Notes from the Aravallis

This year, I briefly wandered through India's oldest fold mountains  - the Aravallis. The most well known and documented forests of Sariska National Park, as well as the lesser known but equally breathtaking ridges of the Bala Kila in Alwar, and Delhi's Mangar Bani.

Penned below, my musings while travelling through familiar forests in two states, with the people who know them inside out.

Sariska

Sariska

It’s 7 am and we’re moving into Sariska National Park, bird calls dissipating into the forest with the morning rays. We’re lucky today - within minutes we come across a fresh pugmark of the tiger; a cat that only a decade ago, had completely vanished from this wilderness.

Tiger pugmarks

The story of the extinction of Sariska’s tigers and eventual relocation to these forests is one for the history books. 2004’s poaching crisis resulted in the complete extinction of Sariska’s tigers, and before anyone paid heed to the silent cries, it was too late. 
Over a decade later, under some fervent leadership and a dedicated forest staff, Sariska’s forests and flourishing, and so are its tigers.

We sit with the Field Director, Mr. R S Shekhawat, who joined Sariska Tiger Reserve roughly 10 days after its first relocated tiger was killed, due to retaliatory poisoning by villagers. After spending half a day bothering him for our broken down car (read: road trip catastrophes we weren’t prepared to deal with), we got to hear of the struggles that Sariska has seen over the years.

Sariska's lesser known battles.

2008’s tiger extinction made headlines worldwide, and resulted in widespread efforts to once again repopulate the reserve, and have the tiger’s pugmarks pad Sariska’s trails. It seems to be on the right path – 14 tigers now roam Sariska,  with several females having birthed cubs several times.

But the forests of Sariska have seen other grave threats and hard-fought battles that didn’t catch the public eye nearly as much.

The proposed four-laning of a state highway that passed through the buffer area of the National Park, village settlements inside the park that put constant pressure on the ecosystem, and illegal mining have caused major disturbances in Sariska over time. Years later, and with consistent hard work and initiatives undertaken by the forest department, things seem to be getting better.

To begin with, there is the long-fought battle for traffic diversion from the Tehla-Sariska Road, which is a part of the State Highway 29-A and passes right through the core area of the sanctuary. We took a quick detour through the now deserted road, that once saw heavy traffic run through it day and night. Travelling with environmental journalist Prerna Bindra, who has consistently lobbied against the presence of heavy, traffic ridden roads in Protected Areas, I hopped along for a quick visit to the road.

Roads fragment forests and impinge on crucial wildlife habitat.

As we drove through the route with the forest staff, we observed the magnificent scrub-thorn arid vegetation and hilly forests that this road has bisected for decades. Prerna speaks of the disastrous effects that roads have on forests and their wildlife; Indeed, besides fatal accidents that kill rare wild creatures, roads in protected areas fragment wildlife habitats, break contiguity, tree cover and canopy, slice vegetation and impinge on forests and well-worn migratory paths of animals. Roads also serve as conduits to soil erosion and landslides. They provide access and are the first step to ancillary development and an increasing human footprint. Simply put, roads spell the end of wilderness.

After almost a decade-long struggle, and in the face of vehement opposition from various political and other vested interests, traffic from this route has finally been diverted to an alternative bypass road. The area, that has seen frequent wildlife movement (including the tiger) is finally free for them to roam wild.

There have been other positives. Under sound leadership from competent forest officers, three of the 28 villages that were located inside Sariska and dependent on firewood have been relocated, relieving pressure on the crucial forest area. Land that previously was occupied by a village inside the park, Baghani (that was resettled outside Sariska in 2008) has seen tigers rewild it. Several households have been provided LPG supply at 100% subsidy, relieving their dependence on jungle firewood collection. The forests around the village of Rampur (located in North west Sariska) have seen recovered spectacularly, due to kulhadbandi (The practice of stopping the use of axes for wood cutting) 

  

For trackers of the trails

A prose on Sariska’s recovery can’t be complete without an allude to its forest guards – the unsung foot soldiers, who know the trails and tigers of the park inside out. Under the field director’s guidance, teams of two forest guards have been allotted to track the movement of each of the park’s tigers. Forest guards rough it out in the field on a regular basis, and thus know the whereabouts of the park’s precious felines, keeping alive the art of tracking and analysing pugmarks. Under sound protection and relatively lesser human interference, it’s not surprising to hear that the females have birthed cubs, some more than once, and the cubs have begun establishing their own territories.

