Samosas and Sundowners in the Wild

The harsh winter sun was directly overhead as we waited for the tiger cubs to show themselves from behind the bund covered by the tall grass. Beads of perspiration rolled down my back, and all I could think of was a satisfying drink of juice from the cooler, followed by the sumptuous lunch packed for our half-day safari in Tadoba.

A lovely family I once met on a safari expedition left a lasting impression on me, not just because of their enthusiasm for the jungles, but also what their young son said to me when I asked him about his favorite thing about a safari. 

“I love eating Maggi at center point!” was his response! 

That’s when it dawned on me: one of the highlights of a safari in the jungles of North and Central India is their packed breakfast, and sometimes lunch if a full or a half-day safari is on the cards. 

The soft paranthas, boiled eggs, chutney, and generously buttered sandwiches, followed by little tetra packs of juice and a steaming cup of tea to wash it all down… somehow, food always tastes better amid nature. All of this, spread on a chequered cloth atop the bonnet of the jeep parked at a designated spot, popularly called “center point,” is a reminder of the simple joys in life. Of course, the company of good friends and the hauntingly beautiful calls of birds turn a delightful meal into a cherished memory!

Some of these center points also have tea sellers who can magically conjure up a hot bowl of Maggi noodles or potato fritters to accompany the sweet and milky beverage. 

Speaking of which, I remember a time in Bandhavgarh a couple of years ago. It was early March, and the remnants of a bitter winter had us wrapped in layers of warm clothing, which was essential if you wished not to turn into a popsicle during the morning safari. Craving a cup of hot tea and an accompaniment of a crunchy samosa, we headed to the center point after nearly two hours without so much as spotting a tiger’s tail. 

I peeled off my gloves and bit into the crunchy exterior of the samosa, savoring the spiced potato filling. My husband and friends were equally busy glugging chai and polishing off the samosas when a couple of excited tourists drove in to break for tea and snacks. A lady, rubbing her palms to restore circulation, enquired if we’d got some good pictures of the tigress and her three cubs. 

“What tigress?” I asked, dusting the crumbs off my jacket. 

Her expression was incredulous. She stared at me for a few seconds and screeched, “What are you doing here when there’s a tigress and her sub-adult cubs right by the track?” 

That was the only time I abandoned a half-finished cup of chai and yelled to get the attention of the driver, who was engaged in friendly banter with a colleague. We scrambled into the jeep haphazardly, all arms and legs, and well-fed stomachs, as the driver gunned the vehicle. 

Luckily, the tiger family sympathized with our need to defrost and stuck around, giving us ample opportunity to photograph and admire them as the gorgeous tigress and her nearly-grown cubs put on a show!

While the concept of partaking in a meal during a safari does not exist in the jungles of Karnataka, it is a well-planned exercise, ceremoniously executed in the Masai Mara, where guests can dig into a bush breakfast of muffins, tea, and other delicacies, or a lunch packed by the kitchen staff of the resort where they are staying.

If breakfast or lunch isn’t enough to satiate you, then a sundowner might just do the trick. A common tradition in most African safaris, a sundowner is when the guests enjoy a drink while watching the sunset before driving out of the park. 

The drink I looked forward to on that fateful day was a steaming cup of tea packed in a large flask before we headed for the game drive. Having seen four of the “big five” on this trip, it was our lucky day when we struck the fifth off our list: the elusive and critically endangered black rhino!

Our spirits, lifted by the sight of the pregnant female rhino, sought the perfect end to a perfect day. Nothing could be more perfect than the tea flask so thoughtfully packed for our sundowner experience.

We held out our mugs in anticipation as the driver unscrewed the lid and said, “Ladies first!” chivalrously. 

As I waited for the splash of golden-brown liquid into my mug, I would have never expected what happened next. It was a hot liquid, no doubt, but slightly off the mark, missing the tea leaves, milk, and sugar! 

I stared at the mug of hot water, and then at the utterly dumbfounded driver.

