Roots of medicine

A shop in Velachery that sells some exotic things. Things that the city dweller needs because he hasn't yet left the village behind him. Things that assure her that her newborn is getting the best of nature. Things that only a "nattu marundhu kadai" can provide.

No, it does not - and should not - translate as "country medicine shop". That's missing the entire point. Like many other phrases, "naatu marundhu kadai" defies neat translation, because of the need for deeper understanding of tradition and culture. These are not really "country", but more like "non-city"; and "marundhu" here is not really medicine, but the ingredients - seeds, fruits, accessories - that are needed for making some traditional recipes. Recipes that are used for "health tonics"..... well, that's the best way of describing "kashayams", isn't it, although "lehyam" is beyond me for now!

From darkness to light

The National Geographic magazine calls it "...probably the only successful example of the sustainable use of a wild species in India.". The Irula Snake Catchers Industrial Cooperative Society (ISCICS), which is thus described, has been around since 1978, but I first got to know about them in the early 1990s, when a friend working with an NGO contracted the ISCICS to catch rats that had become a menace in the Madras Central station.

The Irula tribe gets its name from the Tamizh word 'irul', meaning darkness. It is not important whether the word signified their complexion (they are supposedly descended from Negrito stock) or the timing of their chief occupation, for they would be active during nights, hunting rats and snakes. The latter catered to the demand of the global skin trade, ending up as shoes or bags with high fashion labels. The tribespeople were famed for their ability to track and catch any snake, especially the poisonous king cobras and the Russell's vipers, which were numerous in the regions around Madras. It is estimated that the entire population of the Irula tribe - about 250,000 people today - has always been concentrated around Chennai, and was entirely dependent on catching and skinning snakes to make a living.

The Wildlife Protection Act of 1972, while being a boon in general, struck a body blow to the Irulas' livelihood by making it illegal to hunt wild animals. And then in 1976, export of snake skins was banned under the Act. Many Irulas were forced to turn to other occupations, which they promptly made a hash of. Even after a couple of generations, the Irulas are uncomfortable in the mainstream, though a majority of them are now part of it. A small group, however, formed the ISCICS in 1978 under the guidance of Romulus Whitaker, the man behind the Madras Snake Park and the Madras Crocodile Bank Trust. The ISCICS members (about 500 of them now) continue to catch snakes, especially poisonous ones. But there is a difference; they catch them live, tag them, house them for about a month, during which time they are milked for their venom once a week. At the end of the month, the snake is released in the wild and they are not brought in again for at least 3 months.

The members of the ISCICS have been scrupulously following the processes for capturing, milking and releasing the snakes. They also have some space within the Crocodile Bank for demonstrating the venom milking and to speak about the snake species around Chennai. With all these efforts, they earn enough to live with the modern-day norms without sacrificing their ancestral skills - now, how's that for sustainability!

Multicoloured flower

The State Flower of Tamil Nadu is indeed a rather unique specimen. The young flower of the Glory Lily (Gloriosa superba) starts off with its mostly-flat green petals drooping downwards. As the flower grows, not only do the petals lengthen out, but they also begin to get all crinkly and move from their droopishness to curve backwards. In the process, they also change colour from green to red, passing through a stage of partial, if not complete yellow. As the petals curve back, the stamens of the flower follow them part-way, and in the mature flower, appear like outriggers stabilising the flower.

The flower has medicinal properties. Which also means that it is poisonous, if the dosage is exceeded or otherwise improperly administered. Seeing some of us carrying this flower with us, the locals ran up to ask us to drop the flower and to make sure we washed our hands well: it is indeed that poisonous, they insisted. Though it is the root that is the most poisonous (most medicinal), the leaves and the flower can also cause acute discomfort all along the digestive system, so why take a chance?

Because of its medicinal value, the plant is apparently becoming scarce. I don't think it is very easy to spot one in Chennai. In fact, I saw this one in the Thattekad forest in Kerala!

Little sapling

At Kalakshetra; more details in a while...

Almost evergreen

It is such a common sight in Chennai; the raintree has been used to line so many roads in the city, that it comes as a surprise to know it is not native to the region - indeed, it is not native to India, having been brought from Central / South America. From the forests of Mexico, Peru and Brazil, this tree has travelled to all the tropical regions of the world, with each region bestowing it a name (even its scientific name is in some confusion: it is called both Albizia saman as well as Samanea saman): monkey-pod tree, 5-o'clock tree, sleepy-faced tree, french tamarind... but the name 'raintree' was apparently coined in India.



Why 'raintree'? Again, there are several explanations, so take your pick. One, that the tree is host to a species of cicada, and their honey-dew like discharge fall like rain. The tree shuts its leaves when the skies go dark; during the monsoons, therefore, the raindrops fall through to the ground below - that's another explanation for its name. It is unique because most large trees of similar size provide shelter from the rain. The saman does not do so, despite being a contender for 'large tree' awards. It is an uncommon occurance for its leaf-faces to be splattered with rain - this one just got a little late in closing!



