Interested to see comments that I made in this blog earlier about the new architects material being reproduced on the 'fuckyeaharchitects' tumblr site. I mean? How the hell? Its fascinating.. I wonder who, of the handful of people who ctually read my ramblings would 'leak' the comments, or, has somebody got some super sensitive search software that can sniff out comments on Architects even buried in some inconsequential blog?
Therefore I thought I'd make some more comments and see how quickly they are spotted and used!
So, here goes..........
Its absolutely wonderful being an Architects(uk) Dad! One of the many things I have to thank Tom and Dan for is keeping me up to date with all the latest sounds, theres so much amazing stuff out there that I'd never be able to on my own and most of my old mates, no matter how into music, seem to have got stuck somewhere in the 80's, 90's or 00's; dont get me wrong, i love dance and electronica, I love indie , but without Tom and Dans influence I would never have got into metalcore etc. My favorite band is currently Dillinger Escape Plan and I search in vain for friends of my age who also dig that sound. Why should this be? DEP are utterly awesome, they rock, they're inventive as hell, they're original, whats not to like?! One comment that I have heard from several people is 'its the shouting/screaming that I can't take' . Get over it! Give it a chance, any half decent music takes a while to get into but once you suss it theres a shitload to enjoy...
So anyway, Architects and thier progression: The new album will be very distinctly Architects, that is, my friends won't like it! However, Tom's songwriting is definitely maturing. The thing that really exites me about the new stuff is that it has a distinctly euphoric edge, there's builds and breaks like good euphoric trance but it's still heavy as fuck, fast, tight and experimental.....
Of course the final sound will be vastly different from the demos on my ipod, I'm hoping that some of the wonderful, delicate and tasteful drum and guitar work will not be lost but with the new album being producted by *************** ( not sure if this is public domain info yet) I can guarantee that it will be unbefuckinlievable.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Magic weekend
Friday evening and off to Phansad. This time of year is soo nice in Maharasthra, hot sun in the day, cool evenings, low humidity and light breezes make for what, to me, is a near ideal climate. As the end of winter approaches many of the forest trees are flowering and this makes, not only for delicious scents and wonderful sights but also a magnet for wildlife. We arrive late and find the forest lodge full and Sadha the caretaker nowhere to be found, I end up sleeping under canvas on a concrete floor. Not a fantastic night I have to say! As soon as the sun was up we were off for a walk down to the local village to check out the birding. Good but not fantastic, all the usual suspects but nothing else. Whilst walking I learned that there was another ‘foreigner’ staying along with a guide from the BNHS, this man, an Australian apparently, has written The field guide to the birds of East Africa. Wow, an uber birder, staying at Phansad! I was extremely interested to meet him and, arriving back at base there is indeed a ‘foreigner’ eating a bowl of breakfast Poha. I say hello and he replies in an extremely unOzzie voice. Turns out he’s from London although now lives in Canberra, and yes he’s written the aforementioned field guide but - it’s a novel! It's title is ‘A guide to the birds of East Africa – A Novel’ . His name is Nick Drayson and he’s a naturalist/novelist and it turns out an extremely agreeable fellow.
After breakfast we jump in my car and head down to a favorite water hole, Nick is wandering about turning stones and, (beginners luck?) finds a beautiful but unbelievably aggressive little Wolf Snake. Then we drive down to Murud for the usual beery lunch where Nick and I discuss the wonder that is 'A good pint of English wallop'and swap increasing outrageous birding stories before heading back up the mountain and more birding. We visit an area of jungle that we have never been to before and, barely out of the car, we see a Blue Faced Malcoa, a lifer for me! High fives all around but within half an hour we have also clocked up Humes and Large billed Leaf Warblers, two more lifers ending a looong dry spell for me. Excellent!
After a short siesta we’re back to the water hole, we’ve been hearing about this ‘ere Sri Lankan Frogmouth for months now but never seen or heard beak nor feather of it and so we sit in silence and watch the dusk fade to night, its a wonderful experience with certain caveats...the birds settle down and the bats and moths come out. We’re smothered in deet but the mossies seem to take no notice and we are surrounded by a hungry and persistent swarm of them. Twice we heard, indeed I recorded, the screeching cry of the Frogmouth but in the end we are forced out of the jungle by the shear number of bitey things.
The next morning the extent of the damage is clear, not only a zillion mossie bites but I have at least a dozen bites from the Argasid soft tick which I know are going to drive me crazy with itching over the next three to four weeks, they are already swollen and weeping. It seems that nothing can keep these little horrors at bay and all my compatriots are suffering equally. Nick tells us that he has suffered equally in Australia with Argasid bites and recommends a scrubbing brush to relieve the itching! We try to forget about the long list of nasty tick borne diseases.....
Sunday morning say our goodbyes and head down to the local beaches but apart from Turnsones and Sand Plovers there is little about and so we decide to tackle Kankeshwar.
I have often been birding around the bottom of this large and forbidding hill and once started the climb up the x hundred steps to the temple complex at the top but on that occasion was driven back by the sun and fear of sunstroke. This time I have a hat and some water and we decide to ‘go for the summit’ as the top is an excellent spot for raptor watching. It’s a hard and hot plod up the steps and for the most part there is no shade, our hearts are soon pounding and the sweat gushing. This is one of those climbs with many false summits which you make an effort for only to find yet another steep section ahead. At one point we see a Cobra hastily retreating into the bushes. Eventually , exhausted and dehydrated and sun scorched we reach the top and are able to admire the temples of Hanuman, Shiva and Ganesh and settle down on the edge of a cliff with a view across twenty kilometers or so to the coast. Spotted eagles, Common buzzard, Oriental Honey Buzzard glide past at intervals concluding a fab weekends birding. Walking back down ( in flip flops) turns out to be more painful than the walk up and my leg muscles are still hurting as I write this, four days later……
After breakfast we jump in my car and head down to a favorite water hole, Nick is wandering about turning stones and, (beginners luck?) finds a beautiful but unbelievably aggressive little Wolf Snake. Then we drive down to Murud for the usual beery lunch where Nick and I discuss the wonder that is 'A good pint of English wallop'and swap increasing outrageous birding stories before heading back up the mountain and more birding. We visit an area of jungle that we have never been to before and, barely out of the car, we see a Blue Faced Malcoa, a lifer for me! High fives all around but within half an hour we have also clocked up Humes and Large billed Leaf Warblers, two more lifers ending a looong dry spell for me. Excellent!
After a short siesta we’re back to the water hole, we’ve been hearing about this ‘ere Sri Lankan Frogmouth for months now but never seen or heard beak nor feather of it and so we sit in silence and watch the dusk fade to night, its a wonderful experience with certain caveats...the birds settle down and the bats and moths come out. We’re smothered in deet but the mossies seem to take no notice and we are surrounded by a hungry and persistent swarm of them. Twice we heard, indeed I recorded, the screeching cry of the Frogmouth but in the end we are forced out of the jungle by the shear number of bitey things.
The next morning the extent of the damage is clear, not only a zillion mossie bites but I have at least a dozen bites from the Argasid soft tick which I know are going to drive me crazy with itching over the next three to four weeks, they are already swollen and weeping. It seems that nothing can keep these little horrors at bay and all my compatriots are suffering equally. Nick tells us that he has suffered equally in Australia with Argasid bites and recommends a scrubbing brush to relieve the itching! We try to forget about the long list of nasty tick borne diseases.....
