Selfies, Snacks, and Safaris

 

Selfies, Snacks, and Safaris

Welcome to the modern Indian wilderness, where the ancient call of the wild has been thoroughly drowned out by the clang  of a luxury resort’s welcome bell 🍄  and the aggressive revving of three dozen Maruti Gypsys. If you thought the point of visiting a tiger reserve was to experience peace and witness nature untamed, you are hopelessly stuck in the last century.. Today, a wildlife safari is less about wildlife and  more about ensuring Instagram followers know you can afford it.Here is a look at the current state of India’s wildlife "conservation" scene, where the only thing being preserved is the bank account of fancy forest Lodges & luxury resort owners.

  Once upon a time, a trip to a forest lodge meant a cozy room, a mosquito net, and a flashlight. Today, jungle resort prices in India have skyrocketed to astronomical heights, rivaling a weekend trip to London.  💰 To truly experience "nature," you must now pay for a private plunge pool overlooking a watering hole, an artisanal organic breakfast served in a curated thicket, and a "nature guide" who points at a common myna with profound spiritual ecstasy. It turns out that saving the planet requires spending ₹40 K  a night. If you can’t afford it, are you even really an environmentalist ?

If you somehow manage to survive the resort bill, the forest department has its own taunting welcome gift ; unscientific camera fees based purely on lens dimensions. In the eyes of wildlife bureaucracy, a lens isn't just a tool for photography; it's a weapon of mass revenue generation. If your lens looks like a large thermos flask, you will be taxed as if you are shooting a Hollywood feature film. It doesn't matter if you are a penniless hobbyist trying to capture a standard shot of a langur; if your lens is long, your wallet must be …….deep. . Apparently, a larger piece of glass inflicts deep psychological trauma on a tiger.Meanwhile, a tourist with a flagship smartphone shooting 4K video on a  blasting  digital zoom gets off entirely scot-free.

Let’s be honest: Jungle Safaris have officially mutated into a social status symbol for the affluent. It’s the new Rolex.💅. Tracking a tiger is no longer about patience, biology, or luck; it is a competitive sport played on social media.

The goal is to post a photo captioned "Disconnecting with the world " while actively connected to high-speed resort Wi-Fi, sipping a glass of imported wine. The wilderness is the new Race course—a place to network, flaunt premium outdoor gear that has never ever seen dust or real mud, and assert dominance over the “middle” class who are stuck watching National Geographic at home.

The pinnacle of the modern Indian safari experience is the congregation of dozens of safari jeeps at the exact same spot ,the exact same moment a predator is sighted.  

                                             [Safari Jeep]

              [Safari Jeep] ->                                               <- [SafariJeep]                                    

                                               

          [Safari Jeep] ->                           <- [Safari Jeep]

[Safari Jeep] [Safari Jeep]          [Safari Jeep] [Safari Jeep]

                     [Safari Jeep] -> 📸 <- [Safari Jeep]

Nothing says "untamed wilderness" quite like being trapped in an exhaust fume-choked gridlock that resembles central Bangalore at 6:00 PM. The moment a tiger flicks its tail three kilometers away, a frantic radio call goes out, and thirty five  Gypsys descend upon the scene like vultures. Drivers jockey for position, gears grind, and bumpers clash, all so that hundred fifty  tourists can simultaneously take the exact same blurry photo    

.  Animals in Indian reserves have adapted to a new apex sound: 📢noisy tourists with absolutely zero concern for wildlife. The sacred silence of the forest is routinely shattered by people loudly complaining about the heat, shouting at their children, or yelling across jeeps to ask if anyone brought snacks. When a tiger actually appears, the reaction isn't silent awe—it’s a collective uproar of "Look here Dude ! " and "Oi, tiger, face this way !" It’s a miracle the animals haven't started charging admission fees for putting up with the circus.

