Of birds and birdsong. 2012. New Delhi, India: Aleph Book Company. Hardback (15 x
23 cm), pp., [1–10], 11–328. Editors: Shanthi & Ashish Chandola.
It was my friend, Shiva,
who introduced me to the writing of M. Krishnan, pointing me to his iconic
fortnightly column, ‘Nature Notebook,’ in The Statesman. We were starved for
nature writing in the early 1980s, and though, frankly, a wait of fifteen days
between each hungrily-devoured column was surviving on starvation rations, it
brought inexplicable succor to those who yearned for a glimpse into the
familiar-unfamiliar world of urban and suburban wildlife; into the entirely
unknown universe of forest life; into the mysterious realms of animal
behaviour; into the elemental earthiness of natural history—all of which existed
at a pace that defied the clock, but communicated by Krishnan in a style of
writing that has endured tick-tock’s inexorable march through the decades of
our lives.
There
was no other naturalist of his day, as ‘compleat’ in his métier as
Krishnan—writer, photographer, artist, conservationist, visionary, critic, and litterateur.
I
was left dumbstruck one Wildlife week, when I entered the celebratory hall and
was confronted by a life-sized monochrome enlargement of a gaur, gazing at all
those who entered with the still deep eyes of a creature not chained to the
concept of time. Only Krishnan’s consummate skill in jungle craft could have allowed
him to take that picture.
Krishnan’s
pen-and-ink sketches had the character of rustic woodcuts that encapsulated the
essence of the creature he depicted. He had the knack of using surroundings to
enhance the grain of that essence to great effect.
Krishnan’s
dry humour was legendary. When the candid Krishnan met the redoubtable Sidney
Dillon Ripley Jr., he purportedly confessed, “Mr Ripley, frankly I do not know
whether to believe you or not,” punning with telling effect on the syndicated
column.
What
is it about his writing that it has endured the fickle vagaries of time,
endearing itself over the years, to a larger, hungrier readership? Krishnan’s quill
was steeped in an inkpot of “quiddity”; it spoke from the leaf-littered jungle
floor, it wafted from the mango-blossom scented recesses of deep shaded groves,
it thrummed from the toad-croak-rippled reedy swamp margin, it swayed from the
wind-swept grasslands of the Deccan Plateau, with the conviction of first-hand
knowledge gained from hours spent with his wild subjects, wherever they chose
to reveal themselves, be they animal, plant, bird, insect, amphibian, reptile;
or be they commensals—endemic canine breeds, or cattle, or poultry.
He
absorbed the living non-human world, through senses sharpened during jungle
forays, when he entered realms where the only skill that mattered was alert
stillness. He honed that essentiality and used it with telling effect in his
art.
The
editors of this delightful anthology, Shanthi & Ashish Chandola, no
newcomers to Krishnan’s work, have here compiled 87 essays on birds, and summed
up the collection with two biographical reminiscences on Krishnan. They deserve
the birding brigade’s gratitude for resurrecting this fascinating array of
Krishnan’s avian wrenditions.
To quote him, to paraphrase him, to try and
improve him, are all foolish pursuits deserving MK’s caustic reprimands. All
you have to do is to sit down, and read this wonderful collection of his essays
on birds, where every page shines with joyous insight! To me, this beautiful
volume, caped in scarlet endpapers, is as essential on my birding bookshelf, as
are the field guides.
[Published in Indian BIRDS]