Sunday morning say our goodbyes and head down to the local beaches but apart from Turnsones and Sand Plovers there is little about and so we decide to tackle Kankeshwar.
I have often been birding around the bottom of this large and forbidding hill and once started the climb up the x hundred steps to the temple complex at the top but on that occasion was driven back by the sun and fear of sunstroke. This time I have a hat and some water and we decide to ‘go for the summit’ as the top is an excellent spot for raptor watching. It’s a hard and hot plod up the steps and for the most part there is no shade, our hearts are soon pounding and the sweat gushing. This is one of those climbs with many false summits which you make an effort for only to find yet another steep section ahead. At one point we see a Cobra hastily retreating into the bushes. Eventually , exhausted and dehydrated and sun scorched we reach the top and are able to admire the temples of Hanuman, Shiva and Ganesh and settle down on the edge of a cliff with a view across twenty kilometers or so to the coast. Spotted eagles, Common buzzard, Oriental Honey Buzzard glide past at intervals concluding a fab weekends birding. Walking back down ( in flip flops) turns out to be more painful than the walk up and my leg muscles are still hurting as I write this, four days later……
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Jungle Story - 2
By the light of a cigarette lighter, Henri consulted his watch, it was well past midnight if indeed his G-shock was working correctly,its built-in light was not working but he could nevertheless make out numerals, he and Jenny had been standing together in the pitch dark for almost an hour and in fact it seemed longer, they were desperate to sit down but an examination of the ground beneath them had quickly persuaded them that this was not a good plan given the numbers of anys swarming over the path and Henri had found that his trousers already bore the sticky red evidence of leech bites, plus they seemed to be standing in the centre of a cloud of mosquitoes. Clearly they were going to have to make a decision, waiting until the morning light was out of the question, their cell phones were malfunctioning, the display flickering and dying as soon as they tried them. As they waited their eyes had become accustomed to the scant starlight filtering through the trees above, however this was only sufficient for them to be able to make out vague shapes and the more they strained to make out the path the more they became aware of the static and floaters that drifted in and out of their vision. The jungle around them pulsed with the noises of crickets and tree frogs, nightjars and the sudden noises of falling twigs and jungle fruits. Every now and again there came the crack of a breaking piece of wood or the crunch of a dried teak leaf indicating the passage of some animal, usually this was tens of meters away but every so often the sound came from something disconcertingly close. ‘OK’ said Henri after a particularly unnerving invisible close encouter, ‘lets move, I’m certain the path lead in this direction, as long as we climb, we must be going in the right direction and the village can only be a couple of kilometers away ?’
And so, with Jenny holding onto his arm, Henri took a tentative step in what they fervently hoped was the right direction. Progress was painfully slow as each step had to be taken very deliberately.
They had barely taken three steps when the disk reappeared, or rather, disks because there seemed to be a number of them. This time they were really close by or at least appeared to be as there was something about them that made them difficult to focus on, the size of them was therefore hard to estimate and there was something in the way that they moved which seemed to produce a motion sickness-like nausea that both of them felt. The disks were bright and yet did not illuminate the jungle around them and they appeared to be connected in some way, as though they were multiple kaleidoscopic images of one object.
Neither Jenny or Henri moved or spoke, it was as though they were paralyzed, although not with fear as they both felt strongly calm, simply suspended in time, awaiting the next development. As one they abruptly turned, they had both felt a sensation of there being something behind them, something watching them, the turn was in fact absolutely involuntary as though they had been commanded. Barely two meters from them stood a woman, brilliantly illuminated by the disks, she appeared to be clad in a dark cloak but it was the face and the eyes in particular that grabbed and held their attention. The face was not Indian but rather, faintly oriental and with pale skin, it possessed a harsh angular beauty accented by bright glistering green eyes. Again they stood mute and still, again they experienced an amazing degree of calmness given the situation they found themselves in. The disk light, illuminating the apparition only and not the surrounding foliage gave it the impression of floating in space.
Back in the village, Chu, Ashwin and Rajesh were now extremely worried, they had just returned from a walkback along the forest path and had encountered no sign of Jenny and Henri , they had shouted themselves horse and had now assumed that they had wandered off the path and become lost. They had experienced a fright when thier torches all winked of simultaneously, however they had all come back on after a few seconds. There really was nothing to do until dawn but the worry that thier frinds had fallen down one of the steep rocky gullies that wound through the jungle was very real. Poachers were a concern as well but the possibility of real harm coming from one of the locals and their ancient inaccurate rifles had to be a distant one. Such was the level of anxiety that they could not sleep and so they sat in silence chain smoking and trying to think of something that they could do. The villagers showed a degree of concern but when asked for assistance simply shrugged and retired to bed. Around them the jungle hummed and chattered with life, seemingly oblivious to the small drama unfolding within it.
The figure took a step towards them and from within the dark cloak-like garment came two thin arms ending in skeletal, talon-like hands, the wrists were laden with bands and thin metallic chains from which were suspended a myriad of glittering objects. The hands suddenly shot forward and grabbed Henri by the right forearm and Jenny by the left. She wanted to scream , to cry out as the strong bony fingers tightened around her arm but the scream would not come, she was mute as in a dream or nightmare. There was a fierce tugging and before they knew it they were borne aloft, up through the upper tier of the jungle vegetation and out over the mountains. The tugging eased of and apart from the vice-like grip of those hands they felt as though they were floating, thousands of feet below, the jungle-clad mountains went on and on and… on until the very horizon, no lights nor any other sign of human habitation could be seen under the starlight-illuminated landscape. Between them was the apparition, a black shape, head facing forward, fixed, the garment flowing smoothly in the stream of air without disturbance. Henri had decided that this was either a dream or he was dead, Jenny concluded that she must have some illness, a fever perhaps, that was causing these wild distortions in reality. Both felt altogether unreasonably calm.
At last there were lights down below and they abruptly started a steep spiraling descent towards the source of illumination. They alighted gently on a large moss covered slab of rock, it too was brightly illuminated by a number of gently vibrating ethereal disks of light. The figure moved away from them and off the slab of rock, however their arms remained locked in the apparent grip of those bony talons which forced them to stand as though one arm was fixed to some immovable object. Looking at her arm, Jenny could quite clearly see the depressions in her forearm where the grip was maintained.
A disk came towards them, or at least it grew in size, they both stared at it, it was utterly hypnotic, its surface danced and vibrated, the colour yellowish-white at times, bluish-white at others, indistinct patterns swarmed and writhed on its surface, and while they watched spellbound they saw faces start to appear in the patterns, some ancient archetypes, some clearly modern Indian, they saw far eastern, Japanese faces, Indonesian, Amerindian, then friends and family, they saw their parents faces, old and young, friends, lovers all come and go in a long flowing series, and then they saw themselves as in a fierce mirror, the outlines and features were crystal clear although constantly changing with a strange vibration. They saw themselves in agony, in ecstasy, in fear and in calm as children and in ancient old age, they were fascinated beyond their experience, rapt and did not even notice that they were now sitting, their arms released as the show in front of their faces continued to unfold.
At dawn, they had at first phoned and then driven to the little town at the bottom of the mountain. The local forest officer was not best pleased to have been roused so early, especially after a late night drinking Todi with friends. He blinked at them as they told their story and appeared utterly uninterested, however he made a few calls in the local dialect, finally announcing that they should go back and begin a search while he waited for some local police to arrive, it would be a matter of ‘a few minutes’ which they all knew could mean hours. Nevertheless, it was all they could do and actually getting out and searching did seem to be the most practical thing that could be done.
