White nights on the Neva river

Russian coat of arms that dates back to the 15th century

Four days, and I did not see the sun set. We would sleep at midnight, with bright skies outside, and wake up at six, with the sun shining bright, again! This is by far the most farthest north I've been. 60 degrees!

We most fortunately had a delightful four days of art, history, culture and perfectly divine weather. Click on any of the pictures, for a more enjoyable viewing experience!

Sekar writes:

"Once Peter the Great consolidated his throne and defeated Russia's then traditional enemy Sweden, he decided to build a new capital rather than return to Moscow. Moscow symbolized all that was wrong with Russia: it was provincial and inward-looking, it was the place where rivals had tried to eliminate him, it was a place he hated.

His new capital would be one that looked west to an enlightened Europe. He chose a site on the western periphery of his empire, on marshy ground where the river Neva emptied into the Gulf of Finland. It would serve as a port, as a place where he could keep an eye on the Swedes and, most importantly, a place that would be a window to Europe.

The city he built, St Petersburg, was a European city. Its architecture, its layout on a series of canals, its broad roads and grand squares were all European. It was, and is, like no other Russian city.

All this we had read before our visit and we had visions of European grandeur as our flight from Helsinki descended through low clouds to Pulkovo airport. We were disappointed. The airport appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Lush green grass, stands of spruce trees: there was no hint that a large city was nearby. Broken tarmac was evident as we got off the plane and the terminal building looked pitifully small. Despite the late hour (close to 10pm) and the low clouds, it was light. A somewhat antiquated bus deposited us at the terminal. The late hour meant sparse crowds at the passport counter, but the officer took his time examining me, my passport, his computer, various items on his (hidden) desk and then repeating the process. At one point, after giving me a suspicious look, he picked up his phone. For a long moment or two I thought the Lubyanka beckoned, but then I heard the reassuring sound of rubber stamps on passport and exhaled in relief.
There was a half completed building outside, the road had seen better days and the lush grass hadn't been cut. Things didn't look very promising and the low clouds only added to the general air of decay and gloom.

Thankfully, things improved after that. The main highway was broad and smooth and we were soon entering the city. We passed large monuments to the defenders of the city during the long WW2 siege. We passed stately buildings, almost all 4 – 5 stories tall, more monumental memorials, large, tree-filled parks and then more and more signs that we were entering Peter the Great's city. Here, the buildings had pastel facades and ornate decorations. Each building was distinct, but there was harmony in the whole. The architectural references to Venice, Prague and Paris were obvious. We drove along a canal, crossed Nevsky Prospekt (in a way the Champs Elysee of St Petersburg) and were soon at our hotel. 11pm and it was still light – the famous 'white nights'.

St Petersburg is a walking city – the historic centre can be covered on foot – and we set out the next day to explore it. Many of the buildings have one or more courtyards and peeping in we could see decay, shabbiness and, at times, derelict interiors. The city had suffered horribly during the 1941-1944 siege. Once repaired and reconstructed, continued maintenance was neglected. By the 1970s and 80s, it was by some accounts quite rundown. Grand buildings were occupied by Soviet era bureaucracies, churches were either neglected or used to store food and vegetables – one escaped this fate only to become a museum to atheism! While neglect ate away at the edges, the saving grace was that nothing was actually torn down. The dowager still lived, but her circumstances had changed and for the worse.

The change, the refurbishment of the city, came recently. Putin and his successor as President, Medvedev, are both natives of St Petersburg. This meant that considerable work was done in preparation for the city's 300th anniversary celebrations. Years of grime, decay and neglect were undone. Churches, palaces, public spaces and statues were restored and the city of Peter and Catherine the Great lived once more.

Palace Square!

The Palace Square, a huge cobblestoned public plaza bracketed by the Winter Palace and the semi-circular General Staff Building, and punctuated by the large column celebrating Alexander's defeat of Napoleon was just steps from our hotel. This was where the Tsar's troops fired on unarmed protesters in 1905.

The General Staff Building

The General Staff building, imposing and majestic, had a large arch topped by a monumental martial sculpture connecting two wings which embraced the Square. The Winter Palace looked like a large green cake with an overdose of icing. The southern face with its ornate entrances faced the square, the other side looked out over the Neva, swift and cold in its rush to the sea, to the imposing Peter and Paul Fortress. Inside were the imperial rooms and the Hermitage Museum.
The Winter palace
The imperial rooms were breathtaking and overwhelming. Richly painted ceilings, acres of marble, malachite and plasterwork, gilded walls and furniture – did the Romanovs have a gold fetish? - intricately woven brocades and carpeting, sweeping staircases and statuary, it was opulence gone mad. Each room was different from the next, each, in its own way, was a feast for the eyes. It was easy to see why public discontent built up to the events of 1905 and 1917.
The Gold Drawing Room at the Winter Palace
Raphael Loggias - a complete copy of Raphaels' frescoes at the Vatican adornone of the Winter palace's corridors

