Pradip Krishen on New Delhi's trees

Pradip Krishen on New Delhi's trees - India Real Time - WSJ

By Krishna Pokharel

Pradip Krishen

Bistendu, also called mountain persimmon or bombay ebony, is one of Delhi’s native trees that can be seen on Delhi’s ridge and many large parks.

Pradip Krishen is passionate about trees. A filmmaker-turned-naturalist as well as an author, Mr. Krishen spent almost a decade working on his “Trees of Delhi,” his popular 2006 field guide. His “Jungle Trees of Central India,” will be released later this year. Writing about plants and trees was also the focus of his session at the Jaipur Literature Festival, which ended Tuesday.

On a recent afternoon, India Real Time sat with Mr. Krishen, 62, and asked him to what extent New Delhi’s trees are a British legacy. Edited excerpts.

WSJ: What was Delhi’s vegetation like before the capital was moved there in 1911?

Mr. Krishen: All the evidence that we have, which is basically some travelers’ accounts, suggest that most of the area that is south of the Walled City [Old Delhi] was pretty empty. There are some reports by people in the later part of the nineteenth century that suggest it was just rubble, gravestones, old mausoleums, and mostly just a devastated kind of place.

But if you look at the natural ecology of this part of Delhi, there is no reason why it shouldn’t have supported good vegetation. What’s known as the lower-alluvial or the Bangar region, which includes all the areas like Golf Links, Mathura Road, Lodi Gardens, has very good soil. But if you read, for example, accounts of what Lodi Gardens was like at the turn of the century, it sounds awful.

For reasons that may have been partly historical and partly just because it was just over-grazed kind of place, it was very poorly vegetated before trees were planted there after 1911.

WSJ: Are New Delhi’s trees, in some ways, a British legacy?

Mr. Krishen: New Delhi’s trees are definitely a British legacy. But it’s important to sort out what is the British component and what is the non-British component. Obviously, the schemes are getting muddied. For example, along Akbar Road where you have the imlis, now you have second row of amaltas at the back. That is not part of the British planting.

Pradip Krishen

Author and naturalist Pradip Krishen

What is also a British legacy is the prosopis julifora, which has taken over all of Delhi’s semi-wild areas. If you go to the ridge, it is now dominated by this Central American tree that was introduced only in the 1920s. It has invaded this place in a huge way.

WSJ: How important were trees and plants for the design of Lutyens’ Delhi?

Mr. Krishen: There were many many avenues in Lutyens’ Delhi. They initially only chose 13 species of trees and slowly expanded to 16 species, which they planted along various avenues.

The original intention was to have major avenues point in the direction of a particular feature, like a monument or other. The trees that lined the avenue would frame the monument. They wanted the trees to frame that feature by choosing trees of appropriate sizes.

They were consciously trying to avoid using trees that have become so common that nobody would look at them again. For example, all the most common trees that the Mughals would plant as avenue trees, they would tend to avoid.

They didn’t plant mangoes, the banyan, nor the shisham [Indian rosewood.]They planted things like the peepal [sacred fig] but not hugely. The neem [Indian lilac,] the jamun[Indian blackberry] and the arjun became the three main trees for them.

Pradip Krishen

Barna, also called bengal quince, is a small tree that can be seen in full bloom in Delhi in April.

There were some inspired ideas. Very often you take a tree from the wild and you don’t quite know how it’s going to adapt to cultivation. There is for example a tree called the anjan [Indian blackwood.] It’s a tree that to my mind had never been planted as an avenue tree anywhere. It’s not even a north Indian tree. Somebody I think took a bit of a risk and planted it on Pandara Road. It turned out to be one among the most beautiful trees of the city.

WSJ: Did the British planner get some of the trees wrong?

Mr. Krishen It’s only been 100 years and in many cases it’s only 70-80 years since British planting was done. In a way, it’s a good time to do a kind of ecological audit of how these trees have performed.

They tried a tree which is commonly called Buddha’s coconut or narikel. It was planted in one avenue because in some towns like Dehradun it forms very beautiful avenues—very tall, very straight and very formal looking. Somebody who was trying to get that effect would have said “let’s plant narikel in Delhi.” But if you go to Bishamber Das Road today, where it was planted, there are huge gaps and the tree has not survived well.