Back at the village they all assembled and followed the path down into the valley they had visited the previous evening. Down in the valley the jungle was quiet, eerily so in fact, not only was there no bird song but no insects were to be heard. Once at the bottom, the place they all agreed they had been the night before, they slowly started to make their way back up along the path, scanning the ground to try to find anything that may give them a clue as to the fate of their friends. Every fifty meters or so they stopped and yelled and then stood silently hoping for some response, nothing answered back however, nothing whatsoever. The group finally reached a place that they all agreed was approximately where they had stopped and listened to the Sri Lankan Frogmouth only a few hours earlier. ‘There must be something here’ whispered Rajesh, ‘Amit, you’re a guide, can you see any sign that they were here or that something happened?’ Amit merely shook his head slowly. ‘The jungle spirit took them’, was his explanation. After a few minutes of standing helplessly they decided to go back to the village, as they went to move off, a shadow passed briefly over the sun, a large bird of some sort, a vulture perhaps but they shivered collectively for some unknown reason and glanced at each other exchanging unreadable looks while Amit smiled to himself.
And so, with Jenny holding onto his arm, Henri took a tentative step in what they fervently hoped was the right direction. Progress was painfully slow as each step had to be taken very deliberately.
They had barely taken three steps when the disk reappeared, or rather, disks because there seemed to be a number of them. This time they were really close by or at least appeared to be as there was something about them that made them difficult to focus on, the size of them was therefore hard to estimate and there was something in the way that they moved which seemed to produce a motion sickness-like nausea that both of them felt. The disks were bright and yet did not illuminate the jungle around them and they appeared to be connected in some way, as though they were multiple kaleidoscopic images of one object.
Neither Jenny or Henri moved or spoke, it was as though they were paralyzed, although not with fear as they both felt strongly calm, simply suspended in time, awaiting the next development. As one they abruptly turned, they had both felt a sensation of there being something behind them, something watching them, the turn was in fact absolutely involuntary as though they had been commanded. Barely two meters from them stood a woman, brilliantly illuminated by the disks, she appeared to be clad in a dark cloak but it was the face and the eyes in particular that grabbed and held their attention. The face was not Indian but rather, faintly oriental and with pale skin, it possessed a harsh angular beauty accented by bright glistering green eyes. Again they stood mute and still, again they experienced an amazing degree of calmness given the situation they found themselves in. The disk light, illuminating the apparition only and not the surrounding foliage gave it the impression of floating in space.
Back in the village, Chu, Ashwin and Rajesh were now extremely worried, they had just returned from a walkback along the forest path and had encountered no sign of Jenny and Henri , they had shouted themselves horse and had now assumed that they had wandered off the path and become lost. They had experienced a fright when thier torches all winked of simultaneously, however they had all come back on after a few seconds. There really was nothing to do until dawn but the worry that thier frinds had fallen down one of the steep rocky gullies that wound through the jungle was very real. Poachers were a concern as well but the possibility of real harm coming from one of the locals and their ancient inaccurate rifles had to be a distant one. Such was the level of anxiety that they could not sleep and so they sat in silence chain smoking and trying to think of something that they could do. The villagers showed a degree of concern but when asked for assistance simply shrugged and retired to bed. Around them the jungle hummed and chattered with life, seemingly oblivious to the small drama unfolding within it.
The figure took a step towards them and from within the dark cloak-like garment came two thin arms ending in skeletal, talon-like hands, the wrists were laden with bands and thin metallic chains from which were suspended a myriad of glittering objects. The hands suddenly shot forward and grabbed Henri by the right forearm and Jenny by the left. She wanted to scream , to cry out as the strong bony fingers tightened around her arm but the scream would not come, she was mute as in a dream or nightmare. There was a fierce tugging and before they knew it they were borne aloft, up through the upper tier of the jungle vegetation and out over the mountains. The tugging eased of and apart from the vice-like grip of those hands they felt as though they were floating, thousands of feet below, the jungle-clad mountains went on and on and… on until the very horizon, no lights nor any other sign of human habitation could be seen under the starlight-illuminated landscape. Between them was the apparition, a black shape, head facing forward, fixed, the garment flowing smoothly in the stream of air without disturbance. Henri had decided that this was either a dream or he was dead, Jenny concluded that she must have some illness, a fever perhaps, that was causing these wild distortions in reality. Both felt altogether unreasonably calm.
At last there were lights down below and they abruptly started a steep spiraling descent towards the source of illumination. They alighted gently on a large moss covered slab of rock, it too was brightly illuminated by a number of gently vibrating ethereal disks of light. The figure moved away from them and off the slab of rock, however their arms remained locked in the apparent grip of those bony talons which forced them to stand as though one arm was fixed to some immovable object. Looking at her arm, Jenny could quite clearly see the depressions in her forearm where the grip was maintained.
A disk came towards them, or at least it grew in size, they both stared at it, it was utterly hypnotic, its surface danced and vibrated, the colour yellowish-white at times, bluish-white at others, indistinct patterns swarmed and writhed on its surface, and while they watched spellbound they saw faces start to appear in the patterns, some ancient archetypes, some clearly modern Indian, they saw far eastern, Japanese faces, Indonesian, Amerindian, then friends and family, they saw their parents faces, old and young, friends, lovers all come and go in a long flowing series, and then they saw themselves as in a fierce mirror, the outlines and features were crystal clear although constantly changing with a strange vibration. They saw themselves in agony, in ecstasy, in fear and in calm as children and in ancient old age, they were fascinated beyond their experience, rapt and did not even notice that they were now sitting, their arms released as the show in front of their faces continued to unfold.
At dawn, they had at first phoned and then driven to the little town at the bottom of the mountain. The local forest officer was not best pleased to have been roused so early, especially after a late night drinking Todi with friends. He blinked at them as they told their story and appeared utterly uninterested, however he made a few calls in the local dialect, finally announcing that they should go back and begin a search while he waited for some local police to arrive, it would be a matter of ‘a few minutes’ which they all knew could mean hours. Nevertheless, it was all they could do and actually getting out and searching did seem to be the most practical thing that could be done.
Back at the village they all assembled and followed the path down into the valley they had visited the previous evening. Down in the valley the jungle was quiet, eerily so in fact, not only was there no bird song but no insects were to be heard. Once at the bottom, the place they all agreed they had been the night before, they slowly started to make their way back up along the path, scanning the ground to try to find anything that may give them a clue as to the fate of their friends. Every fifty meters or so they stopped and yelled and then stood silently hoping for some response, nothing answered back however, nothing whatsoever. The group finally reached a place that they all agreed was approximately where they had stopped and listened to the Sri Lankan Frogmouth only a few hours earlier. ‘There must be something here’ whispered Rajesh, ‘Amit, you’re a guide, can you see any sign that they were here or that something happened?’ Amit merely shook his head slowly. ‘The jungle spirit took them’, was his explanation. After a few minutes of standing helplessly they decided to go back to the village, as they went to move off, a shadow passed briefly over the sun, a large bird of some sort, a vulture perhaps but they shivered collectively for some unknown reason and glanced at each other exchanging unreadable looks while Amit smiled to himself.
Bullshit!
I have heard it said that the first casualty of war is truth and I’m sure that this statement has a high degree of validity. It is not just in war that truth suffers however: These days, in business and commerce, lies and hypocrisy are as rampant as they are in most religions. A really nice example that manages to combine a blatant lie with an unashamed dose of hypocrisy is: ‘We are an ethical and transparent organisation’. I just love that one and I hear it trotted out by some many company executives these days that I have become desensitized to it.
