If the tree is cut, you too will suffer in your science-derived cocoon

There is a system of goodness. The simplest code nature shows is of unified and interdependent co-existence. All things, phenomena, life processes and transformations give and take from the larger system. In simple terms, nothing can exist in isolation in this universe. Our little environment is supported by the earth, the earth is supported by the sun, the sun by larger suns, they in turn by galaxies, and the latter by super-galaxies, and so on and so forth. There is absolutely no such thing as individualism in nature. It’s all a collective behemoth, ever expanding in more and more transformative ways. So how can our very own happiness come from our own limited self, concerning and defined by just our little fights and brawls in the arena of life? We just take fractions of happiness from the bigger pool. Happiness is never complete, or you can say just cannot happen, if it is confined to the limits of the individual self. There are happy families in happy societies and happy individuals in happy families. You simply cannot have happy individuals in an ant-swarm of unhappy society comprising unhappy families. And you cannot have a happy society surrounded by an unhappy ecosystem. You simply cannot. And if you think that the conveniences created science are the modes of happiness, then you are mistaken. These are mere utilities. Utilities are just contributors to happiness like countless other things. You have cars, then you have pollution, and your lungs suffer, simply because trees are suffering. It’s just like everything and everybody is unhappy and suffering in a forest fire. In a flowery luxurious garden, on the other hand, everybody and everything is happy and peaceful. We are happy or unhappy as a collective unit, not individually. Well, this is how it is, if you consider the real substantial meanings of peace and happiness. The rest are simply temporary delusions, nurtured under the mistake of taking some scientific conveniences as the destinations of happiness, which they are not, they are simply some of the means of convenience. So nurture this habit of connecting to the environment around you. The natural environment is the base of our struggle and sustenance. So see the processes of life and learn the art of miraculous interdependence. And come out of this delusion that we humans can be happy and unhappy in isolation in our modern-day scientific cocoons.

Fears are directly proportional to the doubts we have

A sword fighter has a beautiful wife. She is in awe of his reputation and is almost daunted by the force of his persona. She respects him, but love is missing in the secret chamber of her heart. As it happens, she falls in love with somebody outside her marriage. As if that is a small problem, to make it still worse the lover happens to be their servant. Lies and deceit can be hidden, but love has the natural propensity to shine like sun from behind the clouds. It comes to the light. That is its nature. As per social norms, love usually stands out scandalous. The offended husband challenges the servant for a duel, taking it for granted that he will surely kill the illicit lover, thus giving him death and earning more laurels for his swordsmanship as bonus. The deed will not reek of cold-blooded revenge and his motive to kill the servant will lie buried under the fair game of duel. So it is supposed to be a sure death for the poor servant. The sword fighter hides his revenge and anger under the art and craft of his swordsmanship. Most importantly, he is sure of victory, because by the logic of it, how can it be otherwise, pitted as he is against a man who has just picked up the scabbard from his famed walls to clean it. And he being a master swordsman whose reputation chimes across the four corners of the state. The servant is thus sure of his death. He has accepted his fate, death. When you are eying victory, you are also eying safety to yourself from the corner of your eyes. And you have fear also, because without that the sense of victory cannot sustain. With a sense of victory you just cannot be fearless. There is something to fight for and achieve and for that you have to remain alive. This breeds fear. But the servant has accepted death and failure. His acceptance is hundred percent. He has no doubt about it. And when there is no doubt, you become fearless. The swordsman isn’t totally free from fear because his certainty about his victory falls short of the servant’s certainty of his defeat and death. He isn’t as sure of his victory as the servant is of his defeat. So, irrespective of the fighting caliber, the servant is more fearless of the two, simply because he is under less doubt. In his fearlessness he decides to let loose all madness in him before his death. He doesn’t hate the opponent. He isn’t angry. His acceptance of death enables him to give all to life before death. The sword-fighter on the other hand cannot give all in the fight, because he is fighting to save respect, prolong life, take revenge, and all these with further expectations from life. Life itself means fear. The offended husband takes maneuvers as per the art of sword-fighting. In pre-death fearless madness, the lover strikes with sword like he is striking with a stick. To all the conventional strokes of the sword-fighter, he hits back with the most awkward and unorthodox ones. Fearlessness in his eyes creates fear in the opponent’s eyes. The servant kills the master! Why? Because he is sure of his death, and because the master isn’t that sure of his victory! How can he be? He simply cannot. He is fighting to save a lot of things and fighting to save things cannot allow you to be cent-percent fearless.