In addition to keeping the staff on its feet and the park in its glory, Mr Shekhawat has also begun working at reminding the city of Alwar of the spectacular biodiversity that it harbours, outside the park:

Beyond the park - of forts and feathers 

The city of Alwar holds more precious treasures than its central attraction - the grand Alwar Fort or the Bala Kila, as it is more commonly known. 

A large area of the Aravalli hills is protected as the buffer area of Sariska Tiger Reserve, and a significant part of this happens to surround the Alwar Fort. Once a disregarded forest range rarely entered by any visitors or wildlife enthusiasts, the rich bird life and biodiversity of the Bala Kila Eco Conservation Zone is slowly being recognised. Understanding the potential of the area as a good prey base for big cats as well as the bird life it harbours, Mr. Shekhawat soon began to work on creating awareness about this ‘city’ forest and the value is holds. (This area is literally right next to the city of Alwar, and about 20 km from Sariska National Park.) The grandeur of Rajasthan’s hill forts is hardly understated, but the biodiversity of this forgotten forest is yet to be fully realised.

During our brief visit, our (rather inattentive!) eyes immediately spotted the rarely sighted Painted Spurfowl. As we made our way back up the slope of hill from the valley, we noticed the sudden havoc created by a soaring falcon, the Black Eagle, amongst a large company of Parakeets and another flock of Oriental White Eyes! Cameras and lenses were frantically pulled out, distances large and small were speedily covered on foot (and bike!) to keep up with and capture this one on camera. Of course, my camera’s memory filled up at the exact moment that the bird flew over right above me, so you’ll have to make to do with these:

This buffer area, now known as the Bala Quila Eco Conservation Reserve, is now slowly being recognised for the diverse variety of birds it harbours, as well as the healthy population of leopards that resides in these forests. Pythons are seen quite often too. Interestingly, Sariska National Park’s resident tigers have also made a long journey to this side of the city, and inspected the habitat for a few months (during which they were tracked by the forest staff) before heading back to their territories! It's not surprising; from a distance, we spotted a family of the Sambar deer, a favourite of the tiger, making their way up the gorgeous hills.

Imagine this being a short walk away from your city home.

A committed group of volunteers assists with various maintenance activities of the reserve, in what is developing into a citizen participation initiative. Bala Kila is a haven for birders and wildlife enthusiasts alike, and its conservation and education potential as a city forest is slowly being distinguished.

Here be Muggers

Another short detour for reptile enthusiasts visiting Sariska is the Lake Siliserh. The lake, which is located a short drive away from Sariska and Alwar, is also home to about 100 wild Marsh Crocodiles (Muggers), and you are likely to catch them either basking by the bank or peeking up from the middle of the lake, their snout barely breaking the surface of the water - maybe ambushing the avian visitors nearby. Yes, the lake also sees migratory birds during winter months. Our time crunched trip only allowed us a short sighting of the Grey Heron by the bank while it preyed on fish from the lake, but hundreds of species are known to frequent these waters.

Muggers!

This Grey Heron got a fish too large for its beak, and tried to kill it by

 letting it suffer  in the open for a while, picking it up, and dropping it 

again. Genius adaptive strategies.

The hills next door – Aravallis of the Mangar Bani

Walking through Bala Kila forests and forts, I can't help but reminisce. My hometown, Delhi, too homes a ridge of the Aravallis-the city's last sacred grove called Mangar Bani. What once must have been a forest range that connected to Rajasthan’s Aravallis, is now an isolated, fragmented ridge in Delhi – and it doesn’t seem to be doing too well.

A few months ago, I hopped along for a field visit to Delhi/Gurgaon’s last remaining ridge of the Aravallis – the Mangar Bani forests. I was lucky enough to be in the company of Mr. Pradip Kishen, author of Trees of Delhi: A Field Guide (If you’re fascinated by trees, but easily bored by botanical jargon, buy this book.) Pradip can casually recite tree names and their life histories, leaf shapes and sizes in a minute long walk through any corner of Delhi. He tells us fondly of the Dhau tree that characterises these forests, and their role in the maintenance of its ecological balance. We learn about the dried liverworts that line the ground.