“They’ve probably packed some tea bags and sugar sachets!” he exclaimed, recovering his composure. We peered into the hamper and were greeted by vast emptiness that stared back at us.  

My husband suddenly guffawed, holding his stomach helplessly!

“A sundowner indeed!” he said, as he realized that our flask of tea was accidentally swapped with someone’s flask of hot water. 

The driver, thoroughly embarrassed, closed the flask and indicated that perhaps we could still make it to the camp for a real cuppa, with milk, tea leaves, and everything else that makes for good tea!

Our doubts were confirmed by a rather guilty steward who had mistakenly swapped the flasks. It was a pity, though, that the guest at the receiving end of the flask of tea belonged to the unique breed of humans who despised tea!

Although the sundowner was ruined, I did enjoy a wonderful cup of ginger and lemon tea outside the tent, listening to the grunting of the hippos frolicking in the shallow stream, while the stars twinkled in the clear night sky. Oh, what an evening that was!

Pugmarks in the rain

I remember the first time I saw her. It was a misty winter morning, and the visibility was rather poor. We saw her sitting right in the middle of the track, the blanket of white giving her an ethereal appearance. 

Our safari vehicle came to an abrupt halt, stunned by the sight of the gorgeous tigress licking

her paws nonchalantly. Unperturbed by our presence, she continued grooming herself while we watched, mesmerized by the bold feline who would captivate the hearts of many tigers and humans alike in the years to come.

She has charmed many a tiger since then, raised two handsome male cubs to adulthood, lost two more when they were barely a of couple months old, and, as recent pictures suggest, is now bringing up at least one more cub in the jungles of Bandipur. 

Despite having photographed her many times over the years, my eyes always search for the familiar face in the jungle. Her unblemished, rich coat, the little patches of white on her ears, and those artful markings above her eyes earned her the moniker that stuck; beautiful! 

It was typical monsoon weather, the rain having washed the jungle clean the previous night. 

We set off in the morning, our driver expertly maneuvering the 4X4 through the muddy track. Though it had ceased to rain, the water droplets rolled off the leaves, showering us whenever the wind rustled through the trees. A peacock called out melodiously. “Meao…meao!” it went, perched atop a dead tree that was ravaged by the monsoon winds.

“Pug marks!” our driver said, abruptly bringing the vehicle to a halt. He pointed to the deep indents in the soil, his focus shifting to the dense undergrowth. 

“It’s a female,” he continued, “and it’s fresh!” 

Sure enough, the distinct pugmarks indicated that a tigress had just passed by. The absence of tire tracks over them suggested that she’d crossed moments ago. I peered into the imprints, amused by my reflection in the small puddle that had formed within. 

Like Hansel and Gretel in the fable, we followed her tracks, hoping she’d emerge from the thicket. 

But kismet had other plans. Instead of spotting the orange and black stripes, we were met with two muddy boulders, and one of them wasn’t in a very agreeable mood. 

Protective of her calf, the female elephant was having none of it as we tried to drive past. Unusually agitated, she blocked our path, refusing to budge. Her little one, its tiny tusks just starting to emerge, watched casually as his mother trumpeted and charged every time we so much as inched forward. What a sticky situation it was! 

With no other choice but to give up, our driver shifted into reverse and left the mother and son alone. Needless to say, we were a disappointed lot, but there was more to come. 

We decided to circle the thicket to try and track the tigress from the other side. Negotiating the mire wasn’t easy, and complicating our progress was the rain, which began as a steady drizzle. 

A couple of minutes into the drive brought us face to face with another safari vehicle. The driver, who was conveniently on the other side of the elephants by the bend, gleefully informed us that he’d seen the tigress by the track. She glanced at the excited crowd and melted away into the jungle as the drizzle turned into a downpour. At least that explained the agitated behavior of the mamma elephant!

That said, there was nothing more to do but to head back, disappointed, drenched, and in desperate need of a hot breakfast and a cup of tea.