This issue has risen to the fore in my mind recently because I’m in India and in India, because of a combination of poverty, wealth, deprivation, exploitation, religious, and cultural conflict, truth, real truth has become desperately hard to find. The statements of politicians, businessmen, journalists, community leaders, authority figures, salesmen et al, are almost always, if not blatant lies; at best half truths, nonsense, bizspeak and marketing bullshit (MB). Here in India we are adrift in a mass of misinformation, ignorance, vested interests and just plain damn lies.
Whilst this is undoubtedly a serious matter for many reasons and on many levels, it does have its ironies; I have been amused to observe that many companies are focused in ensuring that their customers and suppliers are as thoroughly deceived as possible are at the same time the very people who fall most heavily for other companies MB. In short they have become so entangled in their own web of deception that they have lost the ability to tell when others are deceiving them. I contend that in India this mire of crap has so inveigled its way into the general culture that it is actually hampering the development that is used to justify it in the first place.
The richness and diversity of the bullshit ecosystem in India really warrants a ‘Field guide to Common Indian Bollocks’. My work commitments do not alas permit me to take this great and thoroughly worthwhile project forwards and so it, along with so many others, such as my ‘Good Cream Tea Guide’ will doubtless never see the light of day, however, I’ll try, as much for my own understanding as yours, to at least tease out the main categories of bullshit that are commonly encountered here.
1) Plain factual inaccuracies.
These are nearly always caused by simple ignorance. I have been told several times that next week, Mars will come so close to the Earth that it will be larger than the moon. I have read it in the paper and been told about it by senior science graduates. It’s printed in the paper so it must be true. Nobody actually sits and thinks about these things.
I read today in the Times Of India that Richard Branson’s new submarine will cruise at a depth of 37,000 feet under the ocean…..
2) Internet scams.
As I stated above, it amazes me that a people so surrounded by and used to lies are taken in, hook line and sinker by the most pathetically obvious internet scams. I have been told repeatedly that Chinese eat human babies and that you can buy tinned and bottled human babies in many Chinese shops. I regularly receive virals from colleagues, some who even doctor them to sound like they are coming from a personal acquaintance. This is bullshit unknowingly perpetrated by bullshitters! Lovely!
3) Marketing and advertising bullshit.
So far I have only described lies that are perpetrated out of ignorance. It’s forgivable, especially in a country where the educational system is in terminal disrepair, where science graduates ( and I’ve interviewed quite a few) have virtually no knowledge of general science, hell, I’ve interviewed chemistry graduates who do not know what a hydrocarbon is, so the above comes as no surprise, except perhaps the level of gullibility that many so-called educated people have.
When it comes to marketing and advertising, especially in a country that has no trades descriptions act, the lies become all encompassing and everyday. This stuff ranges from ultra blatant lying to half truths, smoke and mirrors. Indeed there is a certain stratum of business executive that exists simply to invent and perpetrate clever lies designed to fool suppliers, customers and legal authorities extant throughout the business and political communities. Everybody is at it in some form or another.
‘Now’, I hear you saying, ‘this is the same the world over surely?’ And indeed it is, in India however, I contend that it is less subtle, and more deeply engrained into the very fabric of organizations than anywhere else I have ever been and what is more, has become such a part of everyday life that many people have lost the basic concept of ‘truth’. Many of the people who are engaged in this activity are not bad people in themselves, indeed, often the opposite, they are often religious, moral, kind, unselfish people in themselves but when questioned have an attitude that the dissemination of lies and half truths is a simple everyday necessity, and who the hell am I to say they are wrong?
4) Corruption.
Now we enter a dark and murky realm. When it comes to corruption, India is an old hand, who knows? Perhaps the oldest…. Whatever, corruption intrudes into every single layer of society and touches every person living in India, it is such a common and normal thing that it is accepted simply as a part of life b pretty much everybody. Enough said I think.
I could go on…… but I won’t cos I have made my point and pretty obvious it is an’ all, its been cathartic for me anyway and that was the point of my ran I expect. Now then, I really must get down to the continuation of my Jungle Story.
Ta ra for now peeps.
This issue has risen to the fore in my mind recently because I’m in India and in India, because of a combination of poverty, wealth, deprivation, exploitation, religious, and cultural conflict, truth, real truth has become desperately hard to find. The statements of politicians, businessmen, journalists, community leaders, authority figures, salesmen et al, are almost always, if not blatant lies; at best half truths, nonsense, bizspeak and marketing bullshit (MB). Here in India we are adrift in a mass of misinformation, ignorance, vested interests and just plain damn lies.
Whilst this is undoubtedly a serious matter for many reasons and on many levels, it does have its ironies; I have been amused to observe that many companies are focused in ensuring that their customers and suppliers are as thoroughly deceived as possible are at the same time the very people who fall most heavily for other companies MB. In short they have become so entangled in their own web of deception that they have lost the ability to tell when others are deceiving them. I contend that in India this mire of crap has so inveigled its way into the general culture that it is actually hampering the development that is used to justify it in the first place.
The richness and diversity of the bullshit ecosystem in India really warrants a ‘Field guide to Common Indian Bollocks’. My work commitments do not alas permit me to take this great and thoroughly worthwhile project forwards and so it, along with so many others, such as my ‘Good Cream Tea Guide’ will doubtless never see the light of day, however, I’ll try, as much for my own understanding as yours, to at least tease out the main categories of bullshit that are commonly encountered here.
1) Plain factual inaccuracies.
These are nearly always caused by simple ignorance. I have been told several times that next week, Mars will come so close to the Earth that it will be larger than the moon. I have read it in the paper and been told about it by senior science graduates. It’s printed in the paper so it must be true. Nobody actually sits and thinks about these things.
I read today in the Times Of India that Richard Branson’s new submarine will cruise at a depth of 37,000 feet under the ocean…..
2) Internet scams.
As I stated above, it amazes me that a people so surrounded by and used to lies are taken in, hook line and sinker by the most pathetically obvious internet scams. I have been told repeatedly that Chinese eat human babies and that you can buy tinned and bottled human babies in many Chinese shops. I regularly receive virals from colleagues, some who even doctor them to sound like they are coming from a personal acquaintance. This is bullshit unknowingly perpetrated by bullshitters! Lovely!
3) Marketing and advertising bullshit.
So far I have only described lies that are perpetrated out of ignorance. It’s forgivable, especially in a country where the educational system is in terminal disrepair, where science graduates ( and I’ve interviewed quite a few) have virtually no knowledge of general science, hell, I’ve interviewed chemistry graduates who do not know what a hydrocarbon is, so the above comes as no surprise, except perhaps the level of gullibility that many so-called educated people have.
When it comes to marketing and advertising, especially in a country that has no trades descriptions act, the lies become all encompassing and everyday. This stuff ranges from ultra blatant lying to half truths, smoke and mirrors. Indeed there is a certain stratum of business executive that exists simply to invent and perpetrate clever lies designed to fool suppliers, customers and legal authorities extant throughout the business and political communities. Everybody is at it in some form or another.
