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What the wild knows about citizenship

By imagining a single, human-centric perspective, we are not just silencing these other stories, we are making our own infinitely more brittle

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The traffic in Bengaluru will not be solved by a tunnel that destroys a million living things. (File photo)

Bengaluru needs a tunnel and 1,128 trees must make way. The proposed solution to congestion is a 2.2km tunnel for which a thousand trees are to be felled. Residents have taken to hugging trees in protest.

In Udaipur, once upon a time, hyenas came to feast on Dadijaan’s pots of vinegar and Daddy just went to the perennial stream by our home to catch fish if there were guests at home. Foxes lived in graveyards, peacocks danced in the rain. Now the Aravalli range are turning arid.

For the last two decades, I have lived in Colombo, a Ramsar wetland city, where the wild Sri Lankan nationals drop in uninvited. The city is densely plural. Marshes, waterways and patches of woodland are woven between skyscrapers, pubs and politicians. A bewildering variety of life co-exists with the bipedal apes. I cannot name a single metropolis in India where a firefly lands on your spoon as you are about to serve aloo-gobhi. So here are a few lessons I have learnt from the wild philosophers of Colombo (As I write this article, a cormorant is pitifully looking at me for working on a sunny day meant to dry one’s wings):

Crocodile: Your property deed is a work of fiction. Doob-doob is the juvenile saltwater crocodile in our backyard where our garden ends in a canal. You can see it often, taking a chill pill and soaking the sun. “Arrey baba, magarmachch! Aren’t you scared?” Many people ask me. Yes, I am. As much as I am of this hair growing on my chin.

Terrapin: There’s nothing wrong with retreating into a shell. Not only do these terrapins retreat into their shells, they feel duty-bound to pee on me whenever I try to help one to cross a road. Going in your shell is self-protection. One should peek out only when do-gooders like me have sneaked away leaving you the heck alone.

Terrapin: There’s nothing wrong with retreating into a shell. Not only do these terrapins retreat into their shells, they feel duty-bound to pee on me whenever I try to help one to cross a road. Going in your shell is self-protection. One should peek out only when do-gooders like me have sneaked away leaving you the heck alone.

Porcupine: Carry quills on your back. Right at midnight, we often see a porcupine mum leading her prickle or a gent on a stroll. You must give them the right of way. The alternative is all your tyres getting punctured.

Purple-faced monkey: Ownership is a debatable concept. Also, your prized mangoes were never yours to begin with. Bandru that hangs around our home is made of sheer guts. Not only does he feast on the mangoes but also pulls my cushion out to take an afternoon nap.

Peacock: Vanity is not always a vice. I recently spotted a peacock in our garden checking out the metal sculpture of a peacock we have installed.

Paradise flycatcher: Beauty does not exist for social media. That gorgeous ribbon of a tail, fluttering through the canopy, doesn’t exist for my social media feed. It just is. An empirical evidence of splendour.

Pelicans: Never underestimate the value of an absurd face. The spot-billed pelicans living in the woods around have claimed a few trees and painted them white with droppings. It’s your problem if you don’t find them conventionally handsome. They claim more rights to the vicinity than a legal voter.

The Fishing cat: Incredible things happen in the margins. If our stars align, we get to greet a fishing cat late at night. This elusive predator thrives in the city’s messy wetlands, the very spaces planners would like to drain and pave.

Kabaragoya, water monitor lizard: Carrion is easier to find than truth. The kabaragoya patrols the canals clearing carrion with a dedication no municipal council has matched. Tuk-tuks stop for it. So do I.

Fireflies: Important messages are often whispered. As darkness dawns, the astral fireflies come gallivanting in our garden. Their twinkle is an argument against the brute force of a floodlight.

These are not quaint encounters but daily tutorials in a different kind of citizenship. By imagining a single, human-centric perspective, we are not just silencing these other stories, we are making our own infinitely more brittle.

The traffic in Bengaluru will not be solved by a tunnel that destroys a million living things. That is like curing a headache with a guillotine. The solution lies in designing cities that acknowledge the intricate web of life.

My grandmother’s hyenas are long gone. I hope Bengaluru’s trees get to stay.

As for me, there is a kabaragoya waiting at my gate. He was here before the gate.

Tehsin is a writer and former honorary wildlife warden, Udaipur