Monday, March 31, 2008

Pink is my new obsession!!!!!!!!

I'd driven to Sewri a million times to watch the flamingos in the distance.Pink specks covering the mudflats turned into bird shapes through my binoculars.

This Saturday was different!!! The afternoon sun scorched our skin as we assembled at Mahul village at 2pm. A little boat and some fisher folk awaited the 'Jungle lore' gang. We set off through the mangroves starling some paddy birds and gulls in the process. The high tide was coming in. The Flamingos who's had their fill were now walking along the mangroves before taking flight.
We were ushered into an even smaller boat, so we could row up to the flamingos without startling them. With my sun-kissed arms on either sides of the boat, squatting on the floor, shifting to maintain the boat's balance, I spotted them as we turned around the bend. Thousands of pink beauties as far as the eye could see!!!
I'd never been so up close and personal with the flamingos....the lesser and greater, the juveniles...just meters away from us....
They waded through the water, squabbled and called out to each other, some posed on one leg....and then....when the tide came in further and the skies beckoned they took off....synchronised feet treading the water's surface, wings flapping, and they were off...
As they flew above our heads towards Anushakti nagar, we watched them till they turned into little specks and then merged with the distant hills.

We rowed back to the village in awe, sharing photographs, our excitement and our new pink obsession!!!

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Tiger, tiger, burning bright!!

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
(William Blake)