The Odisha Odyssey

Chapter - 36 : In The Morning Light

I was up at 5, as instructed, stretching lazily. The sunrise rainbow was at the horizon already, and I stepped out from the indigo of my room to the orange of my terrace. Mama was already standing at the adjoining one, scanning for birds.

'Mama, the distance isn't that much. I'll jump over to you.'

'At least brush your teeth before you show off,' she slapped her forehead. 'And leave the mating ritual to the birds - we don't want you breaking anything in the middle of nowhere.'

I made a face and went back in for my morning duties. When I returned to our spotting point, there was a black-hooded oriole sitting on the sole telephone line.

'I got a clear picture,' Mama beamed. 'The gold is even more prominent in the morning light.'

It almost had an aura around it. I remembered the characteristic call of the golden oriole back in Vadodara. It was always the last thing I heard before leaving for school.

'Oh look, an open-bill stork, on top of that tree.' Mama pointed far away. 'It's a good sign. We should be seeing migratory birds today.'

The sun was out, painting the land and our faces a warm yellow. The golden oriole blended into the morning, like Icarus, melting into the sun.

'Where's Papa?' I asked, as the painted stork flew off too. He wouldn't be missing this unless there was a Phoenix sitting somewhere.

'He's outside. Come, let's go to him. We'll find more birds.' Mama left, and I put on pajamas and followed.

Papa was near the estuary, walking along the road towards the open fields and ponds, his eyes calmly waiting for a movement or an unusual silhouette.

'I think I got a pied myna.' He showed me a clear photograph. 'It's a little too puffed up, but maybe it's one of the fat ones. Size and patterns are unmistakable, otherwise.'

He suddenly stopped in his tracks. I heard a distinct melodic call. 'MA Pa Sa... MA Pa Sa...' I heard from my right. I swung slowly to see a Treepie perched on a close branch, not more than three metres away. It made the call again; I was reminded of the opening riff from Walk This Way, by Aerosmith.

The rufous treepie (Dendrocitta vagabunda). It is long tailed and has loud musical calls making it very conspicuous. It is found commonly in open scrub, agricultural areas, forests as well as urban gardens. It is an agile forager, clinging and clambering through the branches and sometimes joining mixed hunting parties along with species such as drongos and babblers. It has been observed feeding on ecto-parasites of wild deer. Like many other corvids they are known to cache food. They have been considered to be beneficial to palm cultivation in southern India due to their foraging on the grubs of the destructive weevil Rhynchophorus ferrugineus. A local name for this bird kotri is derived from the typical call while other names include Handi Chancha and taka chor ("coin thief").



Not five paces later, Papa spotted a Shikra in the same grove (I don't know how, it was sitting as still as a gargoyle) and captured it, showing me its red eyes and hawk-like beak.

The shikra (Accipiter badius). Males have a red iris while the females have a less red (yellowish orange) iris and brownish upperparts apart from heavier barring on the underparts. The females are slightly larger. Their flight usually draws alarms among smaller birds and squirrels. They feed on rodents, squirrels, small birds, small reptiles (mainly lizards but sometimes small snakes) and insects. Their calls are mimicked by drongos and this behaviour is thought to aid them in stealing food by alarming other birds. The shikra was a favourite among falconers in India and Pakistan due to the ease with it could be trained and was frequently used to procure food for the more prized falcons. They were noted for their pluck and ability to take much larger birds including partrigdes, crows and even young peafowl. The word Shikra is borrowed from the Urdu word (شِـكْـره) which is derived from the word shikari (شِكارى) meaning hunter. Hunting in Persian and Turkish is referred to as shikar (شِـكار). 


'Wow, we have quite a catch tod...' No sooner had he spoken that a spotted dove alighted on the barbed wire separating the road and the marsh, with a pond heron in tow. The black and white tessellation on its neck was a clear stripe, like a muffler.

On our left, egrets flapped about in the fields, and a kingfisher and water-hen were glimpsed briefly, joining the farmers and fishermen in their daily chores.

'Razi! Danish! The boat is ready, come back.' Mama called out, and we strode back to the dock. I hoped Papa would find his elusive purple heron today.

Chapter - 37 : Standing In Motion

It was a huge motorboat, with a lower deck for seats and supplies, and an upper roof of sorts where the less timid ones could stand. I rushed to the top, but the operator asked me to come up after we were out in the open.

We started off with a roar, and it took some time for me to fade out the engine's sputters and make way for the singing of the water. Soon, the only signs of land were faint, foggy silhouettes outlining the horizon. I made my way to the top, taking care not to upset the balance too much.