To reach a ridge of one of the world’s oldest mountain systems, we reached the region’s busiest metro station, drove for half an hour through narrow, marketed roads and stopped at the entrance gate of Mangar Bani, which happens to be right next to a large-scale garbage dumping ground. After a short hike infused with several short bursts of fascinating Pradip-provided tree-related trivia, we beheld the Mangar Bani.

Here’s some perspective: when you live in a city that consistently exceeds its own air and noise pollution levels by leaps and bounds every year, where breathing masks and air purifiers are slowly becoming the norm, it can be a little startling to suddenly find yourself beholding this silent hill, lined with endless, ancient vegetation of subtle and dark shades of green. 

To think that a leg of one of the oldest mountains in the world still exists in a city that is determined to choke the life of its lungs and rivers is humbling, troubling, and of course, mesmerising.

Naturally(pun intended), the mood is heightened when one thinks of the leopards, hyenas, small mammals that inhabit these grounds. (Several camera traps have captured the presence of leopards, barely 5km from Gurgaon's city limits. There are also striped hyenas, common mongoose, palm civets.)

It immediately turns glum when one thinks of those that have become roadkill on the busy road that bisects the forests. (Adult leopards and cubs have often become roadkill on the Gurgaon-Faridabad road- due to the heavy traffic that passes through).A leopard was recently killed, quite brutally, in a village near Gurgaon.)

It takes a deeper dive when one thinks that the battle to get this range notified as a 'forest' has been a continuous, draining one, where ‘development’ and expansion of real estate has been considered a priority, over saving the remnant lungs of a choking city. 

There have been small victories, but one wonders, how it is that notifying a range of the Aravallis as a 'forest' - a mountain range that is millions of years old, homes rare wildlife and birds and is a crucial wildlife corridor, is an uphill battle? Are the ecosystem services that they provide - have been providing for years: purifying, water, holding soil, replenishing ground water level, clean air, really taken so for granted? 

You'll have to forgive me for the morose tone that this story ends on; musings rarely end on a positive one when you work for conservation. But ask me another day, another time - and hope that things are a little less sombre.

How to feel at a Chennai beach : A friendly guide

Find a spot that’s not too littered and allows you a clear view of the ocean. Lean back and take a moment to absorb the endless waters laid out in front of you. A silent second to take in the fact that this is your backyard for the next three weeks (You've signed up to volunteer at the Madras Crocodile Bank Trust, because you think reptiles are awesome. Bonus: their backyard is the beach. Literally.)

Watch out for the water – lie near enough the ocean to feel the suspended drops of salty water settling on your face, but not enough for the fleeting waves to touch you. DO NOT FORGET - your bag is behind you, it has your phone, Kindle, reading light, research data sheets (you’re obviously participating in a research project about Mugger Crocodiles at the Croc Bank) and marine life field guide that you picked up from their awesome herpetology library (Ocean life fascinates you, remember?)

Sit and observe for a while, give the Bay of Bengal your attention. Notice the way waves form and fall, and are followed by more. Let the shy crabs with raised eye pieces (yes, raised eye pieces, I’m not a scientist) lining the shore catch your attention. Oh, they’re burrowing. They seem to be wary of you.  They’re moving swiftly-really swiftly-how the hell do they move so fast?

Remember that they’re adapted for living in the ocean by the shore, because evolution. Congratulations, Cap'n Obvious! Knock yourself for not knowing this as factually and familiarly with every fibre of your being as you should. Wonder what else is interesting about crabs – you read in The Hungry Tide that crabs are cleaners and strip sand of the decomposed matter on it, and are a crucial link in the shore's ecology. Be fascinated again.  Pull out your marine life field guide, open to 'Crabs'. Flip, flip; nope, none of these crabs are the ones you saw. Perhaps you’ll ask the nice people back at the Croc Bank which crab this is. (Remember, they're happy to answer, so try not to self filter questions that sound stupid.)

Let time drift by the waves, the water; it’s getting darker. It's a full moon, the ocean looks magically different within a span of forty minutes. There’s a spotlight in the sky, and it’s glistening over the ocean. You suddenly realise that you can’t see the entire ocean, only a small fraction, and that this light is shining all over the infinite waters. Wishful thinking of viewing this from the top whilst airborne. Back on land, watch the clouds play with the moon and cover it, blurring its shine; watch the slow dance of the moonlight slowly skirting across the ocean. You're thinking to yourself, you will write about this, but you'll never be able to quite capture this moment with your words. Take a picture with your phone camera and feel professional as hell. Feel validated by all the Instagram likes. Know that in your heart this is the easiest place to take a good picture, skills were not involved.