Then there was the museum. The paintings are famous, of course, but there is so much more. The broad sweep of Russian history over close to 3000 years and over a vast landscape stretching from Siberia to Europe is covered. Artifacts, tools, armour, sculptures: various exhibits take in all these and more. And the paintings! Rembrandt, Titian, Da Vinci, Constable, Rubens (even paintings other than buxom, unclad women!), Breughel, Van Eyck, Monet, Manet, Degas, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Picasso, Matisse, are all there in good numbers. Add to that thousands of less well known works. A student of Art could be there for weeks taking it all in. A tourist intent on just ticking off 'famous' works to show off back home would still need the better part of a day. And there is plenty that is not on exhibit. All the works of art picked up by the victorious Soviet army in 1945 from Germany and elsewhere have never been exhibited. I can only hope that they see daylight soon.
St Isaac's Cathedral - one of the world's largest. Served as the Museum of Atheism during the Soviet era. Is still a museum, of art though.

Peter's compact Summer Palace

The river embankment stretching away from both flanks of the Winter Palace includes many fine buildings, parks, bridges, St Isaac's Cathedral and Peter's surprisingly modest city Summer Palace. Across the river from the Cathedral are the buildings of the university, and the Winter Palace itself faces the fortress which includes the Peter and Paul Cathedral where all the Romanovs are buried. We were walking along the river late one morning when there was a loud blast from the fortress followed by a puff of smoke. We learnt later that the last of the Romanovs, a Grand Duchess aged 95, had just been buried alongside her relatives. Beneath the fortress are dungeons which once hosted the likes of Gorky, Dostoevsky and Trotsky.
The Peter & Paul Fortress, on the other side of the Neva

Look around St Petersburg and, the cyrillic signs apart, there is little to remind you that you are in Russia. There is very little that is Russian about this city and there is nothing else in Russia quite like it. One landmark that is very Russian is the Church on Spilt Blood.
Church of Spilled Blood

Ceiling to floor mosaics!
The odd name refers to its founding on the site of the assassination of Czar Alexander II. Up close, it looks like a Lego or Disney caricature of a Russian church. Onion domes in crazy colours and patterns, each wall and turret looking like a different architect's work, large areas of stained glass and mosaic. A canal runs to one side, a large park lies on the other, tourist buses fill the plaza fronting it and, completing the picture of a Russian tourist spot, the crumbling building nearby that once housed the Tsar's stables. Inside, the building was astonishing. Every square inch of wall and ceiling was covered in mosaics depicting biblical scenes. A large pattern in marble covered the floor. Bright sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows added colour to everything. The Russian Orthodox Church and the Greek Orthodox Church have a shared ancestry and there was much in this church that carried echoes of the Haghia Sophia in Istanbul. This church was badly damaged during the war. Restoration work was completed only a couple of years back.


A kilometre to the west, we sat in yet another tree-filled park adjoining the Cathedral of St Nicholas. A symphony of bells filled the evening air, children ran around, lovers on benches exchanged sweet nothings, bicyclists and roller bladers swerved and sped around the paths and a small army of pet dogs barked and sprinted their way around the grass. We were just a little off the main tourist track, sitting back and enjoying the late spring evening along with families from the neighbourhood. No one spoke English, but we felt comfortable just watching everyone else enjoying their evening in their city. This was not a fancy part of town. The restorers' brush hadn't touched much of it and the buildings looked worn and a bit shabby. The Cathedral shone, though. Restoration was almost complete.

St Nicholas' Cathedral

Sky-blue walls rose up to meet ornate white plasterwork and, higher up, gilded domes that glittered in the northern sunlight. This was not a church for curious tourists. We could enter, but not the inner nave and altar. It was quiet inside. Framed icons covered the walls. Worshippers kissed them reverently and prayed silently. A nun walked around wiping the icons once each worshipper was done.

The Mariinsky theatre, home to the Kirov ballet

A little to the north were two buildings that embodied St Petersburg culture. Between statues of Glinka and Rimsky Korsakov was the large, square building housing the St Petersburg (now Rimsky Korsakov) conservatory. Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Prokofiev, Shostakovich, Glazunov, Heifetz, Milstein and many others studied there and the teachers included the likes of Anton Rubinstein, Rimsky Korsakov and Leopold Auer. It was (and is) one of the great nurseries for classical music performers. Across the road stood the pale green and plaster building of the Mariinsky Theatre. The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty and other Tchaikovsky masterpieces premiered here. The likes of Nijinsky, Pavlova, Nureyev and Baryshnikov were its lead dancers.

