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