It was our seventh safari and we’d had our fair share of elephants, sambhar deer, and alluring peacocks. Of the tiger, there wasn’t a glimpse.

Joining us on the fateful day were a knowledgeable naturalist and some affable companions. The afternoon sky, although the colour of dull steel, had mercifully not opened up. 

Nearly thirty uneventful minutes had passed. We encountered more sambhar deer, some disinterested peafowl, and large herds of the mighty Indian gaur. Our naturalist shared some interesting trivia on gaur behaviour, then turned to face us, and said, “You know, it’s been four years since I last saw her...”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than she revealed herself. It was as if the naturalist had conjured her up from his imagination! 

The same delicate markings above her eyes, the same unblemished coat. There was no doubt… it was her at last! 

She moved with the elegance of a lyrical dance, her sinewy muscles firmly planted on the rain-kissed earth. 

Our driver reversed the vehicle, sensing her mood for a stroll along the jungle track. 

She walked along the track, casually at first, stopping in characteristic tiger behavior, sniffing the air and scent-marking some bushes and trees that were the unfortunate recipients.

Her eyes darted this way and that as if looking for something. Pausing from time to time, she continued sniffing the air, her enormous head cocked to one side. What could it possibly be? 

The excitement in the jeep was palpable. I put down my camera and gazed at her as she walked a few yards, stopped to sniff, and stared intently into a thicket. It looked like she’d found what she was looking for.

We backed up further, putting enough distance between the vehicle and the animal. At the very moment, our ears picked up a faint noise behind us. The lantana shook, disturbed by whatever was concealed. Tearing my eyes off the tigress, I turned my attention to the noise behind us, and there it was! The cause for all the sniffing and staring. 

It was a gaur calf. A little older than a month, it still wore the soft brown coat of a baby. The terrified animal knew it had been seen by the predator. It panicked, running helter-skelter, unable to make sense of a world without its protective herd. 

She tigress crouched, unable to contain herself any longer. She sprang forward like an arrow, intent on securing a meal for herself and maybe her little one. We watched, open-mouthed, as the tigress chased the frightened calf, which ran as fast as its little legs could carry it! The bushes parted, and there was a great commotion as the hunt ensued.

Then, suddenly, it went quiet. Unbelievably, the calf had gotten away! It sure was its lucky day, although not so much for the tigress, who would go without a meal until her next attempt to bring down a hooved beast. And who knows when that would be?

Well, it wasn’t her first rodeo, and try again she would. For, such is the way of life in the jungle, where survival is a matter of stealth, speed, and sometimes sheer courage. 

The magnificent creature paused for a moment, grooming herself before she resumed her walk, once again getting us to back up as she sauntered leisurely. 

Then, having decided she’d had enough of walking along the track, she turned around and gracefully melted away into the shrubbery. A beautiful tigress she is indeed! 

  

The winking tigress of Bandipur

The best things in life are often those that are least expected! The same applies to safaris. 

We were on the lookout for the bear-killer. A moniker earned by a bold male tiger after he had killed a sloth bear in a waterhole. Usually a formidable opponent, the bear did not stand a chance, having been caught by surprise by a lethal attack from behind when it bent down for a desperate drink. At least, that’s how the story goes, since I was not there to witness this rare moment. Gathering bits of information from the videos shot by the lucky ones who watched the show from close quarters, we wasted no time in heading straight to the said waterhole to try and catch a glimpse of he-who-dared-to-dine-on-the-mighty bruin! 

The harsh afternoon sunlight created silver ripples on the still waters, as we squinted to adjust to the brightness. Of the deceased bear, there was no sign. The tiger seemed to have polished off his delectable meal leaving no remnants for us to “ooh” and “aah” upon. 