‘Now’, I hear you saying, ‘this is the same the world over surely?’ And indeed it is, in India however, I contend that it is less subtle, and more deeply engrained into the very fabric of organizations than anywhere else I have ever been and what is more, has become such a part of everyday life that many people have lost the basic concept of ‘truth’. Many of the people who are engaged in this activity are not bad people in themselves, indeed, often the opposite, they are often religious, moral, kind, unselfish people in themselves but when questioned have an attitude that the dissemination of lies and half truths is a simple everyday necessity, and who the hell am I to say they are wrong?
4) Corruption.
Now we enter a dark and murky realm. When it comes to corruption, India is an old hand, who knows? Perhaps the oldest…. Whatever, corruption intrudes into every single layer of society and touches every person living in India, it is such a common and normal thing that it is accepted simply as a part of life b pretty much everybody. Enough said I think.
I could go on…… but I won’t cos I have made my point and pretty obvious it is an’ all, its been cathartic for me anyway and that was the point of my ran I expect. Now then, I really must get down to the continuation of my Jungle Story.
Ta ra for now peeps.
Monday, February 8, 2010
My Goa Hell
Lunchtime on Friday found me in the domestic terminal of Mumbai airport waiting to board a flight bound for Goa. In twenty-one years of visiting the subcontinent, Goa is one state I had never visited so when my mate Gary invited me to come and stay in his little bungalow five minutes from Anjuna beach I decided the time had come. The 40 minute flight over I emerged blinking into the bright Goan afternoon sunlight to find Rupesh, the taxi driver, general Mr fix it and all round cool guy waiting to whisk me to Anjuna, just over an hour away. Barely ten minutes into the trip I realized that Goa is not just another small India coastal state but, in effect, a different country; India Lite if you will… Firstly there’s the infrastructure and the way that it has been developed: Compared to the whole of the rest of India it is more European; wide, well surfaced roads lead through neat little towns devoid of litter, there is a strong Portuguese influence in the architecture and the countryside appears green and lush. Arriving at Gary’s charming old bungalow complete with a peacock living in the little walled garden, I was already in thrall to the places’ charms; however I had not even begun to scratch the surface.
After unpacking and having a welcome cold beer I jumped on the back of Gary’s scooter and we zoomed off towards the beach. The drive was delightful, through winding country lanes draped with bougainvillea, woodland alternating with tranquil country vistas, coconut palms and paddy fields until we veered of the tarmac and onto a narrow red dust path finally ending up at a small bike park with a lane leading off towards the beach. We approached the beach through the back of a large bamboo beach bar, a blonde dreadlocked guy was DJing a very mellow Goa trance set and in front of the rows of recliners was the Arabian sea, lapping gently onto one of the most perfect beaches I have ever seen. Immaculate soft white sand with not a stone or piece of litter, sweeping along a bay with beach bars dotted at random along its length. I was blown away. Blown Away.
Now this all sounds a bit ‘travel brochure’, however it does seem to me that there is an extra something here that no photograph or description can fully communicate, however, I’ll try:
Anjuna beach seems to me to have a certain uber- tasteful cool. The pace is slow, the music groovy , its volume not sufficient to disturb, the huge speakers point straight out to sea, fifty meters along the beach you can hardly hear the music. There’s an air of friendliness and tolerance, it is utterly cosmopolitan and the locals seem to take part and enjoy the scene as much as the visitors. It is Glastonbury by the sea on a perfect summers day, or maybe Amsterdam on Sea. At this time of year the weather is totally predictable, clear blue skies and clear starry nights, perhaps 30C at midday and 15C at midnight, light sea breezes are cooling and carry subtle perfumes from the many flowering trees and plants. If this all sounds rather amazing well all I can say is that that is how it seems to me. Stepping onto that beach was an almost consciousness changing event. The beach was far from crowded and a few meters long from the beach bars, almost deserted. We strolled along to a headland only to discover another similar bay with its assorted seaside bars and small restaurants. We spotted a deserted bar comprising tent like structures containing huge luxurious sofas arranged either side of a massive bronze Buddah with giant earthenware bowls of floating flowers scattered around. Steps lead up from the beach into a place that I can only describe as a combination antique shop and chill out room with huge antique double beds giving a view straight out to sea. We chose a sofa and were immediately given a menu of the food and drinks available. Fab service, very low prices, the best seat on the entire beach. We watched the sunset eating Indian snacks, drinking ice cold beers and smoking to our hearts content!
Saturday and we set of on Gary’s Scooter to explore the beaches further north. I have read that this area is hippie central for Goa and I can believe it, this has to be one of the largest concentrations of old hippies anywhere! Lots of dreadlocks, tattoos, chains, bells and quite probably ‘books of Indian lore’. I could be extremely cynical and scathing about the place but I simply don’t have the heart because it’s simply so beautiful and it so clearly ‘works’.
Stopped for a rest and a drink at a clifftop bar, dropped in at a wonderful café in one of the many villages for breakfast where Indian and European food of equally high quality was being provided. A fantastic place for people watching, with bronzed bare torsos driving past on chopped Royal Enfields, dreadlocks flying and ankle bells ringing and everywhere smiles, laughter and a backdrop of Goa trance….
Then onto ( dur, forgotten the name) a village that has what must be one of the longest streets of ( for want of a better word) headshops in the world. We browsed, Gary bought a guitar and I bought a lantern and a scarf. We sat and ate Tapas and had a few beers in an organic holistic vegetarian bar whilst watching the world go by ( or the absolutely coolest part of it anyway).
Back to Anjuna for the sunset and then onto the local Italian restaurant for what was a very fine Italian meal complete with Italian red wine and all the other usual ‘Goa’ accompaniments. Service was a tad slow but frankly, in Goa, who really cares?
Sunday after a lie in we breakfasted at Six Pack, Gary’s ‘local’ where I met up with Rupesh once again and let breakfast turn slowly into lunch before I had to depart once again for the airport and the flight back to (sob)Mumbai.
As I said above, I could , if I really wanted, nit pick or more, I could talk about the way that the Europeans flaunt maybe rather to much bare flesh for the locals happiness, however Goa is a Christian state and I don’t think that anybody was particularly upset. Or maybe about the obscenity of the difference in life styles between the hippies of Anjuna and the Sum dwellers of Daravi, but the difference between the lifestyles of Indian Businessmen living a stones throw from Daravi are an even greater obscenity. I could make dry remarks about old hippies, about the aimlessness and emptiness of the hedonistic lifestyle but at the end of the day these comments would be trite and shallow because the thing that amazed me about the north Goa coast experience most of all is simply how indescribably chilled, cool and lovely it actually is. 11/10!
After unpacking and having a welcome cold beer I jumped on the back of Gary’s scooter and we zoomed off towards the beach. The drive was delightful, through winding country lanes draped with bougainvillea, woodland alternating with tranquil country vistas, coconut palms and paddy fields until we veered of the tarmac and onto a narrow red dust path finally ending up at a small bike park with a lane leading off towards the beach. We approached the beach through the back of a large bamboo beach bar, a blonde dreadlocked guy was DJing a very mellow Goa trance set and in front of the rows of recliners was the Arabian sea, lapping gently onto one of the most perfect beaches I have ever seen. Immaculate soft white sand with not a stone or piece of litter, sweeping along a bay with beach bars dotted at random along its length. I was blown away. Blown Away.
