Sahyadrica

The journey on the Deccan plains under a fine monsoon sky was delightful. I was told to follow a certain system on the road that happened to be quite systematic. The air was cool, the road was free, and the pillar-numbering helped from getting lost in the city, thanks to the 11.6 km flyover that gives the city its 300 odd pillars that now hold more relevance than postal codes. That was until three hours later, when I had to retrace the road through a multitude of vehicles going in all directions at once. My friend nudged me on my shoulder and welcomed me to Hyderabad. Before I venture out in the urban wilderness I should say here that I noted three accidents on my three days on the road. Hyderabad The road-trip however was never dramatic, nor quite systematic. It was rather like going into a bustling crowd in a pub and finding your way through to the bartender. Besides charging an exorbitant fee for an auto-rikshaw ride, they never ceased to entertain their passenger. This

Monsoon is magic. If I have said it already (thrice now), please bear with me. This magic is not the kind we read in books. It is a heightened sense of seeing, of hearing, of smelling, of tasting, of being happy. Of love. It is a heightened sense of knowing: anything natural seems supernatural. Anything supernatural is no less than magic. And monsoon is just that – a heightened sense of everything. To be amidst the deep and dark woods or over the edge of a cliff while the cupid of clouds strike the ground with numerable arrows, is not only our time of happiness. It belongs to all the creatures of this world. Happiness to be alive, to be able to survive, to procreate. During this time of the year, it is monsoon that expands this emotion, even to creatures we so wrongly consider sphexish. A bee pollinating Chlorophytum tuberosum - a monsoon ephemeral As I followed the plants, I followed insects as well. Their lives are intermingled, and I find observing either without their