Sparrows and Society

I returned to my hometown for Dyavara, a community festival that anchors the families of our common descent. It was the festivities on my mother’s side; my father’s side had celebrated it only last year. I had taken a day’s leave, a small concession to ensure my presence - partly to honour the tradition, and partly to forestall the quiet disappointment of my mother and her siblings. My father had arranged a vehicle to take us to Vemagal, the ancestral seat of my mother’s side, where they gather to worship Beerappa - a form of Shiva known to us as Beeredevaru, or the Sanskritized Beereshwara. My father’s side worships him as Mylaralinga, a name that whispers of our forefathers’ migration from North Karnataka, following their sheep toward greener pastures.

Dyavara is a rare rhythm; it occurs only once in nearly a decade - every nine, eleven, or thirteen years - never on an even number. Invariably it happens right after Ugadi, the Kannada New Year, and just before the summer sets in. It is a vital congregation for the Kuruba community of Kolar and Bengaluru. It is a practice I haven't seen echoed in Mysore or beyond. It’s possible similar practices are followed in North Karnataka, but I am not aware of them. 

Vemagal used to be a small village. The landscape, however, is changing. It has matured into a sprawling urban settlement. Rapid industrialization has claimed the farmlands; soil has been traded for sites, and green horizons for commercial establishments. My uncle, Raja Mama, sent us a digital location pin - a modern necessity to navigate the maze of new constructions and kuchha (unpaved) roads.

After the exchange of pleasantries and a heavy breakfast, we visited the temple. Upon our return to the house my uncles had rented for the rites, I noticed something quiet and remarkable. In the corners of the house, the owners had fashioned nests out of paper and old book covers. Inside were hatchlings - tiny, noisy sparrows.

The photographer in me stirred. I captured the parent bird intermittently feeding the open-mouthed chicks. When I showed the footage to the family, a wave of nostalgia swept through the room. "I haven’t seen a sparrow in years," one remarked. My botanist aunt wondered if it were indeed a sparrow! Others reminisced about seeing them everywhere in Bengaluru decades ago. I was reminded of Dr. Sálim Ali’s autobiography, The Fall of a Sparrow. In my own childhood, sparrows were our housemates, nesting in the gaps of our tiled roofs. We woke to their chatter. But when we moved into our own home - a "better" house with a solid concrete roof - the sparrows vanished.

We only seem to notice things once they are no longer visible. Be it sparrows, or wildlife, or trees and plant biodiversity. We wake up when it’s too late, and wring our hands helplessly.  We lament the "concretization" of our lives, seldom realizing that we are the ones pouring the cement. 

As I began my early journey back to the city for work, the parallel between the birds and the Dyavara became clear. The festival was not well-attended. Several key members of the younger generation were conspicuous in their absence. Many of us didn’t know others participating in the festivities. What used to be a whole community living together for days under the skies with their carts and tents had now transformed to living in rented houses with their families, with little connect with others at the venue. With the shift away from agriculture and the pull of urban career paths, the congregation has thinned. Even the daughters of the lineage were few.

In our pursuit of material security, our relationships have become shaky - weathered by neglect. We find it easy to label others as "materialistic" while refusing to see our own reflection in the glass. We put every connection on the back burner because "attaining" something concrete feels more urgent than "being" someone present. If an event doesn't widen a professional network or bring in "moolah," it is often dismissed with a sharp, "What’s in it for me?"

In the old days, Dyavara was more than a ritual; it was a social architecture. It created networks, fostered alliances, and promoted a harmony born of staying together. Today, we come together perfunctorily to worship, but we no longer stay. We miss the warmth of connection when we face a crisis, yet we refuse to build the bridges necessary to sustain it.

What we have done to the habitat around us, we are doing to the habitat within us. We are letting our diversity - ecological and emotional - perish, all while wondering where the sparrows, and the people, have gone.

Outgrowing Perceptions

 

It began with a frantic phone call from an old friend.