The afternoon dragged on, while we shifted uncomfortably in our seats, wiping rivulets of perspiration off our faces and necks. A restless human specimen, in his attempt to position his bazooka-like lens, violently shook the safari vehicle and its inhabitants, who were lulling off into a heat-induced slumber. A fellow guest opened his mouth to reprimand him, but shut it almost instantly, having spotted a dull-orange shadow with black stripes behind the drying vegetation. 

The tiger emerged into the open, and what a magnificent creature he was! Oblivious to the excited audience pointing their cameras, mobile phones, and fingers at him, he yawned and proceeded to immerse himself into the water, albeit butt first. 

His belly appeared full from his previous meal, and he alternated between drinking water and dozing off as a gentle breeze caressed the jungle. 

I put down my camera, giving my aching arms some rest, and simply watched the tiger as he stretched and emerged from the water, shaking the excess moisture off its pale coat, and walked majestically into the thicket. In a few moments, he was gone! 

It was nearly time to go ourselves. The blazing afternoon had turned into a mellow evening. A cormorant and egret circled the shallows, looking to grab a quick supper before retiring for the evening. It was the perfect end to a perfect afternoon. Or so I thought. 

Our safari driver, Pradeep, a man of great experience and an acute awareness of animal behaviour suggested we take a different route to the exit, rather than follow the convoy exiting the reserve. With some time to spare, we excited lot set off towards a more picturesque part of the jungle. The flat terrain soon changed, and we found ourselves ascending a hill as the 4X4 swallowed the undulations with aplomb. 

The landscape was simply breathtaking! The denuded hillock, devoid of much greenery in the summer months, appeared ethereal as the bare trees swayed on a bed of ash-littered earth. The ash was the result of the forest watchers’ efforts to prevent a forest fire, which is a dangerously common occurrence in the dry season. The watchers, through controlled fires, burn the dry grass, which would otherwise turn into a lethal blaze. 

We drove on, chattering animatedly about the bear-killer, as the sun gently lowered itself into the hills, when Pradeep brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt, his whispers a mix of urgency and excitement. 

“Tiger! Tiger!” he whispered. 

I scanned the fireline, expecting to see the hindquarters of a retreating tiger, when he impatiently pointed in a different direction. Lo, behold! There she was, resting on a bed of ash and soil, her rich coat contrasting against the dark earth beneath and the cornflower blue sky serving as the perfect backdrop. It was an unforgettable sight indeed!

A famously shy tigress, she seemed uncharacteristically at ease, as she gave us a casual glance and winked as if to say, “Well, the game is up. Looks like you found me after all!” 

The winking tigress!

At least that’s what I’d like to think, considering what actually happened was that she reflexively shut an eye to ward off the pesky horseflies that plague the jungles in summer. Having done that, she rose lazily, sauntering off into the brambles after liberally scent-marking the trees. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Bazooka-Lens, dismayed by the lost opportunity to photograph this elusive tigress groaned audibly at his folly. He had packed up the camera equipment after the first tiger sighting, assuming his tiger luck for the day was done. 

I felt a tad sorry for him, for nothing dampens the mood as much as a missed opportunity to photograph this magnificent feline, especially when one is right in front of you. 

The last rays of the sun almost disappeared as we drove back, each one of us still spellbound by the glorious evening. 

I hope to see her again someday, maybe with cubs or her mate. Only time will tell. Perhaps she might wink once more?

Meeting the mighty elephants

I just about managed to wolf down the morning cuppa as politely as possible, quite aware and appreciative of the kitchen staff’s effort at putting together a breakfast hamper and brewing a hot cup of masala chai at the ungodly hour before sunrise. Truth be told, I would have preferred to down the whole cup of tea in one gulp and get moving as soon as possible, but two things deterred me from doing that; first, the masala chai, painstakingly made by the chef just for us, the Indian guests, was delicious and it would be insulting to gulp it down without savoring every sip. The second reason was very simple...I’d end up scalding my mouth.