When ideology turns into a raised slipper, all dialogues are closed

Well, sometimes even saffron robe isn't sufficient to save you from the neo-nationalists...Neo-naionalism is very safe and convenient. Most of the times, the web-patriots are into virtual, bloodless wars--but highly gratifying for ego--on the social media. Sometimes it shows its patriotic face through a mob lynching, which is as safe as a web war. But then you should at least spare an 80-year-old man. Not that I agree with this man's ideology, just like I don't agree to the ideological fervour of those running behind him. Just like parroting patriotic songs on social media doesn't turn a lampoon into a real nationalist, similarly wearing saffron is no guarantee of one's holiness. The man definitely isn't a saint. But then it throws poor light on the BJP supporters to run with slippers after someone who had come to pay homage to the former PM Atal Bihari Bajpayi's mortal remains. To a departed soul, and more importantly to the mortal remains, all that is left behind is just the same. 

The sun shining for mother Spotted Munia

The evening is laden with drizzling moments. After the day-long watery bonanza, the sun casts a momentary glance to find out how much more water may be needed. A pale yellow streak spreads under the black curtain of clouds. The spotted munia comes out and sits pensively by her hut. Chocolate brown and white and black speckled underparts. She utters feeble chirrups. The nest is a disorderly globular structure, possibly to confuse predators, with a semi-closed entrance hole. There are eggs under incubation. Probably she has come out to enjoy the rain-soaked evening with a silver lining.

The lady takes a break from incubating warmth to give shape to the formless liquid in her eggs

PS: There are three hatchlings. I can recognise them by their distinctive frail notes. The nest is a masterwork in deception. The outer rag tag globular structure having the main entry hole gives the look of an abandoned nest. The real seat of residence lies in a safer cocoon inside. I saw a curious squirrel enquiringly snoozing by the hole. It sneaked in and came out on the other side of the loose top ends. The little ones didn't so much as even came out of their sleep. Or they prefer to remain mum in Mom's absence. Hail cosmic intelligence. The flawless fabric.

A bit of sun at the day's end, splashing the horizon with pale yellow shine 

Grey dark skies and the new journey of tiny wire tailed swallows.

Perfect outing on a rain-lashed day. With excess of rains the day appeared even gloomy dark. But then the skies relented for some time in early afternoon. And a wire-tailed swallow couple arrives with their little ones. They fly swiftly but are yet to get the wires in their tales like their parents. Ma and Pa are swiftly darting in the overcast skies to catch midges and flies to feed the little ones. Parental duties going on swiftly. The birds are so colourful: glossy steel blue above, chestnut patch on head and glistening white underparts. Well, it's always a better world with more and more birds around. A shikra, crow-sized hawk, was seen around. The parents darted around and send warning whistles. Within a minute dozens of swallows arrived on the scene and darted in their majestically free ways to confuse the transgressor. They are always there for each other, without fail, despite fight, quarrels and brawls for midges. They never betray their instincts of love and care for each other.   

Wire-tailed swallow nestlings...out in the world

The stately Papa (lite typical males he is braggish with longer wire tail) giving a picture of poise and confidence

The happy family. Mother (as they are always, busy) hovering above.