  Finally, we must celebrate the mushrooming jungle resorts all around the dwindling forests. In a beautiful display of irony, dozens of concrete & steel  "eco-resorts" clear hectares of buffer-zone land, put up electric fences that block ancient elephant corridors, and install loud diesel generators—all to give tourists an "authentic", undisturbed forest experience. As the actual game reserves shrink to the size of local city parks, the ring of luxury “Nature retreats” around them grows tighter. Soon, the animals won't even need to leave the park to see wild(est) life; they can just look through the electrified chain-link fences and watch humans wallowing in  pools, entirely oblivious to the irony.   

 

 

Controlled Eccentricity         

Hi, there! I started this blog as a personal space to share my thoughts, experiences, and express myself   whether anyone else is reading or not. ( nobody really listens when I talk) I’m actually a highly assertive  person   who believes in nothing but  destiny ,,Ghost,spirits,God,luck & Bejan Daruvalla,(not particularly in that order)  and lives life on my own terms. I'm also philosophical, and according to my friends who presume they know me very well  I'm even quite funny. While I love planning every second of my day, my plans usually fall apart.

So,when  Friend K fired the ultimate creepy question yesterday “What do you actually write about in your blog?" Internal panic mode activated in a flash. He knows the blog exists, but thank the internet Gods, he doesn’t have the link. Having him read my inner  (you can read profound ) thoughts would be a level of weirdness I am simply not equipped to handle.

I usually just scribble random thoughts  my brain releases and immediately forget they exist.  Because I honestly  couldn’t  remember my own content, I decided to indulge in a little self-assessment. I logged in, scrolled through my posts, and... WHAT ON EARTH !

According to my own archives, I apparently sound like an intensely, beautifully miserable antique which is one minor glitch away from  breakdown & ready to dramatically collapse onto the nearest piece of furniture

Please let the record show I am not okay, but I am also  completely fine. My actual day-to-day life is a chaotic circus;  aggressively staring at faces like that of K   and losing my mind laughing at whatever nonsense happens around.

 I do not have the time or the emotional resilience  to be this absurd . The blog is just my designated trash can for random, heavy thoughts so I can clear mental space and move on. My mind is closed for maintenance and unable to pick up anything else.

To the 4 to 28.75  mysterious souls that Blog Stats claims are clicking on this page every day, I promise you, I am significantly saner  and much less nonsensical in real life. I am much more “normal”  than my internet presence suggests.

Ultimately, I am just a simple, fun (& food) loving guy trying his best at writing. Stay tuned to get to know me better!

 

Make it make sense

 

Make it make sense

I've experienced various types of dreams and even nightmares.before, (particularly  after late night gorging  ) Last night I had this very crazy dream, so I'm just scribbling  it down

Scene 1 :10.30 Pm. Dived into bed. & snuggled into the blanket  ( not really freezing outside but to escape from  mosquitoes). Did a few twists & Turns  lasting  a  few minutes. Feel myself  Drifting off……….The last I can recollect clearly. 

Scene 2: I begin to hear  Mumbled voices, then the vision .Thick fog all around.  (maybe because that’s the way dreams are supposed to be & portrayed in movies.) At a distance a white Target Board with three thick black concentric circles. A red disk in the centre, evidently bullseye.From  a corner spot three apparitions     emerging slowly from the haze.  They are men , hands on hips, wearing broad leather belts with  gun holster,Now  I see them clearly. , It’s Lionel Messi, Donald Trump (believe me) with a Stetson hat on his head  and …….  Thalaivar in cowboy vest ,dark glasses, scraf  around his neck. cigar between lips and eeks,,,,,,,,,,wearing a Lungi folded upto his knees and high Leather boots    

Each one pulls out his revolver from the holster. It  feels as though they are walking towards me. I'm confused. Messi takes  position   a few feet in front of me, facing the Target Board.  I feel greatly relieved.  He takes aim and fires. A hole appears at a spot on the outermost Circle.  Trump fires next, No hole anywhere on the board. A strange sense of serenity sweeps over me. Thalaivar takes position , Stares at the target, checks the gun…. And suddenly whirls round , facing me. I try to run but I’m not going anywhere .I see him now Aiming at the Target from over his shoulder ……….   he fires……..and misses the target. Silence . I can't take it anymore “Aaaaarrgh”  I scream. “That stupid target board is……me”

   

Scene 3  Startled by  a violent jolt.My left forearm is being held firmly and shaken  I wake up with a start &  gulp some water from the bottle which is offered. Check the time: its 1.50 a.m.