Olesya Novikova & Leonid Sarafanov take a bow.
Inside, the hall has been restored to its former splendour. This theatre was where the Tsar watched ballet and much of the glitter and opulence we saw in the Winter Palace was here as well. The restoration did not extend to the seating. We sat in cramped seats and had to peer past the heads of those seated in front of us to see the performance.

Over the past decade and a half, the Kirov ballet company has regained its past renown. We watched a series of performances featuring Leonid Sarafanov, their young star: short pieces set to music by Czerny, Prokofiev's Prodigal Son choreographed by Balanchine, and the last act of Don Quixote, the Minkus – Petipa extravanganza complete with castanets and rakish costumes. Interestingly, most of those around us were very appreciative Russians. This was clearly not just a tourist trap. Cramped knees notwithstanding, I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. Lengthy breaks to catch up on champagne and caviar followed each piece and it was well past ten by the time it finished. No matter: bright sunshine bathed the city as we walked back to the hotel and the sight of the glowing dome of St Isaacs towering over the canals and lines of mansions was one to cherish.

Literary Cafe - from where Pushkin set off for his fatal duel with Baron d'Anthes (who seduced his wife), on 27th Jan 1837.

Russia's turbulent history finds echoes everywhere in St Petersburg. The ship which fired the first shots of the 1917 revolution, the house Catherine the Great built for her paramour, the cafe where Pushkin had his last meal, the palace where Rasputin was murdered, all still exist and are part of the tourist itinerary. The past is interwoven with the present in almost every street, and, after a while, we ceased to notice the sight-seeing boats plying the canals with their eager tourists and commentary streaming from their loudspeakers.

Some thirty kilometres west of the city, on the southern shore of the Gulf of Finland, Peter built his getaway. Peterhof, as it is known, is a (relatively) modest, yellow (as opposed to green) version of the Winter Palace, flanked by some spectacular fountains and two large gardens. There is plenty of gold here as well, in the statuary amid the fountains and capping the cupolas of the chapels. The French garden is a formal one with clipped trees, lawns and flower beds arranged neatly around the fountains. The English garden is more like a forest: a thickly wooded expanse that runs down to the Gulf. Paths criss-cross it and it is a lovely place to be on a sunny spring afternoon.
The palace at Peterhof, with the magnificent and golden fountain in the foreground

We took the hydrofoil to get there. High waves and strong winds buffeted us. Crossing on a regular boat would have had us sea-sick in seconds. The outskirts of the city as we headed out into the gulf were a bleak expanse of factories, Soviet-era apartment buildings and the docks and cranes of the port. Once out into the gulf, the shores were forested. The steel-grey waves whipped to a froth, the green forested shores and the blue skies were a nature lover's dream. At Peterhof, we chose to skip the gilded rooms and spent our time wandering through the gardens and enjoying the sunshine. It was wonderful taking in the fresh, clean air and all the greenery.
View from above the Grand Cascade, loking down towards the Gulf of Finland

All too soon, our time in St Petersburg was up. We drove past the institute where Mendeleev discovered the periodic table and Stalin-era factory where Putin's parents had worked and met.

Sunday afternoon, it seems, is when tourists depart St Petersburg. Pulkovo II was packed. A long line of luggage laden passengers snaked their way through an utterly inadequate room to a single bag scanner and a single metal detector. Each time it beeped, those behind had to wait while the offender tried again and again, unloading keys, coins and everything they should have unloaded in the first place. Time passed. Check in at the Finnair counter was quick. Then, another long wait at Passport Control. We had been told that Moscow airport had taken 2 hours to clear 20 incoming passengers. It looked as though the old Moscow – Petersburg rivalry was still on. Passports dealt with, we were confronted with yet another security check. There were two counters open, but one closed abruptly without explanation and all passengers pushed and shoved their way into the other one. Some very polite Austrians stood no chance. We used the autorickshaw technique of nudging into gaps while not allowing gaps to open up ahead of us. Two hours after we entered the airport, we finally emerged from security straight into the bus which took us to our flight.
The Victory Monument, erected in 1975, in memory of the city's 900 day siege during the second World War. The city did not surrender, but millions died
The lone surviving statue of Lenin, in St petersburg that was Leningrad. In fron the of the Communist party office.
Last views from the air...