“I need some help, Sudhir,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar parental anxiety. “Actually, it’s not for me—it’s for my daughter. She’s stuck on an assignment about ‘entitlement, privilege, and agency.’ It’s the eleventh hour, and she’s struggling to bring it all together.”

“When is the deadline?” I asked.

“This evening. She’s jotted down some points, and they seem fine, but I’m worried they aren’t hitting the mark. Can you step in?” He began to lecture me on what he thought the essay should say and the points she should avoid. I cut him short. “Just send me her notes,” I told him. “Let me see what she’s actually thinking.”

While I waited for the documents to hit my inbox, I decided to call the girl herself. When she answered, her voice was thick with sleep—bleary-eyed and exhausted. For a cynical moment, I wondered if she was even taking her studies seriously. I brushed the judgment aside and got to the point: “What exactly do you need from me?”

“I have all these notes, Uncle,” she said softly. “But I can’t seem to find the thread. I can’t turn them into a story. Will you help me make it coherent? I have to submit it by tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “We’ll get it done.”

A few minutes later, the file arrived. I opened it expecting to do the heavy lifting—prepared to redo the entire piece, rearrange her logic, and perhaps discard her amateur observations to start fresh. I settled into my chair and began to read.

Then, the world shifted.

I wasn't just reading a student's notes; I was being schooled. I realized instantly how profoundly I had underestimated her. Her observational skills were razor-sharp, cutting through the comforts of her own life with extraordinary clarity. She didn’t shy away from the truth. She dissected the privilege she carried—her parents’ status, her caste, her inheritance—with a merciless, matter-of-fact grace. She saw the clockwork of discrimination and the subtle, quiet ways women are disempowered every day.

The girl I had watched grow up had vanished. In her place was a beautiful, thinking adult.

I couldn’t wait. I called her back immediately, not to offer "help," but to tell her how proud I was. I told her how wise she sounded—far wiser than I had been at twenty-one. I was nowhere near that sensible or observant at her age.

I called my friend next to tell him how blessed he was. He took the kudos with a humbled laugh. “You know, Sudhir,” he admitted, “I wasn’t even aware of my own privilege until she pointed it out. She’s made me realize just how entitled my own life has been.”

We often look at the younger generation and see only the "cushy" lives they lead, the comforts we didn't have. But then, they turn around and shatter our perceptions, proving they see the world with a clarity we often lack.

It was a lesson I was terribly proud to learn.

Killer Tunes…

The Big Man’s estate was glowing, a palatial spectacle of fairy lights and red carpets that suggested a royal wedding, even though there was no occasion at all. It was luxury for the sake of luxury. He was showing off his silver, possibly hoping to curry his next promotion from the higher-ups, the guests of the evening. 

As the evening deepened, the "cool" drinks began to do their heavy lifting. Inhibitions dissolved into the humid air, and suddenly, the "talent" emerged. A makeshift stage became the focal point for a parade of guests eager to impress the bigwigs in attendance.

One young man stepped up, radiating a terrifying level of confidence. He launched into Kishore Kumar’s classic, ‘Mere Naina Saawan Bhaadon..’ and proceeded to dismantle it with relentless zest. I looked toward the exits, half-expecting security to bolt the doors to prevent a mass stampede of guests screaming ‘Bachao! Bachao!’ or perhaps to protect the singer from being mauled by a purist.

But no. To my horror, the crowd erupted in raucous applause. Mediocrity, it seems, is quite popular when served with premium scotch.

Just as I thought the auditory torture had peaked, the microphone was snatched by a man who didn't just sing Stevie Wonder—he belted ‘I just called to say I love you’ with the subtlety of a jackhammer. He was followed by a lady whose rendition of ‘Dil toh hai Dil..’ was so cacophonous that I lost all aitbaar (trust) in the human ear’s ability to filter noise.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I leaned toward my neighbor and muttered, “Kishore would be turning in his grave right now, saying he’s actually glad to be dead.”

The lady next to me didn't skip a beat. “And Stevie would be wondering why he’s blind and not deaf,” she chipped in.

Her friend, sipping her drink coolly, added the finishing touch: “Lata would be delivering her choicest gaalis to these mofos!”