 I later learnt that even as I was being shaken out of my dream , I was mumbling incoherently  .The victim of this indignity even quipped: “Thought you were reciting Saama Vedam ”. This may sound  ridiculous. But,it really happened

Can anyone  decipher  the significance of this dream for me ? Is it a warning of some   grave peril or just an act of Revenge by my over burdened digestive system?

 

Holy Rasam ! Leaf Me Alone

 

Holy Rasam !

              Leaf Me Alone

 

Most of us would have been to a south Indian wedding, but for the people who haven’t, or attending for the first time let me give you a glimpse of what it feels like to be there , with some special guidance too.

The most important event  at the wedding is not the ceremony where the groom ties the knot. It’s the next immediate reaction - a minimum crowd of around 250 people scampering to find a seat in the dining room. A fight with strangers, catering staff or even members of the Host’s family  trying to push strangers  away, and  triumphantly taking  your  seat at a table that looks like Christ’s last supper.

Welcome to the high stakes, maximum-gravity arena of the South Indian wedding feast  

                  [sadya-സദ്യ, Aritaku Bhojanam -అరిటాకు భోజనం                                          or  ThalaiVazhaielai  virundhu தலைவாழை இலை விருந்து ].

A long paper is rolled out  on the steel tables and a guy follows  up folding it on the sides preventing it from flying away and falling on the one sitting opposite to us. That’s when you  realize, there is a similar long row of people sitting right opposite staring right into your eyes, and shall witness what’s about to unfold. A large, green, non-polluting, sustainable, healthy with antimicrobial properties banana   leaf is unfolded  and placed right in front of you , waiting to unleash   its long list of healthy properties. Though it does look like you’re  dining in the age of dinosaur  and maybe the leaf in itself looks edible, there’s more coming your way. There are 2 parts to the leaf, the top portion houses all the poriyals, curries, “sides”, appetizers. The bottom part of your leaf is reserved exclusively for the mountains of rice that you  can consume and for another purpose which we shall discover as we  pig out

When you take a peep to the left ,at the distant  end of the tables, a group of people are lined up and on cue start heading our way, like a military parade but  with vessels,Trays & buckets of delicious food in their hands.

To start with, a sweet is placed on the bottom  right end corner of your leaf. We always start with something sweet for a celebratory occasion. Then they place a cutlet or an appetizer like paneer tikka or a vegetable spring roll, which,though alien  for the “South”  leaf itself  and “our” people, you  accept with a pinch of inclusivity. Then a variety of vegetable curries made of potatoes, beans lentils or other vegetables  follows, that are placed one beside the other, ending the row with an avial —  a mix of 13 vegetables, ground coconut & curry leaves and with a single spoon of pickle and salt in the end

Then comes a person with a large stainless steel basin and an extra-large curved paddle, to push a humongous quantity of rice and he expects you to create a crater in the middle. Before you wonder why,  350ml of steaming hot sambhar gets poured in the middle with a lot of vegetables floating as they were. You only get 12 seconds to mix the rice and sambhar to prevent it  sliding down the leaf So  continue to look for a “side”, the spicy potato curry   placed exactly 30 degrees north of your sambhar.You also get served a white, crispy Appalam fried in oil which you may consume in numbers , until the server gets a little Apprehensive  about your oil intake.