Now this all sounds a bit ‘travel brochure’, however it does seem to me that there is an extra something here that no photograph or description can fully communicate, however, I’ll try:
Anjuna beach seems to me to have a certain uber- tasteful cool. The pace is slow, the music groovy , its volume not sufficient to disturb, the huge speakers point straight out to sea, fifty meters along the beach you can hardly hear the music. There’s an air of friendliness and tolerance, it is utterly cosmopolitan and the locals seem to take part and enjoy the scene as much as the visitors. It is Glastonbury by the sea on a perfect summers day, or maybe Amsterdam on Sea. At this time of year the weather is totally predictable, clear blue skies and clear starry nights, perhaps 30C at midday and 15C at midnight, light sea breezes are cooling and carry subtle perfumes from the many flowering trees and plants. If this all sounds rather amazing well all I can say is that that is how it seems to me. Stepping onto that beach was an almost consciousness changing event. The beach was far from crowded and a few meters long from the beach bars, almost deserted. We strolled along to a headland only to discover another similar bay with its assorted seaside bars and small restaurants. We spotted a deserted bar comprising tent like structures containing huge luxurious sofas arranged either side of a massive bronze Buddah with giant earthenware bowls of floating flowers scattered around. Steps lead up from the beach into a place that I can only describe as a combination antique shop and chill out room with huge antique double beds giving a view straight out to sea. We chose a sofa and were immediately given a menu of the food and drinks available. Fab service, very low prices, the best seat on the entire beach. We watched the sunset eating Indian snacks, drinking ice cold beers and smoking to our hearts content!
Saturday and we set of on Gary’s Scooter to explore the beaches further north. I have read that this area is hippie central for Goa and I can believe it, this has to be one of the largest concentrations of old hippies anywhere! Lots of dreadlocks, tattoos, chains, bells and quite probably ‘books of Indian lore’. I could be extremely cynical and scathing about the place but I simply don’t have the heart because it’s simply so beautiful and it so clearly ‘works’.
Stopped for a rest and a drink at a clifftop bar, dropped in at a wonderful café in one of the many villages for breakfast where Indian and European food of equally high quality was being provided. A fantastic place for people watching, with bronzed bare torsos driving past on chopped Royal Enfields, dreadlocks flying and ankle bells ringing and everywhere smiles, laughter and a backdrop of Goa trance….
Then onto ( dur, forgotten the name) a village that has what must be one of the longest streets of ( for want of a better word) headshops in the world. We browsed, Gary bought a guitar and I bought a lantern and a scarf. We sat and ate Tapas and had a few beers in an organic holistic vegetarian bar whilst watching the world go by ( or the absolutely coolest part of it anyway).
Back to Anjuna for the sunset and then onto the local Italian restaurant for what was a very fine Italian meal complete with Italian red wine and all the other usual ‘Goa’ accompaniments. Service was a tad slow but frankly, in Goa, who really cares?
Sunday after a lie in we breakfasted at Six Pack, Gary’s ‘local’ where I met up with Rupesh once again and let breakfast turn slowly into lunch before I had to depart once again for the airport and the flight back to (sob)Mumbai.
As I said above, I could , if I really wanted, nit pick or more, I could talk about the way that the Europeans flaunt maybe rather to much bare flesh for the locals happiness, however Goa is a Christian state and I don’t think that anybody was particularly upset. Or maybe about the obscenity of the difference in life styles between the hippies of Anjuna and the Sum dwellers of Daravi, but the difference between the lifestyles of Indian Businessmen living a stones throw from Daravi are an even greater obscenity. I could make dry remarks about old hippies, about the aimlessness and emptiness of the hedonistic lifestyle but at the end of the day these comments would be trite and shallow because the thing that amazed me about the north Goa coast experience most of all is simply how indescribably chilled, cool and lovely it actually is. 11/10!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
JungleStory Pt One
It was Jungle. ‘Real’ jungle at that as the locally available maps, for what they were worth, had the words ‘moist deciduous jungle’ emblazoned across the area of thickly wooded mountains where the small group was staying. This type of jungle, commonly encountered across the hills and mountains of the Western Ghats comprises for the most part, a dense entanglement of smallish trees and thorny shrubs bound together by a matrix of lianas and other woody twining creepers to produce a dense tangle of vegetation through which only small and lithe or arboreal animals may move freely. A maze of animal paths that constantly split and recombine allow the larger denizens of the forest to penetrate the otherwise difficult undergrowth. For human beings, particularly those not used to it, the only way through is to follow the dirt tracks that connect the small villages dotted about the hillsides and around the small bridges over the seasonal streams at the bottoms of the many valleys.
The ground is rough and stony and the branches of the trees festooned with the webs of huge and sinister looking wood spiders, holes in the tree trucks and in the ground at their bases hold massive tarantulas and a variety of very poisonous snakes, green vine snakes and pit vipers drape themselves over the branches and the air is thick with biting flies. A forbidding place for many a European, indeed a forbidding place for anybody except those born to it or to those who find such places exiting or beautiful even; botanists, ornithologists, herpetologists, entomologists and their ilk find these places full of fascination and are prepared to put up with the bites, stings and scratches that penetrating this domain inevitably bring.
The group comprised an eclectic assortment of individuals from several continents: Amit, the local guide with his antique binoculars held around his neck by a frayed piece of twine, Henri, a French Canadian birder and aspirant travel writer, Chu, a Malaysian photographer weighed down with professional camera gear, Prakash, Ashwin and Rajesh, high caste passionate naturalists from Mumbai dressed in the latest ‘outdoor’ gear and Jenny, a post graduate researcher from Bath visiting the Ghats looking for scorpions to ‘milk’ for their poison.
A long weekend away, with no particular agenda, the plan had formed at the last minute and the loosely connected group; known to each other principally by social networking had traveled up to the little village from the sprawl of greater Mumbai in two groups the night before. The locals had been only too glad to provide beds and food for the group in return for a few hundred Rupees and several villagers had been turned out of their homes by the village chief to provide accommodation in two adjacent earthen floored huts. If the villagers were shocked by an apparently single woman sleeping in the same room as a number of different and obviously unrelated men they made no sign of it. Arriving late the group had sat on the beaten dung floor of one of the huts by the light of a candle and smoked imported cigarettes whilst exchanging news and catching up with each other, all had met previously except for Jenny and Henri and all got on very well, assisted by their mutual love for the jungle and its inhabitants and a couple of bottles of the local red wine. The jungle rang with the calls of owls and nightjars, crickets and tree frogs as the group drifted off to sleep.
A cool clear dawn was announced by the crowing of domestic cockerels in the village and also from wild junglefowl in the surrounding woods. Outside, in the village women busied themselves with lighting fires and preparing Chai and Poha for breakfast. Soon, the few pinkish clouds had dispersed, the sun was up and the heat rapidly started to build, birdsong and then cicadas started to produce the familiar jungle soundtrack that they all knew and loved. The birders were soon picking out local specialties amongst the apparent cacophony. Babblers, Barbets, Flycatchers, Thrushes, Orioles, Sunbirds, Drongos and Bulbuls competed to make themselves heard whilst the myriad flying insects warmed up for a day of hunting for nectar or blood….