Eying the same midget

Wire-tailed swallow... courtesy @ Salim Ali's book The Book of Indian Birds

Well, Modi Sahab will make it again simply because there isn't any alternative

I'm not much of a political person. Nor have I any tangible stakes in politics, like majority of Indians don't have any. So putting myself somewhere at the centre of the political arena, and looking around for relatively better leadership--mind you it can only be relative, because governance simply cannot be perfect on the scale of our expectations--I can very easily surmise, without any iota of doubt, that we need Modi Sahab as the PM, not just for the next 5 years but at least a decade. Strictly for the better of the nation. For the simple reason that he definitely is the best chief administrator of the nation as of now. Not the I absolve BJP and its RSS affiliates of the tactics of polarization on religious grounds which divides society and even results in violence now and then. It's the collective bane of Indian democracy. All political parties have their divisive and polarizing tactics in one form or the other. Issue based politics has never been the trend in a country where masses have struggled for the seven decades after independence. These are generational changes and with economic prosperity and better literacy we can only hope that things will change in future and real issues will take centre-stage, pushing the divisive tactics to the periphery. 

However, the state BJP government in Haryana has been a really poor show. In every sense of the term. We have not felt the warmth of effective governance so far. Khattar sahab is too honest, straightforward and simple to be a political head. I respect the honourable PM's decision to install a colleague from RSS days as the state CM. But then real governance is far above shiny nationalistic ideologies. You need a crooked, wily full time politician to run the show. And in the Haryana assembly we have a big bunch of such BJP politicians who have the calibre to outshine any other politician in being crooked and wily fox. I won't be surprised if they face some chin music in the next assembly elections. The only chance is Modi Sahab's charisma which may save the boat from sinking in the state.

The funny game of breaking the walls which don't even exist

It’s not a wall, this body, separating the world outside that our illusionary ego, the sense of “I” makes us believe, exclusively separating the self from the other. There are no separating walls. They appear so on account of the conditioned mind and the limited perceptions thanks to our sense organs which interpret the fragmented parts perceivable to them in the forms of feelings, appearances and shapes at certain frequencies. The latter are nothing but concentrations of energies at particular frequencies. Otherwise, it is the same cosmic energy, vibrating, evolving, transforming in endless chains. It’s nothing but an ever existing evolution, with balancing counterpoints all along the way. The apparent creation and destruction, the dualities, are nothing but the balancing acts as cosmic design unfolds. You can compare it to a pole-wielding rope-walker. The movement is onwards, but at each step the pole sways between the dualities to manage the balance and movement ahead.

So let’s start with the cemented identities of the separation of the self from the big scheme out there. At least accept that there are windows in the wall. Accept that it’s not an unbreakable stone wall around your flesh and bones. Open the windows and let the light flood in. By taking windows as walls, we just keep on piling a crust of illusions around our apparently exclusive self. Then it becomes a fortress, created solidly by the mind. A dark, sooty psychological crust around the self. It’s a narrow, confined world of insecurities, jealousy, self-centeredness, hate and complexes. The things which should hardly matter become life-defining parameters. Under the tar of illusions, our real self, our real potential, our gateway to success, plus peace, lies dormant in the dark.

The crust becomes too hard. But its brittleness increases with its thickness with the passage of time, as our age and experience tell us later. It is bound to crack. And when it does, we feel the pain. Our assumptions of happiness and success turn out to be flimsy and childish. It seems we just ran after a mirage. No wonder we die in pain and agony.

So guys start hammering down the crust. Practice opening the windows in the illusionary wall. Let the let pour in. It’s there, everywhere, the real you, with your potential of greatness and peace. As much as you pursue dreams in a competing world, return home to your real self in the evening for rest and repose. That is your root, the real origin. Nourish it. Leaves, branches and trunk are important. But these are the manifestations of the potential of your roots which lie there in the soil of unity and totality of one universal energy going on and on in countless transformations, following the same laws, diferent transformations at each stage. So nourish your roots to the real self. The branches will be sturdy, the leaves healthy and shiny.

Go and embrace the tree near you. It is the same energy, utilizing the five primal matters like yours, manifesting its tree form at a slightly different frequency that yours.