WSJ: What was their planting ‘philosophy’?

Mr. Krishen To my mind, the biggest issue was that the British consciously tried to avoid planning trees that they knew to be deciduous, trees that seasonally shed their leaves.

Pradip Krishen

Flowers of amla, or indian gooseberry, tree that can be seen in Humayun’a and Safdarjang’s Tomb gardens in Delhi.

They seem to have this bias that if a tree loses its leaves then “we don’t want it.” Otherwise how do you explain why they would not plant the amaltas [Indian laburnum]? It is one of the most beautiful trees that we have in this part.

As somebody who works very closely with trees that are native, I find this odd because actually all the trees that the British planted turned out to be deciduous, like the jamun.

WSJ: What are the ecological challenges that the trees of Delhi face?

Mr. Krishen: Some trees are much more capable of dealing with atmospheric pollution and some are more prone to particular kind of pollution.

Water is going to be crucial. If you plant a tree that has a tap root that goes right down and if you expect that tap root to be reaching ground water, what is going to happen when that ground water levels are dramatically falling because of the extraction of water?

Collect those seeds!

Natabar Sarangi - The Source from the source project on Vimeo.

Organic farming. Something I believe is an urgent need, here and now.

Termite pakodas

My Husband and Other Animals — A moveable feast

JANAKI LENIN

Harvesting Termites When pests become snacks Photo: Rom Whitaker

Before I met Rom, everyone I knew thought termites were pests. When the rains first arrive, clouds of these winged creatures begin to swarm. They buzz around lights and eventually commit suicide in our beverages and dinners. The rest of the year, diligent workers find devious ways of attacking wood furniture. Friends who cry “Herbal mozzie repellent only please” nuke termites with awful chemicals without a second thought.

When Rom and I moved to our farm, I realised that a termite swarm is a major natural-history event. Termites are a rich source of protein that every creature regards as a feast. As the insects soared on their conjugal flights, watchful drongos made acrobatic sorties snapping them up.

Once termites find mates, they lose their wings and burrow underground to nest. Lacking superior aerial skills, shikras perched ungainly on the ground, pecking at these wingless ones. The birds’ prime prey, garden lizards also engorged themselves. They scurried noisily through the dry leaf litter aware that for the moment, their nemesis preferred the fat succulent bodies of these insects to their own scaly, tough ones. Nearby, a flock of white-capped babblers competed with magpie-robins and bulbuls in chasing termites through the grass.

Toads sat like statues, only their tongues flicking in and out mechanically. These were especially greedy little buggers, stuffing themselves more and more when they couldn’t even waddle out of the way. Scorpions rammed so many insects down their throats that the wings stuck out of their mouths, looking like feathered chimeras.

Perhaps this was the only occasion when nocturnal and diurnal creatures, predators and prey dined together. We once found a monitor lizard lying draped over a termite mound, sated, incapable of movement. Even palm squirrels, which I thought were vegetarians, joined in. The normally alert mongooses were so focused on stuffing themselves that they didn’t notice our presence.

Our two young emus were nowhere near as proficient as the others in finding termites. With their large round eyes affixed on an insect in flight, they chased it round and round in comical circles, only occasionally snatching one from midair. Later when the sun rose higher in the sky and the swarming died out, life returned to normal.

The arrival of rains is the cue for the insects to take off on their nuptial flights. But the Irula tribals are wizards in exploiting this resource even without a shower. Many years ago, on a moonless night, I watched them tie a sari around a mound to simulate the stillness before rain. A tin can was buried in the ground. An oil lamp, the only source of light, was balanced on cross-sticks on top of the can. They blew the powder of a local seed called ‘eessal kottai’ (‘termite nut’), which smelt of rain, over the mound. They chanted with a lot of sibilance, like the whispering wings of termites.

Initially nothing happened and I thought this was all hocus-pocus. Then the termites started emerging. They were unable to fly; perhaps their wings were not fully formed yet. They headed for the light and fell into the can. Soon, hundreds of thousands of them came pouring out like a black river. The Irula emptied the can into a gunny sack every few minutes and within an hour, the sack was half full.

