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Journalism of Courage
The legendary Lata Mangeshkar has been called India’s nightingale — by the media, and all and sundry. To my mind, that’s doing her a grave injustice: I listened to a few nightingale recordings on YouTube — and frankly, they were completely underwhelming. Yes, the bird has a repertoire of calls but you can’t really call its performance mellifluous; it sounds more like a cacophony of plagiarised calls from other birds! And the West (and the media here) has given this bird the title of being the world’s “best songbird”. And, yet again, we have gone and blindly accepted what’s been doled out to us by the “developed” world. I, then, listened to recordings of the songs of birdman Salim Ali’s favourite songster: the grey-winged blackbird followed by the white-rumped shama (the forest dwelling cousin of the magpie-robin, that tuxedoed city-park-and-garden maestro, to which you can listen to live in any park) — all of which outclassed the nightingale by a mile. Several years ago, in Bhowali, in Nainital district, over a period of numerous early mornings, I made recordings of the blue whistling-thrush — evocative performances that lasted nearly 10 minutes apiece. Its southern cousin the Malabar whistling-thrush is just as enthralling. I don’t think the nightingale has a hope in hell if it were competing with these birds in a “Birds Got Talent” show — even with Simon Cowell as one of the smirking judges!
Now I agree that the name “nightingale” has a sweeter ring to it, than blue whistling-thrush or magpie-robin and it sounds better to call someone a nightingale rather than by the other two names, but well, talent is talent, it must be recognised and given due credit. Calling someone like Lata Mangeshkar a whistling thrush (of any kind) sounds insulting, but then, all this really means is that the blue whistling-thrush needs to be given a more dulcet name — and as the current dispensation has made name-changing a major part of its raison-d’être, this should not be a problem!
It is also, alas, equally good at destroying all the natural treasure-troves, that we, as a tropical country have been blessed with — all too often behind the charade of so-called “development” (those in the developed world, at least, have realised their folly and are busy rewilding to make good the damage they’ve done to their own ecosystems). The tropical belt around the world has the richest biodiversity — and it is this, the wholesale “khichri” of different life forms — not stock prices — which keep the earth alive and ticking over. Most of the forests in Europe are nothing but plantations, assiduously “managed”; the true “wild” has long been banished or turned into golf courses.
I can wager that I can see more species of birds outside my window in half-an-hour than a neurotic twitcher can in a whole day in drab and drizzly London. Sitting at my desk typing this, facing the wall, I can currently hear two species of bulbul, the grey hornbill, sunbirds, tailorbirds, jungle babblers, parakeets, Oriental White-eyes, the shikra, black kites, mynas, peafowl, brown-headed barbets and the coppersmith barbet.
Now take mammals. The mountain lion of North America is not a patch on the tiger, lion, leopard, cheetah or jaguar of the tropical world. Only Asia and Africa have that wonderful baby-faced and very short-tempered armoured tank in the rhino; and, the ever-sagacious elephant. I’m sure there may be other birds in the rainforests of the world which would give the whistling thrush a run for its money, and one of the most gorgeous bird families — the famous birds-of-paradise — dwell in the steamy jungles of South-East Asia and would give our peacock something to think about.
Hot, steamy fetid jungles are also where plants grow prolifically and hold huge nutritional and medical potential and the tropical reefs off our coasts, harbour marine life like no other comparable marine ecosystem. We have a bewildering and often bizarre variety of insects — all working their butts off to keep plants propagating and planet Earth spick and span (they’re the big-ticket recyclers). As far as life is concerned, we live in a blessed part of the world (heat, dust and rain notwithstanding) — and we’re running amuck everywhere with chainsaws and JCBs.
We’re often praised for naturally revering and respecting nature, for recognising that all living things have a right to exist. We don’t instantly “euthanise” creatures, which cause us inconvenience, as they do in the “developed” world. Yet, how much long-term solid research and development has really gone into finding out more about our enormous natural wealth here at home and appreciating that? Why hasn’t the song of the blue-whistling thrush not become as, if not more, famous than that of the nightingale? (Why hasn’t its name been changed to something more suitable, so that we can call our legendary singers that without wincing?) Is it just a case of bad PR, negligent and ignorant media, or is there a general lack of interest and curiosity among most of us? Agreed, we ought not to ape the “developed” world in everything they do (like easy euthanasia!) but in other things — the detailed R&D, the dedicated attempts at rewilding wastelands — well, that’s worth a look. We claim our R&D is unparalleled: that we’ve flown to the moon (in the West they taught their toddlers that the cow jumped over it!) and nuclear weapons are so yesterday. Then why do we still say Lata Mangeshkar was India’s “nightingale”? Surely, she deserves better!
