Birds and Feeders

 It was peak summer. Mid-May in Marathwada. I was moving around villages in the interior on a reporting assignment. Even when the earlier year it had rained well and fortunately that year was not declared as drought year, the landscape at the climax of summer was bleak, awaiting rains.

Brown earth till the horizon, some tilled, some fallow. Small clusters in between. Several farmers were getting their wells deepened or dug new.

It was well past noon time, and we came down a slope to an undulating area to meet a farmer. The farmer and his two friends, all 50-plus, were sitting in front of his spartan thatched hut. The sun was on the other side, there was lots of shade there. We sat on the charpoy while the farmers all preferred to sit on the ground that was smoothened with cow-dung.

Not even five minutes into our chatter, a continuous chirping of birds distracted me. I looked around and within few feet found the source of my delight. A jugaad that can be called as bird feeder was handing at a low level and was filled with grains. A little distance away, was broken half of an earthen pot that acted as a water container for the birds.

I am not a birder so I could not recognize birds except Bulbuls. But the fact that there were so many birds even during peak sun time made me happy from the core of my heart.

I asked around and came to know that he had made this arrangement almost three years ago when it was a bad drought year and humans were suffering from shortage of water. He then realized the agony of his winged friends. Immediately he fed them, and the arrangement continues. Bird feeder indeed!!

Tale of Two Bridges

Can one spend his or her entire life at the same place or at the max, visit the next village? Hard to image, but this is true for most tribal belts.

Near the far eastern point of India’s border with Tibet (China), Kaho is the last village and before that is a place called Meshai, also spelt as Mosai. From Tezu, the headquarter of Lohit district – out of which was carved out in 2006 the Anjaw district that is home to Kaho and Mosai – these two places are almost 230 kms away, a good whole day drive in a sturdy vehicle plus few hours more in optimal weather conditions on the road snaking through the layers and layers of Himalayan folds.

The road from Tezu till Walong and Kibithoo runs parallel to the river on its right bank. Kaho and Mosai are on the left bank. Till 2009, the two villages were connected with Kibithoo and, hence, rest of India, only through a steel-and-bamboo hanging bridge on the mighty Lohit river.

Crossing this bridge is a task in itself. Cutting across a deep gorge, the Lohit river literally roars below with ferocity. Almost any time of the day, there is a strong wind gushing through the gorge making the bridge swing like mad.

In 2009, the Indian Army built a suspension bridge, bringing much needed relief. Suddenly, reaching Tezu was easy. One was able to carry as much luggage as one wanted. Medical aid in times of emergency was possible. Children’s vaccination would happen on time.

Unfortunately, this bridge was washed away in Lohit’s perilous floods in 2012. For quite many years, people were back to the hanging bridge again. And now, thankfully, there is another suspension bridge little downstream and things are looking bright again.

Are you into tree-spotting?

First I noticed the huge canopy from far away. Then as our car came nearer, the actual size dawned upon us and we had to literally turn up our head by more than 90 degrees to catch the full glimpse of the beautiful ficus. Tree spotting has been my favourite activity on field trips and this was no exception.

Across rural areas in peninsular India and also in the Indo-Gangetic plains, one can easily spot huge banyan trees or peepal trees (ficus religiosa), two of the most common ficuses in India. Perhaps our ancestors knew the biological importance of this family of plants as the ficus trees are vital components of tropical ecology. Experts tell us how these trees are “particularly attractive to seed dispersers in that they produce large and nutritionally rewarding fruit crops.”

Every field trip for reporting I see a minimum two-three such trees with huge canopies, may be banyan or peepul or sometimes pilkhan. If the tree is within the limits of that village, it is inevitably the centre of attraction for all and sundry. There ought to be a pucca circular platform surrounding the tree trunk comprising at least four-five large trunks so intertwined to yield a massive single trunk.

These massive trees are slowly going missing from the urban settings. Hundreds and thousands of them are culled for road expansion or other such infrastructure projects. But fortunately, in rural areas, we still spot them, unless, of course, if they don’t fall in the land acquired for any road or other infra project. Awareness is the key.  

The question is: Do you notice these trees when you travel? Be it from the comfort of your airconditioned cars or be it a public transport vehicle such as bus or even a train.