Back at the Irula hamlet, we gathered around the fire as they roasted the insects on an iron griddle with rice, turmeric and chilli powders and salt. The fat from the termites sizzled and made the rice grains pop. When I gingerly sampled a roasted termite, I could barely taste it.

I followed the Irula example and shoved a whole handful into my mouth. And then another. Was it insects I was eating? They tasted of fried nuts with a buttery texture but the flavor was unique. Like those toads, I couldn’t stop stuffing myself. With a knowing grin, one of the Irula asked me how the midnight snack tasted.

I answered in Tamil, “Super.”

Printable version | Feb 18, 2012 1:05:11 PM | http://www.thehindu.com/life-and-style/metroplus/article2903369.ece

© The Hindu

Pongal at Point Calimere - an All-In-One!

The 2012 Pongal weekend was unusual for me, as we drove down the TN coast, and explored the Point Calimere area, along with other members of the Madras Naturalist Society. There was so much to learn, so much to see that there are several posts devoted to the visit.

You could start with the photo summary, which shows you where we went, and a quick sample of all we saw. Then read the description of The hamlet of Kodikarai and enjoy a slice of history in Lighthouses galore!

Did you know there are Feral horses in the grasslands of Point Calimere? Probably the only place in southern India?

Wherever, we went there were the ubiquitous Brahminy Kites. But, Point Calimere is famous for its flamingoes and migrating birds. Where were The missing waders?

See the pictorial results of our Beachcombing at Point Calimere, and travel to the mangroves at Muthupet. The Butterflies at Udayamarthandapuram is filled with pictures of those little creatures.

Uttara's report on the nocturnal wanderings is a fitting finale to a wonderful weekend shared with friends and family!

Pongal at Point Calimere - Nocturnal wanderings

I did not go on late-night walks, but my teenage friend Uttara did, on two successive nights, and this is what she reports:

Night One

And then, after more chatting and list-making in the lobby, we called it a day. At least most did. Kedar, Vikas, Vijay uncle, Prasanna aunty, Hemal aunty, Venkat uncle and I decided to participate in a night walk.

So we set out at around 10:00 and we were joined by some others on the way by the bridge. We walked along the road flashing our torches everywhere looking for roosting birds and snakes. And then, suddenly……it was just a brahminy kite on a tree. We carried on. 

Unfortunately for us, it seemed like all the animals had been wiped off Point Calimere because there was absolutely nothing. We had no choice but to turn back — at any rate, we weren’t having any luck with the birds. But the best part on the way back was when the power suddenly went out and we had to travel back guided by the light from our torches…and the stars. Once more, we got a clear glimpse into the universe as the sky and the stars seemed to stretch endlessly above us. Even in small places like Kodiakkarai where the sky is always so clear, it’s only when the lights completely go out that you realize how magnificent the sky is and how insignificant and small we are.

And once more, it was time for a nice, long sleep.

Night Two

Tonight too, as the others called it quits, we decided to go for another night walk, this time in the guesthouse compound itself but in the overgrown backyard. The participants this time were more or less the same as last time.

We walked right to the back where we spotted an unidentified frog at once. It was the first time holding a frog for quite a few of us. It didn’t feel disgusting in any way, though it did feel chilly in a good way. Then we walked through the overgrown grass, hoping to find a snake, the adrenaline really pumping now. Vijay uncle and Vikas were in front at the moment so they were the only ones who spotted the owl which disappeared in a flash so Prasanna aunty, Venkat uncle, Kedar and I missed it. But they were unable to decide on the species because they only caught a brief glimpse of the creature. 

Then we heard a nightjar. And suddenly, we caught sight of movement. But it was only a bat. Though at that very moment, Vikas said he saw something else besides the bat, the nightjar we’d heard, he decided. But again, because he was the only one who saw it — no, caught a mere glimpse of it, he was unable to ascertain the subspecies.