Lay back and feel the beach loving dog's bum dig into your back. He loves the beach, runs to the waves, doesn't realise there's a slope and rolls over multiple times.(In case you hadn't figured, you also love dogs). Walk nearer to the waves, feel them wash your feet. Familiar sensation of sand digging in and sliding down, burying legs in soaked water, possibility of living creatures under you - feel the salt, shells, silt brushing by your feet. Let go of anxieties and allow yourself to get lost in the cliché for a while.

Now go visit yourself, jeez; I can’t keep telling you how to feel about the beach.

Aligarh

Manoj Bajpayee as Professor Siras

The audience in the theatre found quite a few moments of (intended) comic relief in Aligarh. Siras pushing his landlord inside his own house on being forced to relocate yet again; the University staff reacting to the Siras ‘scandal’ on being questioned by Deepu; Siras’ innocent questions to the lawyer: “Is he a gay?”

Yet, I found myself unable to laugh along. For 115 minutes, all I felt was an unsettling sympathy for Manoj Bajpayee’s touching, poignant and sombre portrayal of Siras. Uplifted by Apurva Asrani’s subtle yet powerful screenplay, and Hansal Mehta’s tactful direction, Aligarh has to be one of my favourite movies from the past few years, and here's why:

I loved the little peeks into Siras’ sexuality, and I wondered how intentional the narrative of Siras’ possibly fluid sexuality was: his hesitance on being labelled gay, his marriage that perhaps didn’t fail because of his sexuality, referring to being gay as being ‘a gay’? Siras has lived in a small town, Aligarh, a place where the idea of a gay rights movement is alien to most. He was married, separated and on growing older, even lonely, and so he had sexual relations with another man who happened to feel the same way. We aren’t told much about this man – he’s but another character written to help us understand Siras better, and I absolutely loved these little insights into the primal and somewhat undefinably nature of attraction, sexuality and loneliness – “ an uncontrollable urge” – that Apurva has written. Siras has nothing to do with stereotypes associated with being gay. He's an elderly professor at a Muslim University who teaches Marathi in a small town, far away from the cries for  acceptance that resonate in metropolitan atmospheres. He's so separated from these voices that he's uncomfortable even being associated with activism. How he tries to deal with being ousted and ostracised, when he never intended for anyone to find out about the life he silently harboured, is what this film is about.

Our cinema makers are rarely brave enough to include lengthy, continuous shots; the audience’s ever decreasing attention spans and the admission of smart phones in theatres has cemented the trend. So I can’t complete this review without lauding the bravely shot close up of Siras’ lonely rendition of Aap ki nazaron ne samjha pyar ke kabil mujhe, accompanied by just his whisky.  I don’t know deeply this scene has resonated with the audiences. But every now and then, a film comes along and leaves you going back to a certain frame of mind, and some moments just stick with you. For me, this is one of those haunting narratives. Mehta at a recent screening of the film at JNU said that the original scene was about 7 minutes, and it was a heartbreaking decision to make, to cut it down to a little over 3 minutes.

Aligarh’s Siras is a simple man – he isn’t looking to associate with any activism, he isn’t comfortable being labelled gay, he prefers the company of music and alcohol in his closed quarters to anything else. The layered complexities of this imperfect man are untangled for us, with different perspectives on the first scene of the film presented as the film progresses.  Manoj Bajpayee’s touching portrayal  leaves one engrossed, throughout. His restlessness on being questioned about the most intimate moments of his life in court, his helplessness on being made to wait for an hour and a half for a simple blood pressure check- all paint for us a realistic image of what it is like to be discriminated against, for not being straight. And who can forget the adorable, slightly effeminate laugh when Deepu calls him a handsome man?
But Manoj's acting chops deserves a separate article dedicated to them altogether.

And can I just say, a HUGE shout out to Karan Kulkarni for the fantastic music score. I always find it hard to find words for my thoughts on music, so I borrow (and modify) the writer's: it's the silence between the notes that speaks to us.