A sad pink-bum

I politely refused him guava from my small tree because last time he nearly dislodged it. This chap is too hefty, as broad-backed as a man. So he smirks from the neem tree and doesn't give a good pause to click him. Sadly looking at the raw guavas. Last time he just picked them raw and then threw these like grenades. The way he is looking at them, I'm sure he will return. By the way his bum is soooooo sooooo pink! This colour is the pick of the day.

Peace: The redundant wish

Worldwide peace and harmony doesn't need authority, power centers and hegemony to sustain. But the latter--authority, power centers and hegemony--surely need strife, wars, violence and bloodbath to sustain it. Peace has never been the focal point of geo-strategists. It it were, most of the issues we are fighting about become redundant by default.

Don't write with hate in your heart

If good writers write with a bit more sense of equanimity, they do more justice to the art. Falling off the fine line of balance turns them cynical, and it affects their art.

The only problem with "The Ministry of Utmost Happiness" is that it's written with too much "hate" for the "religious hatred". It somehow taints the soul of the artist. Hate, even for a good cause, easily creeps up to turn to cynicism. The latter sours the spirit, which in turn smiles a degree lesser than in its unadulterated version. But it's human to have our prejudices, even if they come at the cost of losing our balance a bit. Otherwise it's poignant and moving beyond words.

Learn to smile big from your small corner

It's the smallest plant in my garden. But it beats most of others in bigness of flowers. In numbers and beauty also. It appears so happy to be just itself. No wonder, in a world obsessed with larger and bigger things, it attracts you from its little corner with big bouquet of beauty. It's so tiny and fragile. But has a huge blooming spirit. No matter where you are, in whatever circumstances, at whatever ladder in the scheme of things, you can bloom at your own level to the fullest. And when you are true to your own being, your own self, you attract bigger eyes by default.

Shut your mind's eyes and hypothetical projections cease to be

Well, nothing exists as long as I choose to ignore it. And who are you? My colors are my own unlike yours. 

A moment drops from the endless sea of existence

Childish bud, youth in full bloom and dead decaying petals of an old flower. Nature accepts the fluidity, the transition. Spot the impermanence. And grab your moment now, this very moment. Mystical handover of the baton: little bud to full bloom to crumpled petals. Accept the change because that's what keeps the nature alive.

My water

There may be seven seas around abounding with endless waters. 

But I reserve my right to hold the raindrops because those clouds rained for me only.

A birdie coup in the shrub

Olive backed sunbird hatchling. Well these tiny flirtatious birds have done a coup in the jasmine cluster right under my nose. Right under my gatecrashing presence. And I hadn't the littlest clue. I was just watching the progress on the Bulbul front in the slightly bigger world on the Harsingar tree above. Lo! Here is the swift hatchling! Straight from its tiniest of grassy hideout among the jasmine shrub. Not only it escaped my eyes, it also beat the cat in master camouflage. The way this one in the pic, and its brother or sister, already dash among the branches, I am fully sure of their survival and taking the world on their own! Best of luck sons or daughters! Fly safe for the next week and always obey your parents. Then you guys can scale the world on your own..

Brain-brewed whiskey: Anandamide

The world is full of those who need narcotics, drugs and alcohol to get a pleasant, forgetting, easy going state. These definitely give you some temporary solace but come with huge physical and social side affects.

Count upon your own self made, brain-brewed chemical of bliss and happiness, anandamide. It's available inside all of us. Just that we need to look within for the joys that we seek outside. So seekers, happy days and nights. Brew your own anandamide and stay blessed permanently. Happy spiritual boozing! Booze makers, beware!

I have started brewing mine quite copiously...

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anandamide

The self-emerging pattern of nature through 5 gram superworker

A new home in making, fabulous work of a tiny pair of greenish white-eyed warbler. A perfect mix of natural and human merchandise, thin strands of fibre, cobwebs and threadings. The olive backed sunbirds succeeded in a coup, but not this one. I spotted ha ha. Don't you think there is a supreme consciousness, a cosmic intelligence which pervades across species and phenomena all over the universe, driving all of us knowing unknowing to the actualization of little little milestones in the river that life is?