It was 5 AM and our guide revved the Landrover impatiently. I smiled apologetically, thanked the staff for the fantastic tea, and hopped into the Landie. The breakfast hampers safely tucked between the seats, my husband, also safely tucked into a comfortable seat, our quest for the mighty elephants had begun.

Once more, we found ourselves racing across the vast savannah. A lone Topi ( a type of antelope found in some parts of the continent) breakfasted on the short grass. Its silhouette against the backdrop of the rising sun was like a picture on a postcard. I quickly captured it on camera.

The skyline was now a rich mix of red, gold, and blue. The rising sun brought with it excited tourists in hot-air balloons, waving at us from up above. I had never quite seen anything like this and was awed by the dozens of brightly colored hot-air balloons that moved gracefully above. We paused for a bit to admire the view before setting off again, where our tusked friends awaited.

I truly believe that elephants are the soul of the jungles. A jungle that lacks elephants is without a soul, hence does not figure on top of my “must visit” list. Anyway, there we were, among a large family of noble and wise souls.  

The sight gladdened my heart. Time stood still as I gazed hypnotically at the family of the majestic African elephants! I heard the telltale rumble of an elephant’s stomach and turned around to figure out if the baby was communicating with its mother, or perhaps its sibling who was munching on some strange-looking pods. 

It’s amazing how animals have their language and say what needs to be said through behavioral cues and sounds that humans cannot hear and don’t always understand. Maybe that’s a good thing. Imagine if we could understand elephant-speak. I’d be a tad hurt if I’d heard junior tell his mother that the pesky humans were back to rudely point fingers at them!

The herd moved closer, and our guide wisely backed up. All animals have an invisible line that demarks their safe space. Under no circumstances should this line be crossed. To do so can sometimes spell disaster, for it is the equivalent of someone breaking into your home and threatening you. It cannot possibly end pleasantly, can it?

We must have stayed with the herd for over an hour, simply watching them go about their lives. I was fascinated by the fine tusks that adorned both genders, unlike their smaller Indian cousins, where the females lack tusks. The differences between the two giants belonging to the Asian and African continents are rather distinct. If you look at the ears of an African elephant, for instance, you’ll see that they’re shaped somewhat like the continent itself! Fascinating isn’t it?

My reverie was broken by another, familiar rumble. This time, it emanated from a human… me! My stomach signaled that it was time for breakfast. I offered a sheepish smile in response to the guide’s amused chuckle. However, he understood the non-verbal communications emanating from my stomach and drove away from the herd towards a clearing where we could tuck into the eggs, sandwiches, and most importantly, tea.

“Wait here,” he said, before disappearing for a few minutes. He popped back and crouched as if he’d misplaced the Landie’s key somewhere. Scanning the undergrowth thoroughly, our guide then gave us a thumbs-up, indicating that we could get off the vehicle and open the hamper. 

“What were you looking for?” I asked as he enthusiastically peppered an egg.

“Oh, the usual, you know. Lions snoozing in the shade, occasionally buffaloes or rhino. They get curious sometimes,” he said nonchalantly while pointing to the riverbank. 

“Look carefully,” he said. I squinted against the sun and watched the water bubble and sputter before a huge head popped up. It was followed by another huge head, then another, before the whole family of hippos came up for air. 

“Breakfast with hippos!” he declared, breaking into a grin. As I stared at the massive teeth and tusks, one of them grunted noisily. 

“Did you know that hippo poop transports essential silica into the river, which is vital for the aquatic ecosystem?” our guide enquired between a mouthful of bread and eggs. I momentarily lost my appetite and gently put back the cup of tea on the bonnet. Somehow the hot, brown liquid lost its appeal, for the time being at least. “Do tell” I responded with a tepid smile. “Well, their poop has silica that comes from the grass they eat. This is important for the algae, which in turn, is food for various forms of aquatic life. So no hippos mean no hippo poop, which means no silica, no algae, and no aquatic life!” he explained, the humor in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that suggested absolute devotion to nature in all its forms. “Wow!” my husband whistled appreciatively, “We certainly didn’t know that!”