So we decided to check out the museum which was open 24x7 (Behind the guesthouse were a group of buildings including a small interpretation centre and museum). It consisted of three rooms, one explaining the medicinal plants found in the tropical dry evergreen forests, another with shelves containing the various kinds of shells found,  and the last room (with an entire wall covered in pictures of some of the numerous birds that could be found in the whole sanctuary) containing preserved birds. The museum did have some interesting stuff but it was poorly maintained. The entire place was caked with dust and it was clear the place hadn’t been cleaned in months. Nobody wanted to stay inside there too long so we headed back out into the open.

We decide it was getting late and we were going to have to leave in the morning the next day so the next bird would be the last. We were now right behind the guesthouse. With our eyes trained on the trees, we waved our flashlights about looking for anything roosting. Then there was a sound of rustling near a neem tree. Then all was quiet. We froze for a second then everybody began the flashlight-waving with renewed energy. Come on now! Where was it? And what was it? The suspense was building up to the point that it was crushing now.

“It’s just going to be a crow. Big deal,” remarked the pessimistic Kedar, though that observation was rather shrewd. Nonetheless, we were excited and we could feel our adrenal cortex forcing out more epinephrine.

Seconds passed and then a call rang out through the air, clear as day. Even a two year old kid could have accurately pinpointed that call to its source. What an anti-climax! Kedar was right all along. It was that annoying old Corvus splendens. I guess somewhere deep inside we’d all had the feeling that this would amount to nothing. Nevertheless, it was a big blow. 

Disappointed, we returned to our rooms to catch up on some of that much needed sleep.

Reminiscences of Madras

KV Sudhakar talks about the setting up of MNS, and the wonderful camaraderie. Their first trip was to Point Calimere. Full circle or what?!

The Hindu : FEATURES / METRO PLUS : The fall of a sparrow

AS TOLD TO PRINCE FREDERICK

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Nostalgia K.V. Sudhakar on the birds that once flocked our homes, how books on wildlife deepened his interest in natural history and his outings with the Madras Naturalists' Society

A haven for winged creaturesAdyar Estuary thenPhoto: K. raghunathan

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PHOTOS

Urbanisation is a major factor impacting wildlife. Before the days when grains began to be sold in neatly packed plastic covers at supermarkets, they were kept in open gunny bags and were sold, folded in old newspapers. As a result, a spill of grains was always found near the thresholds of poky little retail shops. Sparrows would feed on these spills. Even methods employed by wholesalers favoured these birds. When they were loaded and unloaded, sacks of grains would be lifted by sinking iron hooks into them and this practice caused spills. Dwindling numbers of such shops and more sophisticated methods of storing and transporting grains are among reasons for sparrows deserting Madras.

Not just sparrows, other birds that were once taken for granted have become a rarity. When we lived on Saravana Mudali Street in T. Nagar, our grandmother would show me and my brothers palm civets that clambered up coconut trees. Night herons would roost in the trees of our garden. As they made the sounds ‘waka! waka!', we called these herons ‘waka'.

Our interest in wildlife deepened when my brother K.V. Prabhakar found The Black Panther Of Sivanipalli by Kenneth Anderson in the collection of the Local Library Authority (LLA) on Mount Road. A copy of Vallikannan's Tamil translation of Robert C. Ruark's The Old Man And The Boy opened our eyes to the necessity of conserving wildlife.

Adyar Estuary being a haven for birds, we began to go there regularly. On one side of the estuary, the Theosophical Society served as a sanctuary for woodland birds. On the other was an open area — what is today the MRC Nagar — where ground-nesting birds congregated. Among them was an impressive number of yellow-wattled lapwings.

As bird-watching had become our foremost pastime, we began to hope for guidance from experienced birdwatchers. Our prayers were answered on May 17, 1978, when a group of around 40 birders met at the house of R.V. Mohan Rao. He had taken the trouble of getting their addresses and inviting them. A Bangalore-based group that ran a newsletter for birdwatchers helped him with the names and contact details of its members living in Madras. The meeting birthed the Madras Naturalists' Society (MNS). Founder of the Photographic Society G.K. Bhat was appointed as the Society's president. A visit to Point Calimere in December, 1978, was our first major expedition.