Above, the wind hit me freely, and we sped under the clear sky, as weightless as birds. I stared into the water;  the hypnotic trails and waves formed by our vessel cutting through it. After a while, it felt like the world was moving away while I was still; standing in motion.

'Danish keep an eye out for birds. You're our scout,' Mama called from below. I smiled; I was becoming the de facto scout everywhere. Larger egrets, whiskered terns and open-bill storks darted about, while flocks of avocets and black-winged stilts adorned the distant coastlines. I needed to find something new.

Suddenly I saw a familiar silhouette on a tree stump - but the colours were black and white. I hadn't seen that combination in that shape yet. Then I recognized it. I craned my neck inside to tell Papa, but he was already smiling elatedly into his camera.

'Pied Kingfisher?' I asked.

'Pied Kingfisher,' he replied.

By Charlesjsharp - Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=64857568

The pied kingfisher (Ceryle rudis) is a water kingfisher and is found widely distributed across Africa and Asia. When perched the pied kingfisher often bobs its heads up and down and will sometimes raise its tail and flick it downwards. It calls often with sharp chirruk chirruk notes. Unlike some kingfishers, it is quite gregarious, and forms large roosts at night. It can deal with prey without returning to a perch, often swallowing small prey in flight, and so can hunt over large water bodies or in estuaries that lack perches that are required by other kingfishers. It is the largest bird capable of a true hover in still air and the only kingfisher with all black and white plumage.

I grinned and went back to the top. I had a feeling the display was just starting. The island at the horizon loomed into view, and we turned into a tiny islet that led to a larger water body.

There were a few monkeys, lazing around on the sand, probably playing catch with the crabs. My eyes followed one of them to the shore, and I saw another familiar silhouette with unfamiliar hues.

I had barely called out to my parents that my mother told me, '"Danish, there's some new kingfisher near that monkey. Make a note of its colors.'

By Sumeet Moghe - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=22566813

The black-capped kingfisher (Halcyon pileata) is a tree kingfisher. Usually seen on coastal waters and especially in mangroves, it is easily disturbed, but perches conspicuously and dives to catch fish but also feeds on large insects. The flight of the black-capped kingfisher is rapid and direct, the short rounded wings whirring. The species is found mainly near the coast in mangrove forests and along estuaries and rivers. This species was much sought for the blue feathers, for their use in the millinery trade. Feathers were used in making fans in China. In Hong Kong, their feathers were cut and glued over ornaments used by women.


I nodded - even though she couldn't see me - and turned my attention to the various calls coming all around me. Grey herons and painted storks were nested in trees, hidden by foliage. Little egrets dotted the landscape, flying over a flock of redshanks as we passed them by. A sandpiper hopped away from us, probably scared by the noise of the ship. Our boatman turned off the motor and used a long pole to push us forward; and suddenly, the forest was deafening.

'We'll get down here and walk to Dangmal,' Our guide declared. I jumped off and came face to face with the board announcing Bhitarkanika Wildlife Sanctuary.

Chapter - 38 : Marching Season

'Let's go, folks,' the guide called out, and we disappeared into the mangrove forest along a tiny, moist trail, looking at our marshy surroundings. The stilt roots had made many holes in the mud, between which hundreds of red fiddler crabs scuttled about, disappearing and appearing like eye flashes after looking directly at the sun.

'There's a watchtower of sorts, from where you can see storks, pelicans, egrets; like foliage, spread out all over the landscape. Just a hundred meters more.'

Sure enough, a few paces later, there was a thin iron structure which looked like it had just landed from the sky. We climbed the groaning metal ladder, and saw the guide looking towards the forest like he'd left his house to buy groceries and returned to find a graveyard in its place.

'I don't get it...they were right here, they're always here...' he stuttered. He turned to find us staring at him expectantly. He put his best game face on.

'There's another walkway that leads to Dangmal. It's slightly longer, but you'll definitely see birds - and even some animals.'

'How much longer?' Uncle asked.

'Eight kilometres,' he coughed into his shirt.

'Say whaaa...?'

'It's all right,' Mama jumped in. 'We'll walk leisurely, see the forests and wildlife, and also build up an appetite for lunch.'

'Or become it,' Uncle muttered. 'What animals?'

'Wild boar, deer, mostly. And don't worry - no crocodile attacks have been reported yet.'

We followed the guide back to the other side, and set off for Dangmal in silence, still ruminating the phrase 'crocodile attacks'. The forest floor was very unique, with a dry, gravelly path that winded through the mud, and marshy patches with mangroves amid the other trees. This was an ecotone between two ecotones.

