The Squirrels of Lodhi Gardens

These curious little buggers...

Hey friends,

Greetings from Ashoka University, India!

The book is slowly chugging along. Along with it, I’m completing some other projects, like creating a fauna field guide for my university. Details are coming soon!

This week, I’m sharing another anecdote that I can’t include in the book as of now.

The Squirrels of Lodhi Gardens

Lodhi Gardens is, in my opinion, the crowning jewel of Delhi. A giant park in the middle of the city, much like New York’s Central Park. Acres and acres of trees, peppered with old ruins, bereft of noisy crowds. Chock full of birds and squirrels. Respite from the chaos and commotion prevalent in the rest of the city. 

I found a bench where I could sit and write in my journal. 

But as I rummaged through my bag, a squirrel hopped over excitedly. It stopped at my feet and looked up expectantly. Rodent’s eyes glinted in anticipation. It looked at my bag and back at me again, evidently waiting for something to happen. What that was, I couldn’t understand. 

It took a good five minutes for my clueless arse to realise that it wanted me to feed it. This was a creature accustomed to being fed by visitors. It knew that most people would break a biscuit or slice of bread and hand it over. It waited patiently for me to toss some crumbs at it.

I was going to do no such thing. I don’t encourage things that alter the natural behaviour of wild animals. So, I watched the rodent with the same nonplussed reaction. Passersby didn’t know what to make of the situation—a tiny squirrel and a six-foot boy having a staring contest. If they were creeped out, they didn’t say anything.

The squirrel inched closer and then tapped my shoes. As if trying to wake me up. It got so close I could have had it eat right out of my palm. That, of course, was never going to happen.

After 20 uneventful minutes, the squirrel realised I was some weirdo who wouldn’t even give it crumbs. It bounded away, stopping every few yards, making some last desperate turns back, hoping for some sudden change in my character. Then it went to bother some other visitors to the park.

I opened my journal and soon got engrossed in writing. I soon got so absorbed in journaling that I tuned out whatever was going on around me. Squirrels came by and went—I didn’t notice. 

But then my bag began rustling. I jumped—I’ve not known bags to rustle on their own accord! What the hell?

The rustling continued. Something was stirring in it. Something small. Its movements were subtle and slow but clearly discernible. It squirmed—something was writhing in there. Closing my eyes and, for the first time in my life, hoping there wasn’t a snake in there, I opened the flap. 

Out jumped the most shameless squirrel I’ve seen. A thief caught in the act. It didn’t even bother looking back. On it bounded away. Peering into the bag, I saw my Subway sandwich paper half opened and my peri-peri chicken sandwich sticking out. A tiny bit on the end was nibbled off. 

I couldn’t help but laugh at the little rascal. Look at its audacity! It had the courage to sneak into my bag, which was just a few feet away from me. The gall! 

The day wore on as I protected my lunch from many more squirrels. An Indian grey hornbill zoomed into a large peepal tree above my bench. It hopped along the branch, making its way towards a small cavity in the trunk.

To my amazement, a beak poked out of the tiny hole. The hornbill put something in it and watched it retreat into the hollow. Then it flapped away.

Hornbills are monogamous. Female hornbills enclose themselves in tree hollows with their own excreta. In there, they tend to the young while the male brings in food from outside. The bird that I saw was the father, who was no doubt circling around Lodhi Gardens searching for fruits to feed his wife and young one. 

I applauded the female for being so committed. Think of it: a bird that can fly anywhere, imprisoning herself to tend to her chick. Not only that, but she also sheds her feathers to make more room in the cavity. The lengths she goes to! Gosh. Hornbills are some of the most dedicated parents out there. 

The promise of new life in the concrete jungle. I silently prayed that nothing happened to the male. Both the female and the young one depend on him. If he’s gone, they’re finished.

Just as I was about to turn to the exit, a small Indian mongoose darted onto my path. For a brief second, we made eye contact before it scuttled into the bush. I knelt down and peered into the underbrush, but it had gone. Just like that, it had vanished.

A mongoose, a wild animal, is in the middle of one of the most thriving metropolises in the world. 

Wild rhythms dance everywhere, even in bustling cities, just waiting to be tapped into. All you must do is step out your door and see where the rhythm takes you. 

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Postcard

This squirrel was run over by a speeding vehicle. So many animals lose their lives to reckless driving. If we’re more careful behind the wheel, we can save so many creatures.

Photographically, I’ve placed the squirrel’s head in the middle of the frame, and I’ve used lines within the shot to direct the viewer’s gaze. Leading lines are an interesting tool to use in photography.

Favourite Quote

We all have words inside of us—words that could change the world, words that could entertain and delight, words that could teach and improve—but these words can only unleash their power when shared. That’s why I write every week, and it’s why I believe that the world needs more people to find the courage to make their work public. Share your work. Share your writing. Make it public. Find a way to lead at scale. - James Clear

Have a creative, wild and inspiring week!

If you’re new, welcome to The Owlet! My name is Ishan Shanavas, and I am an Artist, Photographer, Writer and Student of the Natural World.

Here I talk about my work, along with curating the most interesting ideas on the internet. I confine them to topics like Nature, Culture, Photography, and Art but often fall prey to other genres.

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