Helsinki airport was cool, airy and with wide open spaces. What a relief! Another flight, a transfer to the domestic terminal and we were at IGI 2 in Delhi awaiting our flight to Madras. There were large crowds, yes, but these were efficiently dealt with. There was a bustle and general sense of purpose and the sheer number of passengers waiting to travel close to mid-day was quite astonishing. Pulkovo, Helsinki, IGI – three very different experiences but each a window into their respective societies and economies. It was nice to be back in seething, surging, moving India.

And now for some practical tips to visitors from Chennai/India

We enjoyed the Finn Air experience, andjudging from other reports regarding Moscow airport and aeroflot, I think it worked well, though there were long layovers at Helsinki. It was still the quickest way to St petersburg for us. Allow for atleast four days. We had four, and I still wanted a couple more days, a few things I would have loved to have done!

The reason I say this is -

1. The Hermitage museum/Winter Palace would take the good part of a day, even if you just did the highlghts.
2. The four large cathedrals - Church of Spilled Blood, Kazan, Isaacs and Nicholas which you might want to do (another day)
3. Peter & Paul fortress would take a half day
4. Exploring the canals, or going to Peterhof, just walking around (the weather is lovely!) another half a day.
5. Then there is Vassilevsky island, the parks, the ballet. there is also Pushkin (which we didnt see) which has Catherine's palace. This would be a half day excursion out of St P.

If you do a bus tour, then I guess you could take it all in, in two days. In the summer, the days are very long, so you can pack in a fair bit. We walked (and walked and walked), so it all took a bit more time, but then we could linger and do what we wanted to do. We stayed at the Kempinski, which was literally a stone's throw from the Hermitage, a great location and everything was within walking distance.

Some other tips -

# Please do get a guide book, it helps. we used the DK Eyewitness travel one (Rs 700).
# We at no point felt unsafe or threatened. The tourist areas are thronging with tourists. Its best to use the hotel safe for
documents, carry only the photocopy I guess. We did not use a cab at all, so I dont know about it. The Metro stations are supposed to be attractive and Stalinist, but we didnt have time to see any. There are trams and trolley buses as well.
# You can book a ticket for a ballet, online, before hand - we did, at the Mariinsky.
it..and there were no problems/hassles.
# you could also book tickets for the Hermitage online, which saves about an hour of queueing. The first Thursday of every month though is free entry!
# The cathedrals all charge about 350 rubles per adult. St Nicholas and Kazan had no charge for entry.

Continued here.

Ko-el crescendoes

A depression in the bay
Oh hurray!
Cool winds and cloudy skies
Leaves green and sun goodbye.

The rains, the koel finds his voice
eager to find a mate of choice.
The call, not romantic,
More than a trifle frantic.
A male koel calls. Photo by Mr Ramanan
Up the scale, a crescendo
Ceasing abruptly, uh oh!
All through the day, the call
Sharp, shrill, not a drawl.

Here comes the lady, speckled
Has she been wooed or heckled?

In need of a nest
A crow’s is the best.
Now here’s the ploy
The koel male a decoy.

Eggs laid in crow mama’s brood.
No, crow papa not at all clued.
Brood parasitism unmatched
koel’s cunning plan hatched.


The female koel arrives. Photo by Mr Ramanan
Koel chicks born domineering
Kicking crow eggs, sneering.
But Nature’s playing field levelled
Nine months, the koel bedevilled.

No call, no mate
That is its fate.
Skulking in trees, soundless,
A life quite joyless?

The koel male has blue-green feathers, adding to its basically black plumage. Photo by Mr Ramanan

Read about The call of the koel.

Mother Nature issues a wake-up call

Futurity.org – Mother Nature issues a wake-up call

We have been trekking all over St Petersburg these last few days, enjoying the divine weather, sunny skies, chill winds, blue of the Neva river, and the parks, all green with trees putting on their spring fashionwear.

According to a study done at the University of Rochester, this is good for us, energizing us. The article link is for all the doubters and sceptics, who actually didn't know this already!

What is novel about this research, write the authors, is that it carefully tests whether this increased vitality associated with the outdoors is simply the feel-good spillover from physical activity and people-mixing often present in these situations.
To tease out the effects of nature alone, the authors conducted five separate experiments, involving 537 college students in actual and imagined contexts.
In one experiment, participants were led on a 15-minute walk through indoor hallways or along a tree-lined river path. In another, the undergraduates viewed photographic scenes of buildings or landscapes. A third experiment required students to imagine themselves in a variety of situations both active and sedentary, inside and out, and with and without others.
Two final experiments tracked participants’ moods and energy levels throughout the day using diary entries. Over either four days or two weeks, students recorded their exercise, social interactions, time spent outside, and exposure to natural environments, including plants and windows.
Across all methodologies, individuals consistently felt more energetic when they spent time in natural settings or imagined themselves in such situations.
The findings were particularly robust, notes Ryan; being outside in nature for just 20 minutes in a day was enough to significantly boost vitality levels.