I nodded agreeably, reaching for the tea while watching the hippos with newfound respect. It was a breakfast to remember... if there is such a thing. The hippos snorted, and grunted joyously, probably gossiping about who among them contributed the most silica into the water that morning, while we polished off the sumptuous breakfast, my appetite back with a vengeance. “So, what do you want to do next?” the guide asked, warming up the Landie. “Do you think it’s possible to see more elephants? A different herd, maybe?” He grinned, winked, and nodded, as we headed to the Kenya-Tanzania border, looking for our next tête-à-tête with the mighty mammals.

Whistle in case of an emergency!

Sundown in the African savannah possesses the kind of timeless beauty that inspires even the most poetically-challenged to pen a verse or two. We had just disembarked from our light aircraft and had about 3 hours to go before dusk, so breaking into Frost or Wordsworth could wait.

No sooner did we collect our luggage, which was simply stacked within an elastic, netted contraption at the back of the plane, our guide and driver, a strapping young man from the Masai tribe, greeted us with a cheerful hello. 

“Let’s head straight for the game-drive,” he said as he loaded our bags into the Landrover. 

“Huh? Aren’t we going to the camp first to freshen up?” I questioned, quite aware of how I must look and smell after not having showered in the last 24 hours, since leaving India.

Scarface and I

He grinned, shook his head, and convinced me that the wildlife won’t mind the occasional unshowered, disheveled human. I agreed sheepishly, unable to refuse his offer to drive through the vast grasslands that stretched endlessly and invitingly ahead. So, it began, our very first game drive through what I believe to be one of the most beautiful places on this planet.  

We made a beeline to a scrub that housed a massive, male lion, aptly christened “Scarface” inspired by the battle scars that ran across his massive face. At first, I was stunned to be so close to this magnificent beast with his shaggy, thick mane, and paws the size of dinner plates. Scarface couldn’t care less and continued to alternately gnaw at the wildebeest remains and yawn lazily as the tiresome flies buzzed around. Once the shock waned, the awe took over. I was at once overwhelmed and mesmerized by his presence. My first lion in the wild and it was Scarface... I just couldn’t believe my good fortune!

Scarface after a good meal!

The rest of the evening was a blur of many firsts, each one more amazing than the next. My first cheetah in the wild, first hippo, first giraffe, first river crossing in a Landrover, I was simply flabbergasted by the sheer species of wildlife that lived within minutes of each other! 

“There’s your first Ostrich!” shouted our guide to make himself heard against the wind as we sped towards our camp. 

The memory is as strong today as it was on the day I saw the silhouette of the magnificent bird as it walked seductively against the backdrop of the setting sun. The engine turned off, I stuck my head out of the sunroof, savoring the moment, as dusk set in, bringing the eventful day to an end. 

It was time to head to the camp.

The night had set in by the time we reached our camp. Truth be told, I had no idea how our guide knew one track from another, especially in the dark. Everything looked the same to me...a combination of vast plains, dotted by scrubs, and the occasional river crossing, which I will come to later. But I reckon, having driven across the same tracks for years, posing this question to the guide would only invite a quizzical glance, followed by a well-rehearsed, obvious answer to a very silly and unnecessary question. So, I refrained. 

We were exhausted to the point of collapse and wished we had more energy to fully appreciate the welcome dance that the staff so graciously put up for us. Tired and hungry, we swallowed the hot meal that was laid out and headed to our tent, after being warned several times over not to venture out alone after sundown. 

We are warned of running into ill-tempered Cape buffaloes or highly territorial Hippos that ventured into the camp that was set up in the middle of the Mara. Point taken. I didn’t fancy a clandestine tête-à-tête with either beast in the middle of the night and assured the accompanying tribesman of my noble intentions, which involved a wash and bed. 

He nodded agreeably and handed us a whistle each. Once more, I raised an eyebrow, which seemed to be a regularly used form of expression ever since my arrival a few hours ago.