PS: The owners are unbelievably agile and dart off at bullet speed, cocking snook at my amateur efforts to have them as models for my funny photography. So I gave in. Also their tweets from a neighbouring tree had started to sound abusive. Feeling a Gatecrasher, I just took my nose out of their affair... anyway best of luck you warblers...

PSS: The story ended on a tragic note. Nature has xounter points. Oriental white eye is just 10 cm square tailed greenish bird with a significant white rinf around the eyes. The nest had been firmly glued like a tiny hammock cup, joining three broad leaves, a cosy home of fibres. The lady was seen sitting most of the time. Its white ringed eye visible under the leaf canopy. All seemed well. It appeared too small a world to be noticed by predators. With their slender pointed bills they flitted across the branches to enjoy flower nectar, guavas and tiny ants. They made feeble jingling notes. 

Then arrives the counter point. Greater Coucal, the clumsy, black bird with chestnut wings. I heard its deeply resonant coop coop coop coop in the morning. It was loitering around in the cluster of trees where our Bulbuls have their touny one. I don't think that is catchable anymore. Coucal steals eggs and feeds on lizards and tiny mice .It is very clumailc sticky on the ground. I chased it away. It flew very unqillungly. God knows how did it spot the tiny cup of the white eye. So there it was in the afternoon. I heard the dluffifl of feathers and saw it sneaking out like an expert thief. The tiny warblers just gave very feeble notes which hardly escaped out of the shrub. I checked the tiny cup nest. It was empty. Felt vwrv sad for the tiny creatures. Greed is bad. After a couple of hours I heard the panicked noted of the little birds and went out to see the greedy thief stuck to the leaves poking into the cup for more. It was so engrossed that it siddid mind me approaching at all. Well it's truly lousy. A thief has to be watchful. The heaigh was just at a ateikist range with my raised hand. Well, I had all the chance to kill it in one big swipe. But then you can not engage with a bird at your own human level. That isn't fair, even if it has committed a crime. To mother nature it's no crime. So I used only that much force that would make it really painful for a bird of that size, without permanent disability. So here I went. It fell down, and took to airs with a seriously painful shriek. Well, the only take away of my strike can be that it may not dare to come again to poke into the neat of spotted munia just abobe on the tree. I hope so. I expect him to learn a lesson or two. I know I shouldn't interfere inthe achems of rhinth. But then these birds are my friends, so I use my rights to interfere.

Existential intelligence

At the low tide, I left a trail of footsteps on the soft seaside sand. Then the high tide came and cleaned the slate for somebody's fresh journey. We just write the same lines over and over on the same slate. Life is one. It's not a noun. It is basically living. A throbbing and ever persistent verb. Throbbing in totality, driven by an ever expanding code of cosmic intelligence  which allows a bird weighing 10 grams, and insects weighing in milligrams, to accomplish what we cant do with our two kg brain. And existence lives through different things, phenomena, processes and characters. It's just a quizzical interplay of earth, water, fire, air and ether. 

Girinika: God bless you with the gift of a cow

"...large animals, particularly cows, are aware of their impending slaughter well before it happens. Consequently, they experience high stress levels, which generate a tremendous amount of acidic content in their systems. This, in turn, has its own adverse effects on those who later consume the meat." --Sadhguru in Inner Engineering.

Now I understand why cow-eaters face so many problems... especially the ones who do halal, torture, before slaughter because it is just implanting them with poison. Well, the debate should be kept beyond religion. It's basically what is good for the human system and what is not. The benefits of a live cow, as an integral part of the rural economy, are far more than a slaughtered one. In Rwanda, the gift of a cow, girinika, meaning god bless you with the gift of a cow, is helping in rebuilding a society ravaged by civil, ethnic and tribal wars. The moment two parties at loggerheads gift each other a cow, it is accepted as a truce and confidence building measure. The President there has started a girinika program which has revolutionized the meaning of rural development, using cow as a partner in the rural economy.