In those days, V. Shantaram — who now lives in the Rishi Valley — was the major guiding light for the fledgling group. He lived in Santhome and he took maximum advantage of its proximity to the Adyar Estuary, visiting it regularly and creating an exhaustive list of the estuarine birds. He was the driving force behind the Sunday trips to the Estuary. At 4.30 p.m. every Sunday, we assembled there and watched birds until one of these winged creatures asked us to ‘pack up' and go home. The stone curlews served as our time-keepers. They would pipe up always around 6.45 p.m. They would go ‘pick! pick! pick!” We also enjoyed listening to the cries of the red-wattled lapwings, which went “did did did did-you-do-it! did did did did-you-do-it!” Jokes in our group always centered around the calls and features of birds. The loquacious members were called open bills (a reference to openbill storks).

The weekend communion with Nature and the company of friends was so refreshing that we began to live from Sunday to Sunday.

As told to PRINCE FREDERICK

I REMEMBER

In those days, most birders in Madras relied on the slim-sized Book of Indian Birds by Salim Ali to identify birds. Every birdwatcher desired to possess Ali's ten-volume Handbook of the Birds of India and Pakistan , which was incredibly exhaustive but came at a steep price. A birder friend received the 10-volume set as a wedding gift. On that day, he was the most envied man in all of Madras.

K.V. SUDHAKAR Born in 1954, he is a chartered accountant and a committed naturalist. With the Madras Naturalists' Society since its inception, he now serves as its president.

Pongal at Point Calimere - Butterflies at Udayamarthandapuram

(Sheila's picture)

Uttara writes about UMP - 

An irrigation tank fed by water from the Mettur dam, the Udayamarthandapuram Bird Sanctuary was the bird and butterfly lovers’ paradise providing a nice quiet environment except for the noise made by the birds. 

The place was basically like a water body surrounded by vegetation with a path that went all the way around and was more than 3 km long. At times the trees on either side of the path grew tall and met, forming a canopy to create an arch-like effect. 

Also taken by Sheila

At times the path was open to the sky. The place was full of pond herons, grey herons, night herons, purple moorhens, and we also saw pheasant tailed jaçanas, black-headed munias, white ibises and darters. There was also an osprey perched on a pole in the middle of the water body. 

An eagle was also seen though there was some debate on its species. 


Many of us did not even walk the entire perimeter of the sanctuary but even then, a lot of time had already been spent there. It was time to get back because the vehicle had to be sent to pick up Vijay uncle who was to join us then. When we returned to the guest house, the time was 2:45 pm. It was also time for a late lunch at our favourite mess. 

Butterflies!

Can you spot the Common Grass Yellow?
Eurema hecabe.  Maybe this is the
post-monsoon
paler morph?  Caterpillar here.

Me:  I will always remember UMP for the butterflies and the dragonflies.  I went crazy with these winged beauties here, and forgot all about the birds.  It was even greater fun trying to photograph them.  We would slink up on them sloooowly, and just as we got our Panasonic to focus, they would flit away, and then perch a couple of feet away, and the whole process would start again!


India is one of the butterfly hotspots in the world, with around 300 species endemic to us.  I thought this was amazing.  I didnt know this.

Tawny Coster - Acraea terpiscore - common
in Madras too, and I think endemic to India.  Birds find them
unpalatable, and this is how the caterpillar looks.

Common castor - Ariadne merione.  They feed
on castor, are found all over the country

I wonder if this is also common castor or
angled castor?  The wings never rested flat for this butterfly.

A Common Leopard (Phalanta phalantha), basks in the sun.
They love the sun, and love lantanas as well!  

A pair of Common Ceruleans (Jamides celeno)
were in the shade.  These are endemic to India, and
in the dry season, they look a lighter colour
(almost white), as compared to this.

A Common Wanderer - that we found wandering!
If you would like to see how beautiful it looks when the wings are open,
click here.

Lemon pansy - Junonia lemonias.
The caterpillar is quite spectacular!
Its an easier butterfly to photograph.
Basks nicely and cooperatively!

Actually, even the undergrowth near the saltpans had some pretty butterflies.  I could not "capture" that Painted Jezebel that kept flitting about.  And the Crimson Roses in the Kodiakarai grasslands would not still, but made such a beautiful sight, as their red and black went like a blur among the blue meadow flowers.  These beauties below from around the salt pans.