Hitachi has used one of the largest raintrees - on the Hawaiian island of Oafu - as part of its corporate identity since the early 1970s and in 2007, agreed to pay $ 4 million over the next 10 years for continued maintenance of that tree. That's indeed a lot of green!

Travelling house

It looks like a bamboo windchime that's been stuck, but it is actually a pretty interesting home. It is built by the larva of the bagworm moths of the family Psychidae - apparently, these cases are more helpful in identifying the exact species of the moth, rather than the full grown insect itself. The larva builds this case out of any natural protective material it can find; other than such tiny twigs, building materials include sand, leaves, or other plant matter. Until the larva is feeding, it moves around, carrying its 'house' with it. Once it is ready to pupate, it fixes the case to the nearest anchor - a branch, wall or rocks - with its silken adhesive.

If you look closely, you'll see some wing-scales peeping through at the bottom of this house; the adult moth will be ready to fly out, maybe in a day or so!

Flower.

What kind? I have no idea. Just thought they looked good, when I saw them at Neelankarai, just off the East Coast Road. The plant was rather unkempt; but the flowers lift up your spirit with their sheer freshness - what more can you ask for on a hot day, under the blazing sun at Neelankarai!

Learning irrelevance

The name is more a measure of confidence than any grandiosity. The Krishnamurti Foundation of India (KFI) takes forward the belief of Jiddu Krishnamurti that schools must provide a environment to explore larger existential issues in an atmosphere of freedom and responsibility. The first school established by the KFI was in 1931 at Rishi Valley in Andhra Pradesh (close to where Krishnamurti was born); today the KFI runs seven schools, include 'The School' in Chennai. Apart from these, there are four other 'non-foundation' schools which, though not run by the KFI, follow the principles for children's education as laid down by Krishnamurti. Those principles have influenced other schools around the world also.

The School was begun in Krishnamurti's lifetime; the school's website says it is 25 years old, but other sources trace the school's founding date to be sometime in 1973. Set in Damodar Gardens, part of the Theosophical Society's lands, the school appears to be much older than either date would indicate. For the most part, the natural settings of Damodar Gardens have been preserved and maintained. Children in the junior and middle schools - classes 1 to 7 - are placed in mixed age groups and go through the curriculum prescribed by The School. It is only in class 8 that the formal CICSE curriculum is adopted, enabling the students to appear for the ICSE examinations in classes 10 and 12. It is a stated desire of The School to not encourage competition, because they do not recognize any merit in it. With such a seemingly contrarian point of view, The School is not for anyone who is unable to recognize that the holisitic development of an individual is the aim of education.

Indeed, it would take a lot to even admit that one must learn about the "...importance of knowledge and its irrelevance." from a school, let alone from The School!

End of the walk

This was a rather sad way for a 'Turtle Walk' to end; seeing a dead one washed up on the shore. Unfortunately, it is a sight that is becoming far too common. The eastern seaboard of India has nesting grounds for many of the seven known species of the turtle. Listed as 'Vulnerable' on the IUCN's Red List, the Olive Ridley is the most common visitor to the beaches of Chennai. Knowing the popular attractions, the Olive Ridleys have been careful to avoid the Marina, preferring the lesser known and therefore lesser expensive stretchs of the beach.

Trudging through beach sand for around 7 hours, looking for the nests or even for a lighthouse in the neighbourhood is not an ideal way to spend Saturday evening. But having done that, it is something that I would n't have missed. We walked for about 7 hours, from 1230 pm to 0330 and many of the group were disappointed at not having seen the maginicant turtles come up from the sea to lay their eggs, as they have been programmed to do over several generations. It is said that the Olive Ridley comes back to the spot where she was born, to lay her eggs.

In recent years, the turtle populations are faced with several disadvantages: the worst is from mechanized trawlers, whose nets are srong enough to go through the soft flesh of a the turtle's flipper or its neck, even. This one shows all the signs of having been strangulated - extremely sad. The redeeming part of the walk was watching 3 hatchlings struggle to walk for element: life does find a way, many times!

Are you daft?

Waking up at 4.30 am after a pleasantly mellow Saturday evening does merit the question being asked. With an 85 km drive ahead, and a desire to complete it before 6.30 am, it isn't advisable to sleep for much longer. What's with the drive, you ask? Well, that's how far away the Vedanthangal (does it actually mean "hunter's pause" - vedan + thangal?) bird sanctuary is. It is a 'seasonal sanctuary', if there can be such a term, attracting birds during the northern winter, between October and February. Though 'sanctuary' is a rather grand term - there is just a large lake dotted with barringtonia and a clump of bamboos, with a walkway along its southern shore - Vedanthangal is a historic example of environment protection.