In the power game, humanely inferior always defeats humanely superior

"A bigger civilization is always defeated by a lower civilization. India was continuously defeated because of her higher civilization. People were more at ease, not in the mood to fight. They were enjoying life. Those who aren't enjoying life, they are ready to fight. If life is beautiful, you can bless everyone. If your life is in difficulty, in turmoil, you can kill, you can become destructive."

Osho

Why India only, now we understand why Tibet was gobbled up by an ever-hungry China. Now we understand why the people from a particular religion are ever-ready to kill. The only exception to the above seems to be America. But then possibly we shouldn't interpret technological advances as a mark of civilization.

Perils of cooking in aluminium utensils

Cooking in Aluminium utensils is risky for health. In simple words you can say it introduces slow poison in your food. According to researchers, cooking in Aluminium is not advisable. In India we even have a conspiracy theory about it. Most probably just a spin off of anti-colonial talk. They say that cooling in aluminium utensils was first introduced in the infamous cellular jail, Kala Pani jail, in Andamans by the British govt to slowly cripple the prisoners so that they won't be blamed with direct slaughter. And then the trend continued. Most of the modern day diseases have roots in Aluminium cooking, they say. Well, at least research has concluded that aluminium dissolved in the food during cooking gets deposited in brain resulting in Alzheimer disease. Our body basically doesn't require aluminium. So it is advisable to use stainless steel pressure cookers and other kitchen utensils where boiling is involved. 

Be the king in your small world

There are just dozens around us who have achieved more than us at the cost of far less struggle and effort than us. But there are millions who have nothing like us, even though they have struggled thousand times more than us. The numbers involved in this simple maths should make us proud and satisfied with whatever we have achieved and given by life. So smile, feel lucky and look at the small world, your own world, around you. It is bigger and better than you ever thought. Just that you have always been looking sideways to the taller structures. Don't worry the inhabitants over there are even more anxious than you. They have their own still bigger world to ogle at and feel sorry for themselves. You are a 'being', a phenomenon which can exist in the present. So simply be with the moment in your small world. That's what we call by being with your own self.  

Following the codes of existential intelligence

The tireless woman who is camera shy.

This woman-- I mean the one on the wire who is really shy and won't allow me to click her with a close up smile, forcing me to use some sister model of her's from the internet--is busy all day in knitting a little cup of love on the branch of our Parijat (night flowering Jasmine) for the new lives inside her. Well, best of luck soon to be mom, little red vented Bulbul! But then I have to keep a watch on the neighborhood goon also, the big rascally cat, as big as a leopard cat in the wild. I think my stick also needs to be in the scene somewhere...

Some sister of the one in the story, who is a more confident model.

PS: No need to mention that her husband is a loafer and does less work, fools around more. Possibly in the guise of warning tweets it flirts with the lady birds around. Well, not that scandalous because all men are like that. He is just true to his salt. So forgetting about him we can talk a bit about red vented Bulbul in general. They tentative smoke brown birds double the size of common sparrow and have partially crested black head which gives them a semi-hawk stern look. There is a very attractive crimson patch below the root tail. Their white rump is very prominent in flight. They can be very angry for their size. I was wondering about the shape and location of the nest. It doesn't look too safe. But then possibly they are confident of defending the citadel.  

The home...a cup of rootlets...sweet home.. waiting for eggs.