'You're fine with walking, right?' I asked Ma.

'Of course. It's pleasant, green, breezy, and I hear nothing but serene forest sounds. 'Tis the marching season.' She replied merrily.

We emerged into a vast field of sorts, where there was another tiny watchtower. There were various paths - one leading to a pond, one going further in, and one tapering off and curving backwards. Papa spotted a red-whiskered bulbul and a sunbird, which didn't stay for long.

By CLpramod - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=41793857

The purple-rumped sunbird (Leptocoma zeylonica). Like other sunbirds, they are small in size, feeding mainly on nectar but sometimes take insects, particularly when feeding young. They can hover for short durations but usually perch to suck nectar from flowers. They build a hanging pouch nest made up of cobwebs, lichens and plant material. Males are brightly coloured but females are olive above and yellow to buff below. Sunbirds may indulge in dew-bathing, or bathing by sliding over drops of rain collected on large leaves.

He didn't lose hope however, climbing the tower to get a better view. The bulbul flew off, and Papa turned to look at the field. He stood dumb-struck. 'Purple heron!' he mouthed excitedly to us, and I was up in a matter of seconds, seeing the rare bird standing stock-still. I was really glad - Papa had found his Maltese Falcon.

Further ahead, there was a cattle egret flitting around a gigantic wild boar. The unusual pair was very restless, in contrast, and it was hard getting a clear picture.

I followed Mama on the path to the pond, and came upon a temple nested in a grove, with Mama standing in front of it, dazzled.

'A temple hidden by trees - I've been looking for this for years,' she told me. I was happy again. Abdi family - 2, MacGuffin - 1; cause I still hadn't found my gurai roshogulla.

I scanned the pond for a while - it was covered in algal blooms and water hyacinths, with trees drooping into it; it seemed like the forest was drinking from it, and would soon take its place. A water-hen strutted between the reeds, gallivanting about like a swashbuckling cowboy.

We continued, and entered a long, straight road that seemed to go on forever, flanked by drooping trees and illuminated softly by daylight. It looked right out of a scene from Lord Of The Rings.

Mama seemed to think the same, for the next thing she said was, 'Why don't you do a masters in New Zealand? We can come visit you there.'

'You keep suggesting places like Switzerland, Ireland, Peru, Norway, Philippines...why don't I just do a PhD in Club Mahindra?'

Mama giggled. 'Come on, you know half of your motivation for higher studies is doing it in a beautiful place. We're wanderers - it's always on our minds. In fact, outside you might just find something that matches everything you love and are good at. In India, these are just hobbies - people will laugh if you say you're looking for a career in it.'

'But travel writing and travel guiding is picking up, isn't it?' I asked hopefully.

'Of course, as the world is becoming smaller, the arts are gaining more respect. But don't expect a bride with those talents.' She laughed sheepishly. 'The mindset here has a long way to go.'

'Hey, even if I'm unemployed and homeless I can get a bride.' I turned my nose up.

'Oh, don't you wish it was all about looks...' Mama scoffed. 'Financial stability is everything, my dear. And I knew by the time you were a toddler and jumping across roofs and out of windows that stability was, well, out of the window.'

We walked on in silence. When I thought of stability I always interpreted it as stagnation, settling down. I liked to keep marching forward, discovering a new road, or sight, or sound. Or was I just someone who got bored too fast?

Papa's simple philosophy came back to me, Be whatever works for you, for now. When it doesn't, be something else. 

I spotted a blue and brown butterfly in the woods, and chased after it, hoping to get a good photo. It didn't sit still for more than a second.

'Danish, stay right there.' Papa whispered. I froze and waited for the green signal.

'What was it?' I asked.

Papa showed a black and white shape, blurred because of a branch blocking part of it. 'It could be a magpie-robin, cause of its upright tail.'

'One of these days I'll make some software to ease identification of species.' I declared.

Further ahead, we heard rustling all around us apart from the occasional babbler, and the guide told us this was the haunt for spotted deer. On cue, a particularly tiny one darted across the path, and we followed a narrow tapering trail to see two or three more drinking from a small rainwater-fed pond. They looked up and bolted immediately. In the virgin forests, the predator radar was still very strong.

