Meditation on a window
As Bandhavgarh reopens to tourists for a brand-new season, I offer a quick refresher of some of my favourite terms from its unique phraseology.
In this first of a series remembering tigers, presenting the only tiger I’ve ever seen who was a sage. B2.
A pair of lionesses maraud on a vehicle track late one evening in search of prey.
Meet a guided missile with premium-apparel branding.
Burly, lithe, has stripes and panache. The Mahaman Male from Magadhi.
So how does it feel to see a wild tiger? I could tell you that waiting for a tiger to emerge feels like watching raindrops trickle off a roofline while awaiting your beloved – a wistful longing fanned by sweet anticipation. But that wouldn’t let you know what it’s like to melt in your own…
In a wilderness in northwestern India, much closer than the sun, lives a star. He was born nine years ago not from a supernova, but his parents’ ‘Jeans instability’. Every morning he rises – to the occasion. And every evening he sets – the stage on fire. In between, he births new stars. Without dying….
Between the banks of night and day, she stands gazing at the undual, still in the flow. Seasons come and phases lapse, but her vigil flies aloft. It reaches beyond man, beast and plant, and touches the source of all.But she’s not a hoarder of beliefs, collector of memories or weaver of dreams. She’s…
Two gleaming gems. Like polished marbles from the Welkin’s riverbeds. By day they hide, at noon they rest, and by night they glow in the lonesome bight. Yet, by morning they’re gone, set with the moon, down horizons unknown. Sparks from tinder, brilliant but short, fanned by the wind. How bright they glow! How bright!…