“If you need us,” he clarified, grinning ear to ear. 

“A Masai guard will be posted outside your tent. Use the whistle if there’s an emergency,” he continued as he dropped us off. 

He disappeared before I had the chance to ask him what qualified as an emergency. I stared at the tiny whistle and hoped I’d never had to use it. My imagination ran wild, with images of angry hippos tearing through the tent while we slept, or snakes slithering into the blankets for warmth. Who knows, maybe a curious hyena might make an appearance. 

I don’t know if any of this happened, for I slept right through everything. I remember the snorting of hippos as they splashed around the river by the tent, the call of the hyenas, and several other sounds as they lulled me to sleep on my first night in Africa. Maybe a lion or two sniffed around, deciding unshowered humans were not worth the trouble! 

Nevertheless, exhausted as I was, I couldn’t wait to jump into the Landrover the following morning. We were going to see the mighty elephants! 

The beginning of an African adventure: A perilous plane ride

Nothing prepared me for this. I had only seen it in movies before, and I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Here I was, flying in one of those small, limited-seater, light aircraft, gazing out of the window at the tower of giraffes as they gracefully trotted across the great African Savannah. I couldn’t wait for us to land!

To be honest, my hurry to land had other reasons. Besides the excitement that was building up in my belly, the stale muffins that I had gorged on at Wilson Airport in Nairobi had started to make their presence felt. As the adorable little plane bobbed and swayed each time it got a little windy outside, my belly threatened to bring up the muffins, tea et all; and boy was it windy! 

I panicked, looking around for one of those bags they have on all flights for the passengers to empty the contents of their stomachs. On a related note, I wonder what happens to the bags once they are full? Is one expected to call out to the flight attendant and politely hand it over, reaching over your fellow-passengers as they cringe and gag reflexively, hoping the bag is leak-proof? Thankfully, I never have had the opportunity to find out. Coming back to my current predicament, the plane was no larger than a sedan, and my poor knees knocking against my collar-bone were testimony to that. So the possibility of a sick-bag simply did not exist. I just had to hold it in.

Well, this is supposed to be a blog about my trip to Africa, specifically the Masai Mara in Kenya. So let me get back to the wildlife. I tried to distract myself by gazing at the large herds of elephants, followed by the delightful hippo family bathing in a waterbody far down below. From the airplane, the hippos and the elephants looked like minuscule blobs moving lethargically in the vast, green plans of the Mara that were occasionally dotted with Acacia. The Mara river soon came into view, our plane gliding over the muddy brown waters gracefully snaking below. The waters alternated between silver and brown, turning silver whenever the sun peeked from behind clouds, casting its powerful rays down below, and of course, baking the 6 passengers and the two pilots within.

The heat did not help matters, and I was reminded once again of my protesting stomach. We still had 20 minutes to go. 

“Why doesn’t everyone have some mint, it helps with nausea,” the strapping young pilot announced as if sensing my discomfort. He then turned to face us and handed over a box of mint. 

“Jeepers! He needs to look ahead, not at us!” I whispered urgently in my husband’s ear. Come to think of it, my husband appeared a little green himself, having partaken the muffins a couple of hours ago.

The pilot overheard me, considering there wasn’t much room to whisper aboard the itsy-bitsy cabin and smiled benevolently. 

“Don’t worry, she’s good! We’re gooo-oood!” he assured grinning ear to ear, as he tapped on the paraphernalia that kept us inflight.

I smiled back, popped a mint, and kept my eyes closed until we finally began descending. 

I looked outside expectantly, naively assuming there was a runway ahead. The “runway” was but a muddy clearing in the jungle, prepared before each landing by the rangers, who chased away curious zebras and wildebeest herds, making space for the planes to land. Awestruck and amused, I watched the beasts make a run for it, as the landrover drove them off the airstrip, and moments later we landed with a loud “thud” followed by short,  jerky movements, and then an abrupt stop.

