice betraying the emotion. "I need tips on how to manage the wilderness. I’ve been almost in tears since the letter arrived."

As they spoke, I drifted back to my own "vacation" in Port Blair. My transfer hadn’t cared about my parents’ health or my own post-surgery recovery. The System, I realized, is a blind machine—unless you know which gears to grease with networking.

I shook off the memories and told them, "Buckle up. I have a few tips." Here is the survival guide for the Reluctantly Relocated:

1. Work up a “Brave Face”

First impressions are like superglue—they stick. Do not land at your new station looking like you’re entering a funeral procession. It sends the wrong signal to your new peers. You don’t have to pretend you’ve won the lottery, but you shouldn't look like you’ve lost a limb either.

When I landed in Port Blair, I told people: "Look, this wasn’t my first choice, but I’m here, I’m ready, and if it wasn't me, some other poor soul would be standing here. So, let’s get to work."

Day 1 in Andaman. Watching the sunset from the guesthouse window!

2. Friendly Networking 

When you’re a consultant in a new organization, you need allies. You cannot let your "Transfer Anger" spill over into your emails or work files. You need people to support you when chips are down or when you need to host the bosses from Delhi.

I have always been lucky in this department all through my career’s tough days. In Vizag, it was Laxman and Praveen. In Bengaluru, I had Sirish, and in Jammu, it was Manish and Shahbaz. Kolkata had the sanctuary of Choten and Jaidev. In Port Blair, Senthil and Dilip - the officers in Andaman then - welcomed me with open arms . Even Abhi, a friend from my 2012-14 Bengaluru days, had moved back to Port Blair and became my evening anchor. Even the Chief of Staff, Admiral Sandhu, ensured my office after a much-needed facelift in no time. When the Secretary came calling, she was impressed with how we welcomed her, and sanctioned more money to spruce up the workplace on the spot! 

Pro-tip: Make friends with the people who have the keys to the kingdom.

Saviours and I. 

3. Work Like You Mean It

Never let your displeasure reach your keyboard. Ensure those files leave the table before a phone call comes enquiring the status; take quick but judicious decisions. Weigh your words before you record your dissent. Make plans to improve. Write letters of progress. Pay attention to your team’s spirits. 

Vent to your pillow, your dog, or a trusted bartender but never into your files or PPTs. Show them you mean business, even if your heart is 2,000 miles away. 

Happily posing in my cabin!

4. Play The Explorer 

If you’re stuck in a remote location, you might as well see the sights. I turned the Andamans into my personal bucket list. I trekked to Saddle Peak (the highest point in the islands, and the northernmost too), stared at India’s only active volcano at Barren Island, and explored the seas until I was more fish than man.

Indira Point, Saddle Peak, Hut Bay, and Chidia Tapu (clockwise)

I can now casually drop into conversations that I’ve been to Indira Point, the southernmost tip of India, released baby leatherback turtles into the sea, and seen the Sentinel Islands from close distance.  Can your Bengaluru friends say that between their traffic jams? Probably not.

5. Hobbies: The Antidote to Insanity

Weekends in the "wilderness" can be hauntingly quiet. I learned the hard way in Jammu and Kashmir that if you don't have a hobby, the walls start talking to you.

I picked up swimming, kept running, and restarted my blog. I even began writing short stories. I also continued photography, though the Andaman humidity tried its best to turn my expensive lenses into expensive terrariums for mold.

6. Build a “Second Home”

Your family will miss you, and the guilt can be heavier than your luggage. You can’t fly home every month unless you’ve discovered a secret gold mine, so do the next best thing: make your new home so nice that they want to visit you.  

When I shared the news with friends and family of my transfer, I had some interesting questions thrown at me. “Do you need a passport and a visa to visit?” Well, Andaman Islands are a part of our country, and here these much literate people were playing ignorant! “Would you get to meet the cannibals there? I read a news that a Christian pastor was hunted and cooked over the skewers!” I could think of no comeback to that. 

I believe through my valiant efforts, I have dispelled several such fantasies from the visitors’ minds (may be to their disappointment). I had a record number of visitors in the Andamans. Parents, uncles, erstwhile colleagues, school friends, college buddies and even long-lost exes, all descended upon me. It turns out people are very happy to maintain a friendship if it includes a free guided tour of a tropical island.

Some of my visitors in the islands!

7. Leave a Legacy for Yourself

Don’t just serve time; leave a mark. When you look back, you should be able to proudly relate a tale or two to your folks, on a rainy day over some hot tea (or a nice drink). 

In the Andamans, my office was a cramped corner of someone else's building. I pushed, pulled, and liaised until we got a place of our own. I couldn’t  make the ribbon-cutting happen, but I know my erstwhile team is getting it done now. And, sure they all feel proud about what we collectively achieved. 

8. Don’t Kick the Dog 

Rule of life: Never pick a fight with someone who can’t fight back. If you’re feeling salty, take it up with someone your own size—or the boss. Never rant at the people doing the menial jobs. If the tea is cold, be gentle. People remember how you treated them long after they forget the dinner you hosted for them at the New Year’s.

9. Manage the "Moody Blues"

There’s a marketing rule: "If you like something, you tell four people; if you hate it, you tell twenty." Negativity is a parasite. In remote postings, you have too much "me time" to ruminate on perceived hurts.

If you don’t check your angst, it turns into depression. When you feel the spiral starting, take a walk by the sea/mountain/valley, sing a song, or cook a meal. And a word of advice from the trenches: Stay away from that bottle of when you’re seething. Angry drinking just leads to a headache and more anger.

The joy of surviving!

That’s my survival kit. It’s not a magic wand, but it’ll keep you sane until the next transfer cycle rolls around. To anyone else who has been "shunted" to the corners of the map: what helped you survive? I’m all ears!