The “rice guy” as he is named is appearing before you  at the sight of your empty banana leaf. He just waits for your nod to fill the space again with another mountain of rice and ensures you create  the same crater again. Now you  can opt for   a variety of gravy like vatha kulambu, mor kulambu or just rasam which helps in digestion of all life sustaining Sludge  that fill your tummy. If you choose rasam, which is a spicy watery tamarind and tomato soup, your skill to not let it overflow and drip down on yourselves or the persons sitting on either side to you will be put to its ultimate  test . Suddenly, a server arrives and splashes a golden, piping-hot river of rasam directly into your  crater.. It is highly volatile, structurally liquid, and actively looking for an exit toward your lap.Do not panic. Gently sweep the outer walls of the rice volcano into the centre pool, creating a thick, manageable slurry. Scoop the mixture and move it toward your mouth immediately. Speed is your ally; surface tension is your enemy. Tilt your upper body forward at a precise 38 1/2 -degree angle over the leaf. If a drop falls, it must fall back onto the leaf, not your clothes.

With the slurping sound and your eloquent dance with rasam , we become a sight of awe to the beings sitting opposite.

Congratulations! you successfully finished the rasam.You have conquered the boss level of traditional south Indian dining.

If you still have your energy and respect  indulge  in another round of rice with curd & tangy pickle or see the light at the end of the leaf, we’re in for a treat to our taste buds .

Though you’ve come to the end of the leaf and your appetite, a small cup of payasam is the icing on the cake which we will  always crave for another round. After  the battle and the drama on the leaf, when you look up to face your embarrassment in front of others, we shall be greeted with nobody but ourselves finishing up last while those 250 people  sitting next to us rushing  towards ice cream and gulab jamoon counter, which we might think to leave  for the next wedding we attend together.

You can now fold your banana leaf inward to signal your absolute victory, and walk away with your pride & pristine clothes intact.   

    

 

Strangers in the Rear view Mirror

 Strangers in the Rear view Mirror

Grab a packet of  Churmuri and buckle up. Navigating the streets of Namma Mysuru in an auto-rickshaw is an unparalled   experience. While other cities have their own vibes,  Mysuru’s  "Auto-anna" is a unique character. Here is a breakdown of the types of drivers you are sure to encounter on your  trips  across the Heritage  City:

1.The Clock Tower-Ashoka Road toughie ::This driver has spent so many years in the bustling   traffic that he has developed a permanent scowl. He views the road as a battlefield. He weaves through gaps that don't exist, honks with a rhythmic intensity, and provides a running commentary in Kannada about the poor state of the city's Roads (& his favourite lanes)

.2. The "One-and-Half" Specialist:This character doesn't believe in the standard meter. Every destination, no matter how close, is "One-and-half" or a flat "One fifty" regardless of the distance. He calculates fares using a secret mathematical formula known only to him, usually peaking during rains or peak hours.

3. The Kannada Pandit::This is the tech-savvy driver who is proud of his roots. He might have posters inside the auto teaching you basic Kannada phrases like "Yelli?" (Where?) or "Swalpa Adjust Maadkoli" (Adjust a little). He is happy to take you anywhere as long as you make an effort to speak at least a few words of  his mathrubashe”

4. The Mobile Philosopher:The moment you hop in, the podcast begins. He doesn't need a guest; he has opinions on everything from the latest Sandalwood movie plot to causes of  global warming. Even if you have your headphones on, he will ensure you hear his thoughts on why the Renovation of the City’s Heritage Buildings  is taking so long

.5. The interior decorator :This driver treats his auto like a palace. It is adorned with golden tassles , pictures  of legendary actor  Dr. Rajkumar,the Maharajas of Mysore or even glamour girls of Bollywood  in various  get-up and enough LED lights to be seen from space. The Audio  system is top-notch, playing high-energy Kannada hits that turn your commute into a mini-concert.

6.The "Kotyadhipathi":For this driver, your destination is merely a suggestion. He is the master of his own destiny. If you ask to go to Siddharthanagar, he might decide he prefers the air in Vontikoppal today. He will simply shake his head, say "No,"                     ( baralla)  and drive off with the arrogance of a billionaire who doesn't actually need the fare

7.The "Namma" Legend :A rare and cherished find. This driver turns  the meter down without being asked, knows all the shortcuts to avoid the main road traffic, and doesn't complain about the potholes. He is the hero of the  streets. If you find him, make sure to give him a five-star rating on your app or a generous tip, because he is keeping the spirit of the Royal city alive.