We stood there in a small, cynical circle of sanity, bonded by the shared trauma of hearing the legends murdered by the very musical notes that made them!

The Reluctant Nomad

Savouring a sunrise at the Hut Bay, Little Andaman

I’m under a house-arrest. Almost. I hurt myself  thanks to a freak fall from the stairs at the office. Doctor said the ligaments are torn in the foot and ankle and I need to rest for 8 weeks, with the ankle binder firmly in place. The unwarranted break from moving around hasn’t been easy to handle. 

I would like to view myself as an active person (my parents may disagree). I love moving about - sitting still isn’t really me. I easily notch up over 12k steps a day. Plus, I live to travel. If I’m not already packing the bags and heading somewhere, I am planning for one. Money and time were to permit, I would see every part of the world. Even those that nobody wants to go to. Like a scientist examining every cell of a tissue under a microscope! Or, a little kid in a toy store racking through all the dolls, or a candy shop trying every flavour! As I twiddle my thumbs sitting at home (and mind most of my work too from here, unless a meeting warrants me to limp my way to workplace) Sometimes I wonder why I travel.  Is it because I will have some bragging rights, that I have travelled to so many nations/places? Do I crave for some strange validation and attention from people? Yes, I do want to stack up numbers, for gloating within oneself, and not throw the stats at another.  No, ma'am, I don't brag - I am very humble like the Sudha Murty of steel spoons and jasmine flowers fame.  Or, maybe humbler because I don't even carry spoons myself.  Nor sport jasmines in my fast thinning hair!

I am not a foodie, and do not desire to eat like a local when I travel. So, there is no desire to taste sturgeon roe, or whale or horse or any other meat.  Or the smelly blue cheese!  I might of course deign to partake the local spirits and cocktails though. Purely for cultural immersion and/or medicinal purposes, of course! Also, as an introvert, shy person, I don't even travel to make friends - either with other travellers or the local people.  If ever I have made friends while travelling, it solely would be because of the other person's effort, and none mine (imagine how desperate that person must be, to converse, and find and befriend a reticent, nerdy, old(ish) brown person).  So, why this obsession with travel? 

Growing up as a weak child left me with little active hobbies.  I developed reading as my favourite activity.  I would be caught reading at any point of time.  It also was a safety net - I didn't have to deal with bullying (which routinely happened thanks to my teeny-tiny size, back then). Parents had to scream, shout and shake me up to get my nose out of a book, and pay attention to them. When dad couldn't cajole, coax, or placate me to join any sport activity, he relented and bought books to quench my thirst to read more.  Mom didn't object to me reading all those serialised novels coming in the Kannada weeklies that we either got home, or borrowed from someone to read.  

Books that inspired me to read, dream, and travel

The first books that dad bought me were encyclopedia in Kannada, compiled/written by the Jnanapeetha Awardee, Shivaram Karanth. Not some random comics or storybooks for children. “If he’s not going to be active physically, let his brain learn something at least”, must have been his thoughts. Karanth played an important role in my quest for knowing things (knowing anything random, useful or otherwise), apart from making me want to see places.  

As a kid, the first two places that captured my imagination were Salto Angelo (Angel Falls) and the Amazon river.  Salto Angelo is the highest plunge waterfall in the world, which drops from a height of 916 metres. Later, these books stoked a fire in me to participate in quizzes.  So, the desire to see a snow crystal (there were pictures in the book), and stalagmites and stalactites, visit the Galápagos Islands where Darwin did his research for the ‘Origin of Species’ is what drove me to pursue travel as a hobby.  If it were affordable to enroll at SpaceX for a trip into the cosmos, I sure would have done by now.

While Karanth’s books made me imagine the greatness of the physical world vividly and make plans to visit them when I’d grow up, books of history and historical novels created awe and wonder about human creations. K V Iyer’s Roopadarshi made me travel the bylines of Rome and imagine the Sistine chapel and its glory, and his book on Shantala aroused a passion in me to see every Hoysala temple. Books on evolution of civilisations aroused curiosity about the pyramids and other remnants and ruins from the days long past. 