(My teenage son came along on these walks, without the crutch of an ipod, with a pleasant expression on his face, and was actually amused at the antics of the gulls, terns and ducks on the river, and the sparrows and fat pigeons in the park. Hmmmm, so maybe there is still hope!!)

Collared Pratincole at Siruthavoor

Pratincoles are birds that live on the ground around water bodies and have a lapwing-like stature.

Skandan reports,

The scorching May month heat was about to put an end to our birding for a month.But our birding instincts forced Sripad and me for a drive to Siruthavoor today.

We were lucky once once again with this sighting of "*Collared Pratincole*". They are not so common here.

Oriental Pratincole & Collared Pratincole look very similar.
Collared ones
1) have Tail tip reaching the tip of the Closed wings at rest.
2) have White trailing edge in the primaries (visible in flight)

Collared Pratincole - Photo by Skandan
Collared Pratincole - Photo by Skandan

Pictorial differences between Oriental Pratincole vs Collared Paratincole.

Butterfly migrations in south india

Butterfly migration latest_kishen_das

View more presentations from kishendas.

Bandhavgarh - Land of Tigers

So we thought we had seen a lot of tigers at Ranthambhore, but here's somebody who has seen plenty too, and lovely photos to boot! Arun spent ten days at the Bandhavgarh sanctuary in Madhya Pradesh. Bandhavgarh has one of the highest tiger densities if I'm not mistaken, and also has a fort atop the hill within the sanctuary. However, the forests are evergreen sal (like Kanha) and not dhok like Ranthambhore.

Enjoy !

BANDHAVGARH - - Land of Tigers - arun - Picasa Web Albums

Plenty of plovers

Madras is a warm and hospitable place. The Lonely Planet does not think much of the city, but its one of those places that creep up on you and becomes home.

It seems to have affected the birds as well. A month ago, the MNS e-group was full of distressed emails about the pittas, which were refusing to leave, and quite tragically, dying for their loyalty. (The pittas need to go back to cool climes you see.)

And now, Skandan and his buddies have been lurking around the Adyar estuary and catching these plovers, that are usually only winter visitors to the city, coming in with the music season and the rustle of silks, and leaving well before the summer, mangoes and cotton!

We are well into summer and they are still here, and in breeding plumage to boot.

Grey plover, in breeding plumage. Sighted in Kelambakkam backwaters. Photo by Skandan

The plovers are medium-sized waders - birds that live along the water's edge, with short necks and kind of stubby bills. The non-breeding grey plover is , well, grey! The striking black chest is to attract the ladies!

Lesser Sand plovers, in the sand! Photo by Skandan

The Lesser Sand Plovers were in the sand thankfully, being faithful to their name. And yes, there are Greater Sand Plovers, which are marginally bigger, with slightly longer legs and a more pointy beak.

Click on the picture above and spot the breeding males -the ones with the black mask around the eyes. The morose ones with brown upper necks are the females.

Find the lone Terek sandpiper, among the lesser sand plovers. Photo by Skandan

Its the one with the looong bill! What's it doing hanging out with the plovers, I wonder? The Terek sandpiper's bill is much longer than the common sandpiper, which is quite common. They are endearing birds to watch, slight bobbing up and down, quick stuttering darts along the ground and complete absorption in finding their food!
Pacific golden plovers. Photo by Skandan

Beautiful birds, both in flight and when they are in repose. The golden colours usually catch the evening sunlight beautifully, in the estuary. The striking white markings are prominent in the breeding males.

White-winged tern - breeding plumage. Sighted at Kelambakkam backwaters. Photo by Skandan

I love to watch tern acrobatics over the water's surface. They swoop and glide, and are constantly calling, and are fun to watch through the binoculars. This tern that Skandan has photographed, has a black head only during breeding, and its non-breeding plumage is just white and kind of dull grey or dirty white for the body!

I find the terns very confusing to distinguish during non-breeding, they all look similar!

Skandan and friends also found a Collared Pratincole at Siruthavur.

Tiger spotting at Ranthambhore

Stunning cliffs and ravines make up the Ranthambhore terrain.

A few years ago, we visited Dungarpur. The palace, now a hotel (a wonderfully hospitable one at that), has a Shikar room. I walked in, and my stomach lurched I can tell you. Eyes of tiger, sambar, chital, leopard stared down from the walls. 99 tigers, the raja of old was supposed to have killed...its unsurprising that there are no tigers left in those forests.

1900 - around 40,000 tigers

1970 - 2,000, 2010 - just about 1,100.
The Banyan tree near Jogi Mahal, famous in its own right.