I was the first one out of the plane, pretty certain of desecrating the airstrip by getting sick all over it. Nope, just nausea that soon disappeared after I gulped in the clean, fresh air in the Masai Mara Reserve. I staggered a little uncertainly, swallowed some more air, and in a few minutes, I was as fine as a flea on a butcher’s dog!

“Okay, let’s get back into the plane, everyone!” shouted the pilot, clapping his hands impatiently.

“Excuse me, what?” I enquired wondering if I had misheard.

“This isn’t your stop, it’s where he gets off,” the pilot responded, flashing a smile that would have passed off as charming if not for the impatient tone of his voice. 

I glanced at the man he was pointing to and saw that it was the bloke who had occupied the seat behind me. He was now walking away, shaking hands with his guide, driver, and companion for the next few days.

“You get off in 20 minutes. So come on in, you can have another mint,” said Mr.Pilot man benevolently.

I followed him and my husband back into the plane, taking him up on his offer for the extra mint. My husband, whose pallor was nearly back to human and less Kermit-the-frog, helped himself too, as did the remaining passengers on board. And so, we covered the next 20 minutes in relatively good spirits.  The break had helped, and I seemed to enjoy the breathtaking scene beneath me, as we descended once again, the airstrip cleared off the herbivores. 

The Masai Mara… we were here at last! A dream that my husband I nursed for many years was finally real. I couldn't believe it... our feet were planted firmly on African soil, the savannah stretching endlessly ahead and our hearts bursting with excitement in anticipation of the game drives and adventures in store!

The adventure continues in my next blog, which will follow soon.

Blame it on the virus!

I don’t know why I took a long break from writing. It has always been so therapeutic to translate my thoughts into words, and words into stories and experiences. Was it the convenience of Instagram that allows me to add a couple of lines against a picture and hit “post” or simply the sheer apathy brought on by the pandemic? I’d like to blame both, but deep down I know that I’m guilty of a rather common ailment that afflicts writers… distraction! 

Documenting stories of my travels has always been a passion. That said, with no travels to document post-COVID, I let my passion wane. I convinced myself that most of 2019 was spent preparing for my travels to the Masai Mara Reserve in Kenya. Meanwhile, the lure of the Bandipur Tiger Reserve, which was fast turning into my home away from home, meant that I was too busy packing my bags just as fast I’d unpack them upon my return. When was I to write?

Excuses, excuses, right? This time around, I made up my mind to pull myself out of the impassivity that has clouded my mind, especially ever since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic.

So, what next? Well, I’d like to spend a few moments lamenting on the lack of travel in 2020. As someone who made a beeline to the nearest jungle at the drop of a hat, being trapped indoors for months together is, for the lack of a better word, rather suffocating. One might argue that everything in India is opening up, including the safaris and there’s nothing to stop me from embarking upon another one of my wildlife trips. That’s not entirely true… there is something that stops me from finding material for my next article, and that is the rapidly spreading virus that seems to completely disregard humanity’s patience. 

Can you imagine, the impudence of these “invisible to the naked eye” organisms that appear to have overstayed their “unwelcome”, in this case? Patience everywhere is running thin, and I’m no different. I would like to pretend that the homemade concoctions of garam masala and turmeric will render me invincible to the Coronavirus or be like the neighbourhood uncle who firmly believes it’s all a hoax; but better sense prevails and I realize that the possibility of contracting the infection, if I were to tempt fate by traveling for pleasure, is very high! 

So, reminisce I will, by getting back to writing my travel experiences from the good old days when catching a cold was what it was...very common! When running temperate was nothing more than a mere inconvenience that was in most cases resolved by a couple of over-the-counter antibiotics, liberal doses of paracetamol, and of course, “mummyji ki khichdi”. 

I’m going to sign off on that note, and promise to be back soon with a blog on my 2019 trip to the Masai Mara.