Wild for Wildlife

As our jeep traversed the rough and smooth terrain of Tadoba looking for the tiger which could have been hiding just behind any bush on the path and yet go undetected, I wondered at this feverish desire we have for sighting tigers, lions and leopards. As these thoughts persisted and I thought of penning it, I felt they were not new and searched through my archives. Right enough, I found this blog I had written exactly a year back: Tiger = Maya (https://meera-lastingimpressions.blogspot.com/2023/10/tiger-maya.html).

Desires breed desires and this passion for tiger sighting too hasn't died even after a year. But not just for me - after all, I go on these trips only once in a while. Even those who go often seem to find the lure unabating. The more good photographs they get, the more the desire to capture the moments. 

Escaping the Depression

The unrelenting rain

A party of 6 from Chennai was all set to leave for Tadoba in Maharashtra on October 16th, 2024, on a wildlife tour organized by Naturographers. But by Oct 9th, talks of a depression and heavy rains, bringing with it the dreaded floods that could paralyze the city, started floating again. On Oct 14th, the group decided to be prepared for the worst - but what was the worst we could expect and what should be our plan of action?

Sometimes, the best actions come most spontaneously. Oct 16th was supposed to see the landfall. Already on Oct 15th, many neighbourhoods were seeing severe flooding. Trains were running late. Should we wait and risk it?

Amma, Where Are You?

"Papa, how are you?" Sonu asked her father, trying to sound cheerful.

Prabhas lay back on bed, his internal organs on fire. "Ma!" he cried out. "Take me away," he mumbled.

Sonu curbed the rush of emotions as she quickly instructed the attender to raise the bed so that her father could be in reclining position. "Has he completed his morning ablutions? Has he had anything to eat?"

The Debater

 "@Minnu" Mirnalini found herself tagged in a post by her friend Riddhi. She scrolled up and read the post, a little puzzled as to why she had been tagged. It was about a top actress who had recently been in the news for showing sympathy for some group of people and sitting in protest with them over some government policy. The actress was shooting a much hyped movie and boycott that movie hashtags were spreading through the Internet. Mrinalini gathered all this as she scrolled news channels, still puzzled about how it mattered to her. 

Just a House

Ritu returned from work and opened the door of her house. She felt the door of the opposite house open behind her. She turned back. There was no one there. The house had all the tell-tale signs of shifting - discarded papers, clothes, some small broken furniture pieces, some tapes... oh, this and that.

She turned around and memories flashed, of hopping over for a chit-chat once in a while. As she stared, it felt a little surrealistic--not seeing the lady of the house, Sneha, smile and welcome her in for a cup of tea. But Sneha's words rang in her ears, for it always circled back to the same things. The litany about her various ailments, the difficulty of managing her mother-in-law in the old age, how burdened her husband was... As if on cue, the husband joining them, complaining about the ineffective association, the problem with water or electricity or parking.

The Servant of God - Through Padma Shri Muthukannammal's Eyes

Every story has two sides to it. But sometimes, one voice gets lost in the clamour for change. 

Change is inevitable. Change can be good. But for some, the change means losing their very livelihood.

Srikant and I with Muthukannammal

This can be the story of any individual, industry, or profession.

Today, I write about the Devadasis.

I am not the first to write about it, but this may be the first time you hear of it. So, I write. 

Not the whole story, for who can know what the whole story was? But I write of one woman, and only as she narrated it to me.

The View

Sundar unpacked his bags and looked out the window of the modest accommodation he had been allotted in the village. The fields spread out for miles around, intersected by roads carrying speeding cars. Very few commuters turned into the village itself but played touch-and-go with the cafe on the main road. A branch of a popular chain, this particular outlet was not very profitable but was sustainable and surviving because of some travelers who preferred its hygienic interiors to some of the more seedy messes nearby. But those messes, in fact, made more money because the local populace thronged there.