So there you have it. The seven types of  auto legends.

Martyr of the Trash Can

 

Martyr of the Trash Can

I never aspired  to become a Civic Culture Motivator. I just wanted my neighbors, to stop Dumping  their garbage  bang in front of our Gates. But in my heritage locality in old Mysore, trying to change public behavior is like trying to convince a filter-coffee purist to drink latte  . You don’t just get compliance; you get a stern  lecture on the philosophy of waste. Here is the unfiltered truth from the front lines of my foray into the realms of  civic  motivation..

My first official campaign was to get citizens of my locality  "Segregate at Source." Armed with colourful brochures,bins & Banners  I and a volunteer group of “Lets do it Mysore” marched up every cross Road and Lane in the neighborhood. We approached the house of Kamalamma. the alpha  matriarch of a narrow by lane ,  She has lived on this street since 1958. Assuming us  to be  the entire municipality sanitary  squad she regarded u  as  uninvited guests.

 "Kamalamma “Avare”, green bin for wet waste, blue bin for plastic instructed our enthusiastic young member.

: “Do I have to pay for the Buckets?”  " Listen, child my grandfather planted that tamarind  tree. It eats everything. Plastic ? “I wash milk packets and use them to store Betel leaf & nuts. So Don’t teach me 'recycle !"

On subsequent rounds, we found that she uses the blue bin—which she accepted from us with much trepidation—as a footstool for her veranda gossip sessions.

The Footpath Face-Off: we tackled the footpaths. In old Mysore (Bandi keri in this case) .i a  footpath is rarely for walking. It is an extension of the living room, a garage for a 1979 TVS 50, or a grazing ground for Kempi, the neighborhood cow. We tried to convince the local youth to stop parking their scooters on the pavement.: "Sir, if we park on the road, the city buses scrape the paint. If we park on the footpath, the vehicle is safe under the shade of the sacred neem tree. It’s practical spirituality.” Was their stubborn defence.

 The gang  offered a  Compromise; They didn't move the scooters. Instead, they   treated us to   tender coconut to " cool  hot heads." Sheepishly we drank the coconut. The scooters remained.

Next  we tried to stop residents from throwing small plastic bags of leftover /spoiled food  into the  corner of the  park at midnight.  We set up a vigil with flashlights, catching Mr.Chandru in the act at 11:40 PM. The Volunteer whispered, "Sir, the CCTV is watching”. Mr. Chandru adjusted his trousers and hissed back, "My ancestors fed the stray dogs at this exact hour. I am just continuing the tradition. Besides, if I walk all the way to the  municipal bin, my knee acts up. Better Consider this my midnight charity ” .Having failed to stop him we placed a discreet terracotta pot right where he liked to aim, and now he drops the waste….. around it. The dogs are still happy.

The Rangoli Rebellion

My greatest trial was the "Plastic-Free Campaign "  of “Lets do it Mysore” during  Dasara festival.  The moment we suggested using organic colors instead of synthetic powders for the street rangolis competition  the local aunties formed a unified front. They claimed organic colors lacked the "high-voltage brightness" & failed to reflect true “Heritage”  required to intimidate the next street’s rangoli committee.

 We spent three hours demonstrating how to make yellow dye from turmeric and ended up staining our own hands bright yellow, looking like we had a severe case of jaundice, while the aunties scoffed secretly & used neon pink glitter because "the Gods” like shine

The Ultimate Realization:  Being a civic motivator here means accepting a different perspective of life. You cannot change  centuries-old mindset with a PowerPoint presentation or Emotional (Read Patriotic) plea. You change it over sessions of Juicy Gossip & cups of sweet  tea, by admiring people's “aesthetic” sense, and by gently nudging them until they think your civic idea was actually their ancestral tradition.

 Months later, I saw Mahesha spreading his Vegetable & papaya peels directly around the bottom of Tamarind tree and a few  “Inspired” aunties showering the   flowerbed on the Traffic island. Progress is slow, but at least the bushes  in the Traffic Triangle   are thriving.