And here is the White Orange Tip.
Ixias marianne, which I first saw in Bharatpur.

A male Danaid Eggfly.  Hypolimnas misippus
The female loves fancy dress.

Dragonflies


These are easier models, they know how to sit still!  The trick is in spotting them, which quite often I don't.

The Ruddy Marsh skimmer - male.

 

Green Marsh Hawk (I think).
Spectacular!
Supposedly pretty common, but my first sighting.

Pongal at Point Calimere - the mangroves of Muthupet

Muthupet is a huge lagoon to the west of Kodiakarai, where we were camping.  I learnt from this article in The Hindu, that Muthupet is ten times larger than Pichavaram (?, huh?  really?).

....But Sunderbans and Pichavaram are the largest and second largest mangroves in the world, aren't they?  So I wonder what that article was referring to.  I looked them both up on Google maps, and discovered that the Muthupet lagoon is huge, but only 4% of it is mangrove according to Wikipedia.   Pichavaram, on the other hand has a much more intricate and widespread network of canals, and the mangrove area is much larger therefore.

So I guess the article was referring to the lagoon size only.

Mangrove ecosystems are fascinating - the salinity of the water as fresh water meets sea water, the adaptations of the flora to these natural conditions, the tidal up and down.  These mangroves are wonderful natural barriers against storms and tidal waves too.

Leaving the canals

The tributaries of the Cauvery that flow into the lagoon before emptying into the sea can be seen in the map below, as also the worrying spread of salt pans to the north.

How do salt pans adversely affect these intertidal ecosystems?  They increase the salinity of the area isnt it?  In a regular mangrove, high tides will bring in salt water, evaporation during low tide will increase soil salinity and the high tides will bring in water to flush it out as well, so the salinity is in a range.

I guess if more and more salt pans are created than salinity of soils only increases, and there is nothing to mediate and regulate the salt levels?

View Larger Map

The HUGE lagoon - shallow but wide

 
It was wonderful to be out in that vast expanse of the lagoon, once we had navigated the canals that take us there.  I wish we could have just drifted in the waters, without the sound of our noisy outboard motor, but that was not to be.

Let's just rewind and recall that entire day.

Uttara writes about Muthupet

I think MNS should be renamed MTCFS (Madras Tea-Coffee-Food Society) because everyone seems to love their food and caffeine.

Day 2. 14th January. Saturday. 5 am

We set out in the 3 vehicles to Muthupet. We were going to the mangrove forests. The journey took more than an hour and a half so there was time for everyone to sleep a little longer. A little while before reaching the destination, the vehicles stopped for tea and vadai. But I can’t tell you anything about the food because I, like the others in Tempo Traveller#3, refused to get off the bus.

(Me:  I got off and I must say the vadais were excellent, and so greedy and self-absorbed was I, that I overlooked getting some for the rest in the tempo - sorry girls and guys!)

When our bus finally reached its stop, we got off and walked towards the bank of a small river where 5 boats were docked. We occupied three boats in total, each boat holding about 11 people excluding the two men who did the steering (actually only one controlled the propeller/rudder while the other sat in the bow).

(Me:  By this time, Rags had worked himself into a fine frenzy about not knowing how to swim, shaking hands and saying final goodbyes, with nice-knowing-you exchanges!  And our dear Arun slunk away and refused to climb on!)

The people in the boat I went in, a blue boat, included Kedar, Ambika aunty, Chandrasekar uncle, Preston uncle, Venkat uncle, Dr Alaganandam, Raji aunty, Hemal aunty and Vishwanath. The journey along the river took a long time. The vegetation by the water’s edge slowly changed from Prosopis juliflora to mangrove.

Spot the Pied KF in the Prosposis.
(We also saw a black-capped KF!)

The boats cut through the water just as the rivers had cut and split up the land into numerous pieces. Along the way we saw many kingfishers, cormorants, brahminy kites (these were so common, it was starting to get annoying) and gulls flying in the sky and diving and swimming in the water.