By Anirban Chakraborty - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27238091

The jungle babbler (Turdoides striata). They are gregarious birds that forage in small groups of six to ten birds, a habit that has given them the popular name of "Seven Sisters" in urban Northern India, and Saath bhai (seven brothers) in Bengali.  For their size, they are long lived and have been noted to live as long as 16.5 years in captivity. When foraging, some birds take up a high vantage point and act as sentinels. They are known to gather and mob potential predators such as snakes. Birds within a group often indulge in allopreening, play chases and mock fights. When threatened by predators, they have been seen to sometimes feign death. 


Later on, we encountered another group, probably doing the same itinerary as we, but in reverse. We smiled at them, and they looked at us curiously.

'We're here. Dangmal.' Our guide called to us as the road opened up to a wider, cleaner path, with a hut in the distance. I walked off to The Shire.

Chapter - 39 : Flight Of Fantasy

There was a botanical garden to our left, and the most dense undergrowth I'd seen yet, to the right. Spotted and ringed doves cooed from wires, and rose-ringed parakeets chirped in a mighty flock. The haze in the sky had cleared a little, and now shone a sapphire blue; I felt like I was walking in an acrylic painting.

By Charlesjsharp - Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=64746482

The Eurasian collared dove (Streptopelia decaocto). The genus name Streptopelia is from Ancient Greek streptos, "collar" and peleia, "dove". The specific decaocto is a latinisation of the Greek word for "eighteen", from deca, "ten", and octo, "eight". In Greek mythology, a servant complained bitterly about pay of just 18 pieces a year, and the gods changed her to a dove that still cries mournfully. The male's mating display is a ritual flight, which, as with many other pigeons, consists of a rapid, near-vertical climb to height followed by a long glide downward in a circle, with the wings held below the body in an inverted "V" shape. Collared doves cooing in early spring are sometimes mistakenly reported as the calls of early-arriving cuckoos and, as such, a mistaken sign of spring's return.

By Dr. Raju Kasambe - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=64957472

The rose-ringed parakeet (Psittacula krameri). The adult male sports a red or black neck ring and the hen and immature birds of both sexes either show no neck rings, or display shadow-like pale to dark grey neck rings. Both males and females have the ability to mimic human speech. First, the bird listens to its surroundings, and then it copies the voice of the human speaker. Some people hand-raise rose-ringed parakeet chicks for this purpose. Such parrots then become quite tame and receptive to learning.

We went straight to lunch. There was a small shack, called Hotel Red Crab. Just like Chilika, they served the fresh, local catch. Ironically, they had everything but crab.

'Me and some friends were thinking of opening up a homely place in Europe, where we serve fresh food, and the menu changes every month, and we give musical performances every week or invite artists, and there are self-made artworks on the walls which change every month, and we'll also organize trips and expeditions to nearby places... ' I mused to my parents, dreamily.

'I admire your flight of fantasy,' Papa chuckled, 'And I actually advocate building castles in the air, but then you should be prepared to build a ladder that reaches the sky. Put in enough work, and you can do anything.'

'Save a room for us,' Mama smiled as she finished her brinjal. 'I'll be the food critic and give life advice to customers.'

'And I'll be consultant chef.' Papa proclaimed.

'And I'll be VIP customer.' Uncle declared, and everyone laughed.

We left to see the small museum they had constructed for tourists; a gallery of sorts, of the Fauna of this ecosystem.

Papa went out. He'd spotted something. I followed him to see a flame-backed woodpecker drilling holes in a coconut palm.

We waited until there was a clear shot against the sky, and Papa pounced.

'I'd seen a lot of burrows in the palms we passed - was hoping there was a woodpecker somewhere.' He grinned, looking at the photographs. 

The cacophony of the parakeets reached us. It looked like they were chasing off a tiny bird, which we couldn't make out. Finally, they dispersed on the trees, still chittering continuously.

'Hey, that's an owlet.' Papa whispered. 'Looks like it's far away from home.'

We spotted a black-hooded oriole again. Papa wasted no time - today had offered more avian variety than even Chilika Lake.

We walked back towards the hotel, to regroup with the others, who had gone to see the gharials and crocodiles in the small enclosures near the museum.

'Wish we'd gotten that bulbul, during our walk,' Papa lamented, punching my arm. 'Don't have a good photo of that yet.'

'Speak of the devil,' I told Papa, pointing to the top of a tree with brightly colored flowers. There were four red-whiskered bulbuls playing around, weaving in and out of the branches. Papa just pointed and let loose on the click button.

'Well, unprecedented success, I'd say.' Papa beamed. 'A fitting exodus from this state.'

Then it hit me - we were leaving tomorrow.

We met the others, and all of us made our way back to the boat. This time, I walked the slowest.