As I wandered the dry forests of Ranthambhore under an April sun, my mind wandered. What an unlikely saviour the tigers had in Indira Gandhi. A PM who invoked Emergency, was insecure and power-hungry, arguably destroyed several of India's institutions...and yet, she banned all hunting in India in 1970, put a stop to fur and skins export, stood firm on Silent Valley, started mechanisms to monitor our forests and was the initiator of Project Tiger.
Dhok trees, dry and bare in the summer

And then Ranthambhore had (still has) Fateh Singh Rathore and Valmik Thapar. I came back to Madras and read about the formation of the sanctuary, the efforts needed to relocate the villages within the park, and I was truly humbled. It is because of the single-minded efforts of people like this, and the countless underpaid, poorly trained forest rangers and wildlife wardens that we cling on to our remaining forests and wildlife.

Ranthambhore offered me a glimpse of my first tigers in the wild. I have seen them angrily pacing in the Mysore zoo and gone away unhappy and somehow ashamed. Ashamed because my fellow Indians taunted and teased them. My son then burst out that he was never going back to a zoo in his life....and we haven't.

T 17, the tigress we saw several times, cooling off at the Padam lake. behind her are crocodiles on the mud island!

Ranthambhore -the forest was dry and hot, the landscape for the most part bleak, almost like we were touring a nuclear holocaust area, the dhok trees stood bare, the herbivores were listless. But then I saw the tiger, and I was spellbound. She was far away, sitting by the banks of the Padam lake. It was a strangely serene scene. Jogi Mahal was to our left, the huge banyan tree behind. The crocs lay on the little mud island in the middle, egrets stood stock still, while the stilts moved around in their usual self-absorbed fashion. And the peafowl moved uncaringly close to the tigress.

She was not in a hunting mood, and the jungle was aware of this. After a while, she stood up, and a feline stretch later, strolled into the elephant grass, and vanished from sight. This was T17, we were told. Just google her, and you will find that she's widely photographed. Daughter of the famous Machli. My view was rather different from this one, also at Jogi Mahal:

"One massive male that Fateh and Valmik named Genghis introduced in 1983 a method of killing never before observed anywhere else on earth. He routinely hid in the eall grass that lines the largest of the lakes, then stormed out into the water to snatch an unwary sambar before it could make it ack to solid ground - and he performed this spectacular feat in full view of the guests sipping tea on the verandah of the Jogi Mahal. "

Tiger and Tigerwallahs, Geoffrey C Ward

What stars these are, the tigers of Ranthambhore! Each with a story and a lineage. I was hooked. Yes, the Thicknees and Buntings were delightful and all that, but this was something else! That was sighting number one for me.

The ravine below, where we saw the sister-brother duo

Many ravines, dry dhok trees, scurrying peacocks, moulting sambhar later, we arived at the edge of a cliff, and this is what we saw below. A brother and sister duo of tigers, orphaned at birth. Their mother killed in a fight with another male tiger.

Their survival itself was a miracle according to the guides, since they had not yet learnt to hunt proficiently. We were told that they hunt together and kind of hang out together as well.

A short video- listen to the howling wind.

The terrain on the cliff top. These cacti were spectacular and added colour to the brown summer scene

The jeep in which my husband and son were, saw them kind of gambolling and pawing at each other! By the time we arrived, we just saw the one sitting in the grass below, and after a bit she kind of rolled over and slept, sprawled like she had no care in the world.

A loud laugh from one of us, and the head came up and she stared at us, before dropping off again - its only those pesky humans.

The male tiger (I think), the one we did not see initially, but saw later as he slept on his back under a tree!

The male had wandered off and we did not see him at all. We hung around on the top of the cliff, a strong wind whipping the sand into our faces. Our jeep was right at the edge, and the wind was making me nervous, never a good one for heights you see.

But we were rewarded for our patience. The male appeared on the other side of the water, loped off to a tree, sat down, and then like a puppy dog, kind of rolled on his back and went to sleep with his feet in the air! I am not kidding! He was too far away to get a shot, but we were able to see him with our binoculars.

The one that rolled over and went to sleep, in front of us.

The stripes, so evident and clear are such a wonderful camouflage in this straw-coloured grass. We saw him moving and then settling under the tree. Those who did not, found it very hard to even find him.

Just like sighting Number three, asleep under this rocky outcrop. T17 again, radio-collar giving her away. Its amazing the amount they sleep!
Was this T 17 again? It was a radio-collared tiger.

