Sanjay Gandhi National Park's leopards are a different breed altogether for having survived alongside its human neighbours in India's most populated city
<img style="float: left;" src="http://images.mid-day.com/images/images/2015/dec/fiona.jpg" alt="" width="120" height="83" />Whether it was sheer coincidence or nature's little game at play, we'd never know.
On board a domestic airline, as we flipped through its inflight magazine - usually a mix of content ranging from luxe destinations and uber chic hotels to fine dine options - yours truly spotted a rare inclusion that tempted us to give it a full read.
It was an extract from conservationist and author Prerna Singh Bindra's latest book, The Vanishing. The piece spoke of Mumbai's unique relationship with leopards in SGNP, and how the metropolis should be lauded for working at keeping man-animal encounters in check, thanks to consistent measures by wildlife experts, activists, residents and volunteers as well as the media. Everyone did their bit to ensure that the big cat in their backyard was protected inside the national park. That this project has been executed and is proving to be a successful initiative in the city was commendable, she wrote.
<img title="Pic for representation" src="http://images.mid-day.com/images/images/2017/oct/Big-cat.jpg" alt="Pic for representation" /> Pic for representation
Cut to the present, to our little off-the-grid adventure. Cricket fever had reached an unheard-of pitch. No, we weren't at the Wankhede. This was our evening of discovery at a sleepy, ensconced-in-nature hamlet facing the mighty Muvattupuzha river in Kerala.
A few hours earlier, our SUV had just negotiated a head-spinning bend on a non-road running parallel to the river in full force amidst a downpour. Looking a tad concerned at this dramatic welcome for us, the friend reassured us with a chuckle, "Chill, this is expected weather. It'll continue till mid November. We also get the north east monsoon showers." No wonder the state boasts of an envious green carpet all year; it made sense now.
By the time we reached our destination, a river-facing quaint teak wood sculpted ancestral bungalow, we had soaked in enough of greenery and clean air to see us through the rest of the year in Bombay.
As the sun disappeared behind the rainclouds with alarming rapidity (it was pitch dark by 6.30 pm), a symphony got underway. Crickets, toads, dragonflies, moths and a host of creepy crawlies filled the air with their eclectic calls. It was a delightful endless cacophony, one that had the full attention of this unsuspecting urban dweller.
By the time we had turned in for the day (or so we had imagined), the playlist, aided by a relentless thundershower, had reached a crescendo, like a glorious showdown. And then, all of a sudden, by around 2 am, the drama had stopped; it went silent.
Phase 2 had another rendition in store for us. We heard the sound of raindrops fall on curiously imaginative surfaces, the crackle (and thud) of falling branches, overzealous crickets and a host of night birds adding to the melee. We were wide awake, and a wee bit anxious as we waited for Phase 3 to unravel. Except that it never did. No thunderclap. No harmonious rain songs. There was no new theatre by mother nature. We and our musician companions called it a night, finally.
By the following evening, the brain had adjusted to the symphonic jamboree by the riverside, which may we add, displayed a different synchronous exhibition at daytime, when the sun beat down harshly.
It's then that the mind jogged back to Bindra's excerpt on man and animal's edgy, somewhat inexplicable coexistence around SGNP. Just as we had tried to adjust to this new environment and were at odds with nature in its unpredictable, raw template, imagine the reverse for the leopards who would have had to train themselves to living around humans, and that too in such close proximity.
One thing's for sure. While our amazement and wonder at this wild miracle in our midst has never ceased, we're definitely going to view this big cat's resilience and survival skills with added respect. Nature can truly be a silent teacher.
mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana. Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

Sanjay Gandhi National Park's leopards are a different breed altogether for having survived alongside its human neighbours in India's most populated city

Fiona Fernandez: Big cat, bigger adjustment

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Fiona Fernandez: Big cat, bigger adjustment

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