That first day was memorable for all the right reasons, the party trekked through the jungle to a small stream and then followed it to a series of interconnected waterholes, where they hunkered down to take photographs, watch for birds and reptiles or simply take in the pristine environment that seemed to vibrate with life. Jenny wandered off methodically turning the large stones that littered the forest floor, occasionally uttering a grunt of satisfaction as yet another scorpion was placed in a glass tube. By ten thirty the group decided to head back to the village to sit out the heat of the day which was already bathing them in sweat. In the comparative cool of the huts, Jenny milked her scorpions into carefully labeled tubes, the photographers and birders compared their captures or poured over field guides, smoked and drank chai, reminisced or dozed until sometime after four when a pile of hot and savory spicy fried snacks appeared to quell their appetites until the evening meal. After food and drink the group split into two: Jenny needed to release her freshly milked captures, Henri and Prakash elected to accompany her back into the woods. The rest of the group decided to hang around the village margins looking out for the birds that are so often found living commensally with man and maybe sneaking a few photos of the village people as they went about their tasks. By six the light had faded and the group reassembled to congratulate themselves on a good day. The birders had got themselves some excellent views of Ultramarine flycatcher and Bar winged flycatcher-shrike, Jenny had venom samples from six different species of scorpion including one she felt sure had not been previously recorded from this part of the ghats. A bottle of wine was opened and they settled down to await dinner, the smells of cooking making their stomachs rumble as evening darkened into night. After dinner a night time excursion was planned to a large clearing a few kilometers along a track leading out of the village and down into a particularly densely vegetated valley. Amit had got the birders in the party worked up with tales of Sri Lankan Frogmouths sometimes being heard there and a walk in the jungle at night is always an exiting prospect… And so a little after nine o’clock the group set out with Amit leading the way, everybody had head torches set to wide beam as the ground underfoot was treacherous with loose rubble and it is always a good idea to keep half an eye on where you are planting your feet… Eventually they all arrived at the bottom of the valley , where a trickle of water formed the occasional small pool and the air was thick with mosquitoes, a thousand small toads croaked loudly as they settled down to wait in the darkness for the tell tale screech of the Frogmouth or hoot of a Brown fish owl. Despite frantic puffing on cigarettes the attacks of the mosquitoes rapidly became unbearable and the discovery of a few leeches on people’s trousers precipitated the unanimous decision to decamp. The thought of some more wine in the comparative comfort of the village huts had become just too tempting and, very much earlier than their original plan the team started the trek back to the village.
The night was oppressively hot in the bottom of the valley, and the absence of any breeze coupled with the effort of climbing back up and out of the valley rapidly had them all soaked with sweat and slapping away in vain at the clouds of biting flies that surrounded them, the jungle seemed intent on hampering their progress with barbed creepers catching at their legs and arms and loose rubble underfoot causing them to slip and slide every few steps.
Jenny and Henri in particular were struggling to keep up and the Indians in the contingent seemed to be floating effortlessly up ahead, Amit in his much repaired flip flops seemed to never loose his footing, or even break sweat for that matter. Even so, they told each other that it was worth the effort and that they would soon be sitting down in the relative cool of the huts. Off to the left a blood curdling scream suddenly pierced the air, so loud it seemed to vibrate inside their heads, everybody stood rooted to the spot ‘SLF!’ shouted Amit and everybody strained to see something, anything, in the darkness that surrounded them, darkness that seemed to suck the very light from their torches. Again the scream came and the birders were making high fives and dancing little jigs of delight. After another five minutes or so, they restarted the climb, and on turning away from the source of the cry and refocusing on the steeply rising path ahead, Henri caught the impression of a light faintly shining off in the jungle where they had been straining to spot the Frogmouth. ‘Look, there!’ he whispered to Jenny. ‘What? Where?’ she replied. ‘There was something, I’m not sure, a light of some sort…’ They stood and scanned the woods suddenly they both saw it, a faint disk of light in the trees, two or three meters off the ground, maybe fifty meters away. ‘What on earth…?’ said Jenny. ‘It’s a poacher, it must be.’ Replied Henri and at this they both felt slightly nervous. A poacher, a man with a gun, looking for some game and likely to shoot at the noise made by people walking through the forest at night, or, more likely, who would shoot at what he felt may be forest guards. But hey, they had their head torches, this would surely distinguish them as both humans and visitors so no need to worry. ‘Look, look!’ hissed Jenny and she found to her surprise and consternation she was holding onto Henri’s arm, for the disk of light had darted in a most un-human manner closer to them and now they could see, there was certainly no human attached to it. It looked somehow like a gibbous moon reflected in a pool of water, it was never fully still, constantly moving, sometimes slowly and sometimes making rapid darting movements. What to do? Henri and Jenny were enraptured with this strange but doubtless easily explained phenomenon. A large luminous insect perhaps? That would be something unknown, Jenny realized. Some sort of.. what? A trick being played on them? Some kind of ritual? The pair of them stood gazing at the glowing disk when suddenly it winked out, disappearing completely. It took them both a few seconds to realize that the darkness that enveloped them was caused, not just by the absence of the strange glowing disk, but also by the absence of light from their head torches, as one, their hands went to the switches on the battery packs but nothing, not a ficker. Not only was it now pitch black but they also realized that they were alone, whilst watching the glowing disk their companions had continued their climb and were now out of sight. ‘Hey!’ Henri shouted. ‘Hey! Hey!’ he shouted again but the night seemed to simply swallow up the sound of his voice.
‘We should stay here’ He said. They’ll quickly realize we’re not with them and are sure to come back and look for us.’
‘You’re right’ said Jenny, I don’t think I could walk far in this without illumination anyway.
By the time the rest of the group got back to the village they were strung out in a long line perhaps two hundred meters long, nobody was talking, everybody silently trudging and looking forwards to sitting down, having a wash and a drink. Last in the line was Prakash who declared that he was going straight to sleep. It took a while; maybe twenty minutes before Amit realized that they were not all back. ‘Anybody see Henri and Jenny?’ he enquired. ‘In other hut’ pronounced Chu. ‘No, Prakash is sleeping in there’.
‘Hey…Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Maybe they’ve, you know…stopped off for a little, you know..’ He touched the side of his nose, an Indian gesture that suggests… possible intimacy. ‘I doubt it’ said Rajesh, they hardly know each other, they’re not a couple, I think they both have partners at home. ‘Well where else are they then?’ ‘Probably found something interesting.’ They’ll be along in a few minutes’.
The ground is rough and stony and the branches of the trees festooned with the webs of huge and sinister looking wood spiders, holes in the tree trucks and in the ground at their bases hold massive tarantulas and a variety of very poisonous snakes, green vine snakes and pit vipers drape themselves over the branches and the air is thick with biting flies. A forbidding place for many a European, indeed a forbidding place for anybody except those born to it or to those who find such places exiting or beautiful even; botanists, ornithologists, herpetologists, entomologists and their ilk find these places full of fascination and are prepared to put up with the bites, stings and scratches that penetrating this domain inevitably bring.
The group comprised an eclectic assortment of individuals from several continents: Amit, the local guide with his antique binoculars held around his neck by a frayed piece of twine, Henri, a French Canadian birder and aspirant travel writer, Chu, a Malaysian photographer weighed down with professional camera gear, Prakash, Ashwin and Rajesh, high caste passionate naturalists from Mumbai dressed in the latest ‘outdoor’ gear and Jenny, a post graduate researcher from Bath visiting the Ghats looking for scorpions to ‘milk’ for their poison.
A long weekend away, with no particular agenda, the plan had formed at the last minute and the loosely connected group; known to each other principally by social networking had traveled up to the little village from the sprawl of greater Mumbai in two groups the night before. The locals had been only too glad to provide beds and food for the group in return for a few hundred Rupees and several villagers had been turned out of their homes by the village chief to provide accommodation in two adjacent earthen floored huts. If the villagers were shocked by an apparently single woman sleeping in the same room as a number of different and obviously unrelated men they made no sign of it. Arriving late the group had sat on the beaten dung floor of one of the huts by the light of a candle and smoked imported cigarettes whilst exchanging news and catching up with each other, all had met previously except for Jenny and Henri and all got on very well, assisted by their mutual love for the jungle and its inhabitants and a couple of bottles of the local red wine. The jungle rang with the calls of owls and nightjars, crickets and tree frogs as the group drifted off to sleep.