In fact, Ranthambhore made it easy to lose sight of the fact that while tigers are beautiful, they are never cuddly. I once spent a whole afternoon watching four tigers sleep off a meal. They were dozing in the shade; I was sitting in the sun. No human sound seemed to disturb them: our restless shifting in the jeep had no effect on the loud, steady, bellowlike sound of their breathing, neither did the voices of the road crew passing in the distance, nor a series of blasts from a rock quarry outside the park. After the third hot, drowsy hour, it was all I could do to stop myself from getting down to sleep alongside them. Then, the gentle flutter of a tree-pie's wings hopping too close to the kill brought the tigress roaring to her feet - and me to my senses. Even the minutest threat to her kill offered by a small bird had demanded action; so might I have had I actually got down. But siting in the jeep, neither menace nor potential meal, I was just part of the landscape.

Tigers and Tigerwallahs, Geoffrey C Ward,

Our canter moved on then as we heard of another tiger further down in the ravine. A langur gave an alarm call, and the sambars stood alert with their tails in the air. We stopped and waited, as the guide hissed that it was probably a leopard. But after 10 minutes and no movement, we trundled along further, and came upon a clearing with about five jeeps wedged in, but no tiger.

Or so I thought, until we looked past the jeeps into a cave covered with roots, and saw a massive head! And even more massive paws.
Kumbakarna, or so I thought as he slumbererd on and on!
And so it was, he slumbered on an on. and we waited and waited. The cliffs around us were spectacular. Parakeets screeched all around. But the tiger slept.

In one of the jeeps was a professional photographer. He was its sole occupant. We had seen him earlier, and he was also staying at the same place that we were. Anyways, whenever we saw him in the park he was asleep! With a cap over his face, sprawled on the back seat. He had a long, threatening looking camera lens, and the guide looked out for him. We were told that he would wake up only when the tiger woke.

So we wondered whether the opposite would work, we wake him and the tiger would awake? Mr Swami suggested we have a roaring competition to rouse the tiger (fear not, we didn't), a magpie robin entertained us with his music.

Usha took refuge under her orange dupatta, looking like a giant anthill which had been smeared with turmeric, my son amused himself by taking a series of self-portraits on our digicam (I discovered this later of course!). And still he slept. Some of the jeep drivers banged their doors shut louder than was necessary, and it reverberated through the forest.

Suddenly there was movement, and a hush fell over the waiting crowd. The tiger needed a pillow, and moved himself into a more comfortable position. It was 5:30 in the evening, time was running out, we would have to leave soon, since the park rules were that we needed to be out of the park by 6.30.
Suddenly, an eye opened. I took my binoculars up, and was completely disconcerted to find myself eyeballing the tiger, as he stared at us. There is nothing friendly about a tiger looking at you, I can say. I think that if I was caught in front of a tiger, I would be too terrified to even run.

And here were we, in various jeeps and canters, most without an escape route. All it needed was an annoyed and irritated tiger to lash out with that almighty paw, and we would have a tragedy on our hands. We left before the tiger left its den, sadly (or may be thankfully?!).

In the name of tourism, me thinks we are pushing our luck, crowding tigers with our jeeps, flashbulbs, and raised voices. The tiger does not attack a jeep is the old adage, and I for one am least convinced about this.

In a way, I was relieved that all our encounters were from a safe distance, no harm to us, and no disturbance to the tiger.
Spot the tiger! T17 again rests at the base of the tree in the rear!

A flame of the forest tree with some flower. Its a common tree in Ranthambhore, though most of the other trees were in pod

Sighting number five was outside the park, from the buffer zone. Our jeep driver raced there, upon hearing that a tiger had just moved from Padam lake into the undergrowth, and so we went in order to catch her, as she emerged on the other side. We parked ourselves and sat, and after a while I stared dreamily out, the heat making me feel that the lake was a nice place to be in (no thought of crocodiles on my mind of course), when I saw some stripes walking past. "Ay, tiger, tiger!", I exclaimed most unimaginatively, and soon there was a rush of canters and jeeps around us. Its in the thicket in the picture above. Try look for it! Else take my word!

The ones that got away, or the sightings we did not have!

Of course, there were other members of our gang of 27, who had different encounters, and wonderful pictures to boot. Here is one such, as narrated by R Shantaram.

A Gypsy came rushing up to the group of vehicles. The message was crisp: at Lakharda, near Mandu Point, a pair of tigers had dragged a kill across the road from a waterhole. The race was on. Canters galloped, Gypsies careened, as every vehicle tried to be the first on the scene, to grab the best spot for watching the tigers. But even before we reached there, four or five other vehicles had cornered the vantage points. Not that we were complaining.

Lakarda male- Photo by Mr Ramanan

We had a wonderful view, as the male tiger (T 28) – a large 4-year old – got up, crossed the road up ahead of us and walked towards us, stopping at the waterhole, where he slaked his thirst. Strolling back, he went about 25 feet away from the road and lay down, sated, needing some peace and quiet, now.

