Sahyadrica

With my Northeastern buddy the Horay-bellied Himalayan Squirrel relishing Arunachali oranges. On July 7, 2013, a week after moving to Kanha, I journaled my observation on nature and human-nature interactions in Central India. My first ever memory is of an effervescent girl gently smacking a cow about to feed on someone’s backyard garden. With her brother in one arm, dressed in old school uniform, the barefooted girl led a line of cattle into the forest for grazing. This memory is as fresh as if it occurred only yesterday. She compelled me to look at myself, insecure and closed to the world – her world – shoed, full-sleeved, afraid of ants and mosquitoes, whatnot. That year, malaria, a millennia-old scourge of Central India, especially the hill regions, was particularly bad. Amidst this, from my cocoon, I romanticized the forest village life to my unadjusted unaccustomed infant eyes, and I imprinted on her, whom I ultimately followed, like cattle in a line, to see without rose-tinted gl...

  A Backhoe Loader (a capitalist arm) feeding a Cattle Egret? As this JCB reclaimed a coastal floodplain for development, the egret waited to snack on disturbed insects. It is cliché when we say the only constant in the world is change. It is a paradoxical fact, always at the back of our minds when talking about what was, what is, and what will be. That history influences the present is as much a part of this phrase as the present influencing the future. When we talk about environment preservation, biodiversity conservation, and wildlife protection – all a part of the broader environmentalism – we often look back to find reasons for the present and make predictions for the future. Even a walk in the wilderness makes us wonder what it was like in the past but also what it would be in the future. Environmentalism is as much a science as it is a movement. Some mark the dawn in the west, with the Silent Spring published in 1962. In India, one of the most well-known grassroots movemen...

  Returning to the roots, the book sits along one of the many rivers it journeys with, Banjar On February 1, 2025, Our Roots Run Wild, a book of the history of the highlands of Central India, was published by The Alcove Publishers of New Delhi. Released at a small non-event at the New Delhi World Book Fair where I felt too embarrassed to talk or sign the book, it marked the day the book became available as paperback and e-book, primarily on Amazon India. This is a short three-part series on the writing journey of this book that I let consume me. In 2016, I started writing a longform essay hoping to publish it as a booklet of my experiences working in Madhya Pradesh, particularly in the region of Balaghat, Mandla, and Seoni districts. Working on the issues deemed important for wildlife conservation – particularly of large wild mammals – had put me in touch with the grassroots quite intimately. I worked not only for but also with the local communities, the Baiga folk, in particular...

That time I looked at the sea, I did not think much of it. It was the warm feeling the usual place gives. It felt like strolling leisurely, but I quite dislike becoming comfortable with this feeling because it makes me invisible to things – they don’t present themselves like they used to. When that happens, moving away from the place, as I often do for long intervals, helps me reflect upon it, makes me think of things I didn’t realise earlier, makes me long even. It is winter, and I miss the sea, even as I long for the distant snow-capped Kangto I see once in a while through a sheet of fog. But time makes it difficult to reminisce. It becomes difficult to write, not because I cannot recollect, but as memories become more distant, emotions explode. Collecting them and weaving them in a string of thoughts is exhilarating if not overwhelming. But here I am, thinking about that moment I knew I would write about. Years later, I thought to myself then, I would look back at this cherished...