Long years ago, the villagers of Vedanthangal were intrigued by the huge number of birds that visited them year after year, just after the monsoons. Not fully understanding their migratory patterns, the villagers protected them still, for they realized that the water in the tank was enriched by the birds' droppings, thereby providing natural fertilizer for their fields. Thus, when the British arrived at this location in the early 20th century, drawn by abundant quarry for their game shoots, the villagers protested and made sure the hunters didn't return after the first season. Others did, most notably R.S.P.Bates, who pieced together evidence to show that heronries existed in Vedanthangal as far back as 1798. Thanks to their efforts, the area became India's first bird sanctuary in 1895. More recently, some scholars have postulated that Vedanthangal's history dates back thousands of years; let's just say that the villagers have always known and appreciated the role played by their winter visitors.

The southern edge of the lake, as I've said, is a walkway, built on a high bund bordering the lake. At its easternmost end, the bund falls off and you see this - imagine building a wall to keep the waters in the lake!

The birds of Vedanthangal are too beautiful for my dinky camera to do justice to them. Charlie's blog post on Vedanthangal, at http://10000birds.com/, has some great pictures; the ones I did take are on this Picasa page.

Getting back

Was away overnight on a bird-watching camp organized by the Madras Naturalists Society and conducted by my namesake, Dr V.Santharam. The camp was just outside Chennai city - actually I guess the place we went to would fall within the boundaries of Greater Chennai. I had a great time getting to know the ABCs of bird watching - and then going out on to the field and spotting 27 species of birds (that's just the ones I saw; the more experienced birders had over 50 species on their lists).

Coming back into the city, we headed in on the Old Mahabalipuram Road (OMR); or, what was earlier called Old Mahabalipuram Road. It was renamed Rajiv Gandhi Salai sometime ago and the 20km stretch from Madhya Kailas to Siruseri was formally dedicated at the end of October 2008. The next phase of activity on this road, to complete the Siruseri - Mamallapuram stretch and some connecting roads between Rajiv Gandhi Salai and the East Coast Road is expected to take another year to complete. Though towns like Tiruporur, on the OMR, list themselves as being on the IT Highway, it will take a while before Rajiv Gandhi Salai begins to look like a highway at those points.

In a month or so, the toll plaza at Siruseri will be functional - today, just after we entered the IT Highway at this point in Siruseri, we casually breezed through the yet-to-be-functional toll booths. I believe that's how the villagers along this part - and several other parts too - of Rajiv Gandhi Salai will pass through, even after the toll collection is implemented!

A flower by another name

Okay, I'm going to go out on a limb here, in classifying this passion flower as Passiflora incarnata; I'm reliably informed that it is indeed the passion flower, but the scientific name is entirely out of my own research - these flowers seem to come in a wide range of colours and I'm sure they do not represent just one species. Even though the limb of this flower that I'm going out on is a creeper, it will support my findings and actually turn out to be the P. incarnata.

Initially, I put its name down to a description of the way it is constructed, with delicately multicoloured tendrils above the petals, the stamens rising up in a crown over them and the overall effect of tenderness. The passion flower however, was named so because the Spaniards who first saw them in South America were reminded of the passion of Christ - the crown of thorns, the whips, the wounds - in different aspects of this flower.

For all its name, it will not fire you up; it is mainly used as a sedative and is also a key ingredient in some herbal tranquilizers. I am not sure how common it is in Chennai, for this is the only time I saw it, near the St Thomas Mount.

Is fragrant frangipani?

Was walking down Lloyds Road - as a part of one of Nizhal's Tree Walks, more about them some other day - when I saw this frangipani tree, thick with flowers. And along with some childhood memories, unanswered questions came back. The memories are of two kinds: being lured to the plant by the sharp scent of its flowers, picking the fresh ones, punching a small hole in each petal to fold them back over the stem of the flower and ending up with a yellow-and-white ornament. Of course, as a kid rushing to make more signet-rings than the others, plucking the flowers was an essential part of the routine. But in the villages, there was always frustration at children playing with these flowers. A belief that the scent of these flowers attract the spirits - and snakes - during dusk meant that we were all frisked thoroughly for our ornaments before we were let back inside the house.

The name of the plant was also intriguing; it sounded so very Indian with the 'pani' ending (that ending denotes 'bearer' in many Indian languages), but it also sounded delightfully foreign, when you twist your tongue over the 'frangi' bit... and knowing that it was an imported plant added to its charm. Of course it had its local names, too - so many of them, in fact, that I do not remember even one!

But searching for a connect between the etymological roots of 'frangipani' and 'fragrant' has got me nowhere. I guess I should be happy to just walk under the plant, enjoy its fragrance and be thankful that it is there!