A dove eyes us curiously from the mangrove

A bobbing cormorant

Everywhere cormorants landed on the water and after paddling a bit, they dived in and soon reappeared quite some distance away. Everywhere in the trees there seemed to be a nest. Everywhere there were pied kingfishers sitting on a branch, hovering in the air and then plunging from a great height into the water. Everywhere gulls flapped and flew about. Everywhere there were birds.

The board walk fiasco

In the end we reached the board walk that went through the mangrove forests. So the boats were docked and we got off onto wooden planks and walked till we reached a hexagonal shelter (built off the ground where the slush and the breathing roots were) with benches all along the sides and a sloping roof and open on the sides. When we looked out into the forest at the back of the shelter, there was a sorry sight awaiting us all.

The boardwalk was in a dismal condition. Most of the planks were broken and were lying around on the soil among the roots. Somebody had taken the trouble to build this elevated boardwalk but nobody seemed to care about maintaining it. It was quite disheartening.

What a shame!

To see how it looked in 2005, click here.

But we couldn’t stop now. There was only one thing left for it now and that was to walk in the mud. Of course, this meant that the enthusiasm that had hung in the air instantly vapourised. A lot of the people like my mother, Rags uncle, Suresh uncle, Chandrashekar uncle, Kirthana, Jayamurthy uncle, Dr. Ravi, Ramanan sir, Vishwanath and Raji aunty took the smart choice and decided to stay back.

Then there was the second category of people like Ambika aunty (and Hemal!)  who walked the first few steps and wisely decided to stay back.

A closer look at the Avicennia aerial roots, which help the
plant absorb oxygen from the air

Last but not least there were always people like Kedar, Vikas, Prasanna aunty, Preston uncle and Venkat uncle who were the adventurous kind who did not chicken out even when they found out they would have to go through the swamp barefoot! We started off through the marsh, threading carefully between the roots and the dangerously slippery-looking areas. Things went wrong almost at once, when Kedar slipped and fell in the mud, luckily for him, not face first. After that, everyone treaded carefully, holding onto anything to steady themselves, even other people.

The mud was squishy and squelchy and the water was grey.  Some of the planks that had broken off the walk and fallen into the water were laid out like stepping stones and walking on them felt much better than walking in mud that was under water too dirty to see what you were stepping on. The only problem with the wooden boards was that they would abruptly sink when your feet landed on them; sometimes the boards were unexpectedly unstable and tilted all of a sudden, and sometimes the water hid the sharp nails hammered into them, causing your feet to experience an acute sharp pain. So it was always a relief when we once more got to the usable sections of the board walk but they never lasted long and we had to tread through muck again. The board walk was also not as long as we thought it was though we couldn’t go till the very end because we’d probably have had to wade through waist deep water at the very least.

Only two birds were spotted on the walk, one being a rose-ringed parakeet. A call was also heard though I don’t remember what heron Vikas said it was. With the end of the board walk in ruins, there was nothing in for it except to return to the little shelter where the rest were waiting. Again the dreaded journey through mud resumed and everyone had to taken precautions (nobody wanted to do a Kedar). Once at the shelter we first washed up our feet and then boarded our boats once more.

Preston and the "sea horses"

The lagoon proper!

We sailed out to a wide open region where a lot of fishing was going on. There was a man who looked like he was riding a horse, Venkat uncle pointed out. His posture was just right. But Ambika aunty was skeptical because the horse would have had to have been fully submerged in the water. It was a sea horse, Preston uncle explained solemnly!

"See they are trained to breathe through a tube, and can you see the reins in his hands.  Look, did you just see the tail swish?!"




There we turned around the boats away from the man on the “sea horse” and made for the place where the vehicles were waiting for us. It was closer to noon and none of us had eaten breakfast. Once at Muthupet, we found the eatery we were searching for, Muthumani unavagam, and we ate breakfast there. There were dosais and parottas to be ordered. As usual, all the members with their large appetites wolfed down their breakfast in seconds.

The plan after breakfast was to go to a birding spot some 6-7 km away.

Next up - Udayamarthandapuram sanctuary.

Further readings

India's Mangrove cover, up.