PSS: All well so far with the usual struggle. Chased away a cat many times. It has stopped visiting. Ironically there are always counterpoints in nature. So you have the eggs and you have Shikra, a small hawk bird of the region. At noontime I heard the parent couple's panicked notes and tweets followed by ruffling of wings in the branches. I just ran out exactly at the moment the hungry hawk was trying to perch on the delicate branches for a belated egg breakfast. It flew away and watched from a nearby tree. I loitered around to increase the morale of the defending force. It made attempt again and due to my being still ready for the job it had to fly away. Saw it again the next day and was sure of its success. Then prayed that its hunger be quenched somewhere else, on a dead animal preferably. Thankfully haven't seen it since then. The nest is very small and looks a weak fort--little did I realise the couple's pugnacity in defending even a weak fort--so draped a piece of cloth around, leaving a hole for the birds to sneak in, making it a better home. In any case mother nature can do without our discretion. But then I have to take some credit. The same old human malady. So I presume that possibly the hawk got duped in taking it as some human design to capture it. I have to take my words hitting at the father's laziness. He has earned my respect in many regards. While the mother is in the creative process of managing the nest, the man has been keeping a stern sentry watch from the vantage points in all this heat. I often see him perched on the top end of a rusted out-of-use antenna pole. Even with the hawk, 5-times bigger in size, it gave all that a father can. It fluffed its feathers to look larger and made cantankerous noise to distract the predator. It kept on going very close to the enemy and toe him away with the bait of a larger meal. What won't parents do for their children! He is more free with crows who are also at least five times bigger. He just doesn't allow them to sit anywhere on the surrounding trees, least they spot his family. The more I look at it, the more I am sure of the ingrained divine intelligence each and everywhere. Whenever he is having a row with a crow, tweeting vivacious abuses at a furious pace, the group of house sparrows, warblers and sunbirds add to the chorus, forcing the larger bird to leave the scene in indignation and irritation. Elsewhere, the collared dove looks silently with her mummed up silence and majesty. The cantankerous babblers just babble in a group possibly chasing a cat or even some little snake. Sternly professional mynah go with an air of well meant business. Peacocks, exiled by pesticides in the fields, sing mourning songs in the village. But who cares about the multi-coloured wonder of nature. Monsoon has been normal thus far, so everything is richly green. Butterflies go with business among the bougainvillea flowers who bloom to wildish proportions. And most importantly, I see the parents cargoing insects, grass seeds and worms into the nest. Possibly hatchlings are there, one step further. I can hear very faint chirping. Yea, new life! A new beginning in the stream of existence which links all of us. Life is just one common force driven by cosmic intelligence and it blooms in endless forms and avatars. Another drop of existence manifesting in the sea of existence. Well, best of luck Bulbuls! Let's hope all goes well.

Stay away and respect my privacy. 

PSSS: Life from close quarters, so open, transparent, innocent, vulnerable and optimistic at the same time. Their beaks are always open. The parents are busy throughout the day, still it falls short. The beaks are always open. They have to eat relentlessly, grow as fast as possible and beat the moment that may undo it all. 

Out of the shells and shaped out of the fluid

A squirrel lets loose a chittering chorus. A group of parrots go over with a fruitful shriek. A tatihiri (lapwing) goes on a trumpeting hoot, possibly happy for its correct monsoon forecast. A butterfly darts from bougainvillea to motia to mogra to rajnigandha to sunhair. There are more birds than a decade back and that gives some hope that mother nature isn't totally angry at us.

PSSSS: It has been a roller coaster week. Lots of noise. Well, the hatchlings have jumped out of the nest. All that incessant feeding bears fruits a bit quickly from human standards. There is no pause at this level in nature. One miss, and it's gone. Saw one of them in the shrub below the nest. The parents never fall short of nibbling at crow's feathers whenever they happen to be in the near vicinity. The father especially doesn't allow any bigger bird to perch on any nearby vantage point which may expose the tiny hatchling. They are all day putting out different sounds to communicate in a mysterious way. The language for survival. Presently they object even to me whenever I am nearby. I respect their ownership of the tree. In the scheme of things they own it before me. I don't know about the other hatchling, may be it's there also in the shrubs, may be it hasn't survived. Well, I am not looking for it either, because whenever I do they abuse spiritedly and I feel like an intruder in the scheme of nature. Let's hope this hatchling takes its first flight in the next couple of days. All the best little one/ones!

From a soft tiny ball of meat to a handsome toddler.