A cool clear dawn was announced by the crowing of domestic cockerels in the village and also from wild junglefowl in the surrounding woods. Outside, in the village women busied themselves with lighting fires and preparing Chai and Poha for breakfast. Soon, the few pinkish clouds had dispersed, the sun was up and the heat rapidly started to build, birdsong and then cicadas started to produce the familiar jungle soundtrack that they all knew and loved. The birders were soon picking out local specialties amongst the apparent cacophony. Babblers, Barbets, Flycatchers, Thrushes, Orioles, Sunbirds, Drongos and Bulbuls competed to make themselves heard whilst the myriad flying insects warmed up for a day of hunting for nectar or blood….
That first day was memorable for all the right reasons, the party trekked through the jungle to a small stream and then followed it to a series of interconnected waterholes, where they hunkered down to take photographs, watch for birds and reptiles or simply take in the pristine environment that seemed to vibrate with life. Jenny wandered off methodically turning the large stones that littered the forest floor, occasionally uttering a grunt of satisfaction as yet another scorpion was placed in a glass tube. By ten thirty the group decided to head back to the village to sit out the heat of the day which was already bathing them in sweat. In the comparative cool of the huts, Jenny milked her scorpions into carefully labeled tubes, the photographers and birders compared their captures or poured over field guides, smoked and drank chai, reminisced or dozed until sometime after four when a pile of hot and savory spicy fried snacks appeared to quell their appetites until the evening meal. After food and drink the group split into two: Jenny needed to release her freshly milked captures, Henri and Prakash elected to accompany her back into the woods. The rest of the group decided to hang around the village margins looking out for the birds that are so often found living commensally with man and maybe sneaking a few photos of the village people as they went about their tasks. By six the light had faded and the group reassembled to congratulate themselves on a good day. The birders had got themselves some excellent views of Ultramarine flycatcher and Bar winged flycatcher-shrike, Jenny had venom samples from six different species of scorpion including one she felt sure had not been previously recorded from this part of the ghats. A bottle of wine was opened and they settled down to await dinner, the smells of cooking making their stomachs rumble as evening darkened into night. After dinner a night time excursion was planned to a large clearing a few kilometers along a track leading out of the village and down into a particularly densely vegetated valley. Amit had got the birders in the party worked up with tales of Sri Lankan Frogmouths sometimes being heard there and a walk in the jungle at night is always an exiting prospect… And so a little after nine o’clock the group set out with Amit leading the way, everybody had head torches set to wide beam as the ground underfoot was treacherous with loose rubble and it is always a good idea to keep half an eye on where you are planting your feet… Eventually they all arrived at the bottom of the valley , where a trickle of water formed the occasional small pool and the air was thick with mosquitoes, a thousand small toads croaked loudly as they settled down to wait in the darkness for the tell tale screech of the Frogmouth or hoot of a Brown fish owl. Despite frantic puffing on cigarettes the attacks of the mosquitoes rapidly became unbearable and the discovery of a few leeches on people’s trousers precipitated the unanimous decision to decamp. The thought of some more wine in the comparative comfort of the village huts had become just too tempting and, very much earlier than their original plan the team started the trek back to the village.
The night was oppressively hot in the bottom of the valley, and the absence of any breeze coupled with the effort of climbing back up and out of the valley rapidly had them all soaked with sweat and slapping away in vain at the clouds of biting flies that surrounded them, the jungle seemed intent on hampering their progress with barbed creepers catching at their legs and arms and loose rubble underfoot causing them to slip and slide every few steps.
Jenny and Henri in particular were struggling to keep up and the Indians in the contingent seemed to be floating effortlessly up ahead, Amit in his much repaired flip flops seemed to never loose his footing, or even break sweat for that matter. Even so, they told each other that it was worth the effort and that they would soon be sitting down in the relative cool of the huts. Off to the left a blood curdling scream suddenly pierced the air, so loud it seemed to vibrate inside their heads, everybody stood rooted to the spot ‘SLF!’ shouted Amit and everybody strained to see something, anything, in the darkness that surrounded them, darkness that seemed to suck the very light from their torches. Again the scream came and the birders were making high fives and dancing little jigs of delight. After another five minutes or so, they restarted the climb, and on turning away from the source of the cry and refocusing on the steeply rising path ahead, Henri caught the impression of a light faintly shining off in the jungle where they had been straining to spot the Frogmouth. ‘Look, there!’ he whispered to Jenny. ‘What? Where?’ she replied. ‘There was something, I’m not sure, a light of some sort…’ They stood and scanned the woods suddenly they both saw it, a faint disk of light in the trees, two or three meters off the ground, maybe fifty meters away. ‘What on earth…?’ said Jenny. ‘It’s a poacher, it must be.’ Replied Henri and at this they both felt slightly nervous. A poacher, a man with a gun, looking for some game and likely to shoot at the noise made by people walking through the forest at night, or, more likely, who would shoot at what he felt may be forest guards. But hey, they had their head torches, this would surely distinguish them as both humans and visitors so no need to worry. ‘Look, look!’ hissed Jenny and she found to her surprise and consternation she was holding onto Henri’s arm, for the disk of light had darted in a most un-human manner closer to them and now they could see, there was certainly no human attached to it. It looked somehow like a gibbous moon reflected in a pool of water, it was never fully still, constantly moving, sometimes slowly and sometimes making rapid darting movements. What to do? Henri and Jenny were enraptured with this strange but doubtless easily explained phenomenon. A large luminous insect perhaps? That would be something unknown, Jenny realized. Some sort of.. what? A trick being played on them? Some kind of ritual? The pair of them stood gazing at the glowing disk when suddenly it winked out, disappearing completely. It took them both a few seconds to realize that the darkness that enveloped them was caused, not just by the absence of the strange glowing disk, but also by the absence of light from their head torches, as one, their hands went to the switches on the battery packs but nothing, not a ficker. Not only was it now pitch black but they also realized that they were alone, whilst watching the glowing disk their companions had continued their climb and were now out of sight. ‘Hey!’ Henri shouted. ‘Hey! Hey!’ he shouted again but the night seemed to simply swallow up the sound of his voice.
‘We should stay here’ He said. They’ll quickly realize we’re not with them and are sure to come back and look for us.’
‘You’re right’ said Jenny, I don’t think I could walk far in this without illumination anyway.
By the time the rest of the group got back to the village they were strung out in a long line perhaps two hundred meters long, nobody was talking, everybody silently trudging and looking forwards to sitting down, having a wash and a drink. Last in the line was Prakash who declared that he was going straight to sleep. It took a while; maybe twenty minutes before Amit realized that they were not all back. ‘Anybody see Henri and Jenny?’ he enquired. ‘In other hut’ pronounced Chu. ‘No, Prakash is sleeping in there’.
‘Hey…Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Maybe they’ve, you know…stopped off for a little, you know..’ He touched the side of his nose, an Indian gesture that suggests… possible intimacy. ‘I doubt it’ said Rajesh, they hardly know each other, they’re not a couple, I think they both have partners at home. ‘Well where else are they then?’ ‘Probably found something interesting.’ They’ll be along in a few minutes’.
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