Lakarda female-Photo by Mr Ramanan

The tigress (T 19) was still feeding at the kill, but soon, she needed water as well and so cut across the road to the waterhole. Maybe the male felt protective, for he too got up and circled the vehicles, getting to the waterhole. He saw that the tigress wasn’t too worried about the crowd of onlookers – there were close to a hundred people, standing up on the seats of their vehicles, trying to get pictures the best they could – and had settled herself quite comfortably into the small waterhole, so he wandered back to the other side of the road. The tigress continued to lie in the water, soaking herself for a while, allowing everyone to take a good look at her. When she had enough of it, she got up, intending to walk back to her kill the way she had cut across the road. But by now there was a double line of vehicles blocking that path, so she had to go around, behind the last vehicle.
Photo by Mr Ramanan

That Gypsy suddenly gunned its engines and reversed, keeping abreast of the tigress – thankfully, it was only for a few seconds and the big girl was allowed to get across before she could build up her anger. We had been there for almost an hour, though it seemed but a few minutes, and the drive back was quick, for we had been lucky, to have seen two tigers on our first safari.

Read more of Shantaram's Ranthamhore trip diary here.

Usha recounts her tiger sighting number 1, as also narrates The jungle experience of a lifetime

I also found these wonderful "tiger" links -

The truth about tigers, is Shekar Dattatri's all you need to know about tigers website. He also has made a documentary on what common urban people can do to help. Unfettered tourism in and around our parks has been blamed as bad for long-term tiger health. I found this essay interesting The tourism conundrum - an insider responds and Travel Operators For Tigers are a group of tour operators looking to be responsible. The Forest Survey of India has a lot of stats on India's forest cover. There are beautiful pictures at Machali - one of Ranthambore's stars.

And please oh please save us from the Chinese tiger farm.

A tiger is a sturdy animal and breeds well, if we let it. How many tigers can India support? How much territory are we willing to give them?

And on a personal level, should I be taking countless jeep rides through the forest? Here's my wish list:

• Each sanctuary/park in India should make it compulsory that every visitor attends an initial orientation, where everyone clearly knows the do's and dont's of forest behaviour, tiger-spotting etiquette, and safe behaviour.
• There should be an upper limit as to number of jeeps allowed per day into the sanctuary.
• There should be strict rules regarding how many vehicles can surround a tiger - dont you think this is both safe and courteous?

What do you think?

There is no point making us sign indemnity bonds (which we did by the way) and then setting us loose inside the forest!

Courtship in front of the ladies toilet

Let me tell you a story

No, this one's not hoary

A moment of glory

But a setting so corny.

In the forests of Ranthambore,

Peacocks galore.

One morning, Mr Pavo cristatus
Was trying to impress his missus.

That was all very well, I thought

But pay more attention, he ought

To the venue for his courtship

in order to make her heart skip.
Of the toilet behind

he seemed completely blind

But the peahens did seem to mind

As they ignored him and dined

On seeds, insects and anything they could find!

Now the men in our group expressed sympathy

And they did not think the peacock blameworthy

But rather thought the peahen typically hard-to-please

For his fanciful display, she should be begging on her knees!

What a sight it was, those magnificent feathers in a train.

Wonder and awe we expressed, again and again.

A fan of blues, such iridiscent hues

Caused by nanostructures in their barbules.

The wild peafowl roost in trees

And gather in groups called parties.

But nests they make on the ground

Though, so far not one have I found.

Twenty years is their typical life span

Thats the age of a young man!

I will always remember their loud, piercing cries

And the flashes of blue as they took to the skies.

But most of all, I will remember this dance

A beautiful, incongruous, unsuccessful romance?

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These peafowl we saw on our recent trip to the Ranthambore National Park, one of India's well known tiger reserves in north India. Situated in the eastern part of Rajasthan, the closest railhead is Sawai Madhopur, 11 kms away, while the closest city would be Jaipur, about 180 kms away.

We went in late April, when the day temperatures hovered around 43 -45 degrees C, and the dry hot winds came rolling in off the Thar desert (or so I thought anyway!). The water bodies were shrinking and the local dhok trees (Anogeissus pendula) completely dry. Ideal animal sighting conditions, though not ideal human comfort weather!

The peafowl were a delightful distraction all across the park, and their alarm cries were also very useful in tiger tracking.

Watch this blog for more on tiger, leopard and the birds of Ranthambore!

Tiger spotting at Ranthambhore

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PS:

Thanks to Corey of 10,000birds.com, I came across this interesting article of how peacocks happen to now roam wild in Arcadia, LA!