PSSSSS: Well, it has been a happy ending. The little one stayed on the tree, after coming out of the nest, for couple of days. Remained completely subdued, glued to a branch for two days while the parents ferried food. On the second day it drizzled almost throughout the day. It stayed like a cute little ball under a cluster of leaves. It even jerked its feathering and coat to shake off water. Well, then possibly it got bored. In the evening it stopped drizzling and away it went on its first sortie under a heavy shadow of clouds. Due to the monsoon everything has a double foliage. It will help him. I can see the parents loitering around on a cluster of keekars nearby. More than the little one, I am sure of the parents' ability to defend it. So I don't see any big hassles. They are no longer bothered about the tree and the nest which they defended so stoutly almost for a month. They possess a thing in totality unlike we humans who do it in fragments. Now they possess that cluster of lush green keekars. I can see the father perched on that dead keekar tree at his sentry point. Well, the world is better with at least one, and hopefully two, Bulbuls. Well done you husband and wife.

PSSSSSS: Even a prickly keekar appears so luxurious in the monsoon season. The little one must have been in the cluster of trees, a larger world, learning the tricks of the trade. I could see the parents loitering around very cautiously for the next two  weeks. They have a stern look and stout defenders of their rights for their size. Just watching them still busy, I can surmise that they still have the little one somewhere in the branches to get them fulfilling the parental duties.But now they look more relaxed, a clear signal that the young bird is growing well. After exactly two weeks of its first flight to a bigger cluster of trees, this breezy morning, I see the fruits of their struggle. It is growing boy or girl. In any case, they don't bother about such issues. Their duty is full not fragmented. It has a slight plumage and a slight crown on its black head. It is sitting on a high branch. And parents tweet from a distance. There it goes with a free swirl followed by the proud ma and pa. They aren't concerned about the nest. They own everything and nothing at the same time. Well the tree has new tenants. A pair of spotted munia. The already existing nest is cosy still but they don't care. They have made a new globular grassy citadel still higher. These are smaller birds and need a better accommodation. A bit below is another world. A tiny hammock cup nest of a white eye. There it sits sternly with its white band around the eyes. The more I see, the more I realise the design of existential intelligence. These birds weigh a few grams and look their feats. The codes of existential intelligence are very smartly written. Salutes to the supreme power!

PSSSSSSS: THERE is no indivisibly aloof life. There is just an ever evolving and transforming process. All apparent forms are just part and parcel of the ever expanding stream of energy. Individuality is just apparent on the surface because of the certain frequencies behind the shapes. But you still you feel elated when you see a milestone reached in the process. Here is the family.

The happy family on a dry crowning branch against skies overlaid with monsoon clouds 

They have build up the bridge to the continuation of "life and living" from their tiny point in the infinite scheme through their selfless work of the last few weeks. The father, as they are, is aloof, to the left. Ever pampering mother, like they are everywhere, is nearby to the right. And in the middle is the prince/princess. The fruitful outcome of nature. The little one is almost the size of its mother. I could recognize it only because it still has the childish manner of opening its beak and shakes its wings expecting to be fed an insect. It is gradually opening to the free flight in an open world. It darts quite sharply, a bit erratically though, and is seen out of the cluster of trees where it has been hiding for the last two weeks. They are still concerned about their little one. And they will continue dutiful to their duties till the day when it will take to the skies of its own.  The father takes liberties to be off the scene. Must be definitely flirting somewhere. The mother, on the other hand, is just busy with single point focus. I cannot see any other priority for her right now. She makes sounds particular to their species and type. The little one is being trained in different tones of sounds, for alerts, socializing and who knows what other coquettes of the birdie world. I even heard it imitating and responding to her. The other day, she nibbled at a guava on the courtyard wall and the young one looked keenly. It also imitated its mother and took beakfuls of guava. Must have really liked it because it continued greedily till a drove of sparrows landed and teased it by pecking at its tail. It then flew away with visible irritation. Now they take even bigger sorties of the open chunk of free skies. But off and on I see the mother and kid, and sometimes the father also, on the dry branches of a dead keekar tree from where the father scouted the skies for predators during the nesting phase. Well, it has been a happy story. Well done Bulbul pair. And best of luck little one!