A rock formation somewhere near Manta Point, Bali Islands

However, travel didn't happen just like that after I became an adult.  I had to overcome difficulties that I had in my head - about seeing people in strange places, and deal with them.  It wasn't the same as waking up and going to work (in known, secure surroundings).  I had to find a way to bury the ghosts of past - of my fears of people, of being bullied, or physically assaulted. This sounds silly now as I am a stronger, bulkier man today, but there are times when I don't remember this, and still imagine myself as a puny little thing that needs to hide away. 

For example, the reasons I wanted to travel to Vietnam were because of its natural beauty; the Ha Long Bay, a UNESCO world heritage site was the primary reason.  Other UNESCO sites like Hue, Hoi An, and Ninh Binh too played a role.  What tipped the scale was my interest in international politics; the Vietnamese war with the Americans, which has figured in so many spy thrillers written by American novelists (usually jingoistic, and one which portrays Vietnamese in either bad light, or as people that needed to be rescued by the White men from the clutches of the big bad Communist wolves).  

Giant Malabar Squirrel, Dandeli

But, my writing would barely touch upon any of these places, how they were, and how I enjoyed being there, or what one must do to see them, etc.  Those inputs would be found all across the web and books and mags (imagine! Even in this digital age there are printed travel mags)! The idea of writing the travelogue is to share my experience of being in another country, and my observations of the places and people there, than describing the monuments (that you can find in umpteen places on the net).  And, all deductions are based on how people conducted - either as tour guides, as people who helped us with luggage, vendors, hotel staff, random strangers who chose to talk to us, and so on. As I said before, I am shy and I do not initiate conversations with people by myself, unless my life (or something close) depends on it.  Else, I mind my business; I even hate asking for directions, unless I am truly lost.  This reticent attitude has put me in danger several times, but I haven't yet learnt any lesson (will one day write about those experiences too, but this post is not about them). 

A Serene View of the Himalayas, somewhere in Tibet

When I was struggling with my life in 2018 post a breakup, I hit upon the idea of making a bucket list.  '50 things to do before I turn 50', was born out of my desperation to survive and get out of the depression that I had gotten myself into.  And, when I made that list, half the things I wanted to do pertained to travel (it helped me in the process of my recovery, apart from hitting the gym, and working out regularly).  This brush with depression also made me less taciturn, and helped me open up about myself with at least the close people in life - my sister (she was instrumental in this), partner, and a couple of close friends.  I didn't do all those 50 things (Covid too played a role in that), but it was terribly helpful to pursue them. They sure helped me stay sane and not turn cuckoo. 

Everyone collects souvenirs when they travel, I guess. “Even memories are souvenirs”, says my sagely partner. My dad keeps all the boarding passes of the travel the has done beyond the borders of India.  He too loves to travel, and enjoys visiting museums (takes copious notes of every exhibit, and comes back and tells everyone the stories of those exhibits). I even know of friends who plan a sex date in every country/city they visit, and keep the scores (yes, believe me, this isn't made up). You might even laugh at the souvenirs I pick up while I travel.  Just those fridge magnets, and nothing else.  I am not a hoarder, nor have any interest in curios, statuettes, or paintings (may be because they are expensive too). My mom is sure I bought a bigger fridge just to accommodate all my fridge magnets!  Collecting fridge magnets, to me, appears to be the extension of my hobby of philately while growing up.  Today I don't actively collect stamps (and I have safeguarded my collection of possibly over 5,000 stamps and first day covers from across the world; one of the few things I have managed to keep and not discard).  

Some of my souvenirs

Travels have helped me each for sure but there have been some bad experiences during too. And they also have taught me some important lessons (will possibly write a separate post on those).  Despite lessons, my spree of committing mistakes during travels continues (I find new ones, to be fair to myself)! As I have so much time to think (and not act) on my hands, I chose to write this long-winding piece of self-flagellation.  And, just share how much I miss travelling. 

  

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