Chapter - 40 : Until The Last Moment

We were on the boat, returning to Gupti - now, I didn't even notice the roar of the engine. The wind was faster than usual, and the sun was peeking through the clouds, finally conquering the mist.

'Finally you'll see crocodiles and birds,' our gondolier told us, grinning from ear to ear. 'They'll come out to catch some sun.'

As if on cue, a large crocodile loomed up on one of the coasts flanking us. It was at least twenty feet long, as large as one of the skeletons kept in the museum at Dangmal. It lay motionless in the sand, looking almost lifeless; but the birds knew better than to disturb it, staying outside an invisible boundary around it.

We saw more crocodiles, of various sizes and colours ranging from olive green to muddy grey to burnt umber. We only saw one in motion, making its way out of the water, and joining the other gargoyles in their mannequin game.

Further ahead, we saw painted storks and grey herons, who had come out of hiding and were standing tall, like sentinels, guarding their habitat. The flock of avocets was still terrorizing their section of the coast, but there was a guest amid them; a little stint, taking care not to get too close lest it be pecked into hiding.

By JJ Harrison (jjharrison89@facebook.com) - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=23214339

The painted stork (Mycteria leucocephala). They immerse their half open beaks in water and sweep them from side to side and snap up their prey of small fish that are sensed by touch. As they wade along they also stir the water with their feet to flush hiding fish. They nest colonially in trees, often along with other waterbirds. The only sounds they produce are weak moans or bill clattering at the nest. They are not migratory and only make short distance movements in some parts of their range in response to changes in weather or food availability or for breeding. Like other storks, they are often seen soaring on thermals. 

By Ken Billington - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12308119

The little stint (Calidris minuta) (or Erolia minuta). It breeds in arctic Europe and Asia, and is a long-distance migrant, wintering south to Africa and south Asia. The numbers of this species (and of curlew sandpiper) depend on the population of lemmings. In poor lemming years, predatory species such as skuas and snowy owls take Arctic-breeding waders instead. It is gregarious in winter, sometimes forming large flocks with other Calidris waders, particularly dunlin, on coastal mudflats or the edges of inland pools. Food is small invertebrates picked off the mud.

The shore arrived quickly, and we rushed to the guest house to pack our bags. We planned to reach Bhubaneshwar before dusk fell - Mama wanted to look at some ethnic clothing from Odisha State Emporium, and I was going to Nityasa's place for dinner. There was only so much time to say goodbye to the forests and water, before we were in the car, driving off into the evening.

'Everything ends,' Mama said softly as I sat in the back seat, sensing my thoughts as I stared off lazily into the darkening sky. 'The best we can do is immerse ourselves completely into what we're doing, where we are, until the last moment.' I smiled forlornly back.

'Here, have an orange,' she offered. 'If food doesn't cheer you up...'

I chuckled and took it. 

The landscape morphed in reverse now, the mud, gravel and ponds giving way to rock, road and houses. We stopped for tea and paan - this time with supari - at sunset, under a bright orange sky.

As we continued, the coconut palms segued into toddy and betel nut; I had finally learnt to recognize the differences between them. The easiest indication were the tiny gourds attached to the toddy palms' trunks to collect the sap for the famous drink. I had yet to try it. 

We were about an hour away from Bhubaneshwar, when sleep hit me. I finally let it take control, as the last moment had already passed. 

Chapter - 41 : Nostalgia

When I awoke, we were in Bhubaneshwar, on the road to the State Emporium. By the time I was in an intelligible state, we were entering the store.

Get Aunty a Sambalpuri handloom saree or kurti, Nityasa had said to me on our first day in Bhubaneshwar. I had told Mama, who had told Aunty, who told Chintu, our driver, and here we were. I never liked shopping for clothes. I could appreciate the aesthetic quality of the textiles and patterns and everything, but I never wanted to buy them - inside, I was a baniyan and chaddi guy.

'Don't worry, I won't force you to buy anything,' said Ma, ever the telepath, as she entered. 'Unless I find something really good,' she added, out of earshot.

'What was that afterthought?' I asked, but she was already at the counter. 

Mama scanned the display and looked back at me, as if trying to mentally dress me in the kurtas and coats. I gulped. Out of sight, out of mind, I told myself as I glided to the handicrafts section.

In addition to the usual Pattachitra and palm-leaf engravings, they had wood carvings and metalwork. I browsed around for a while, until I came face-to-face with a salesperson.

'See something you like, sir?' she asked.

'Ah, well, we actually just visited Raghurajpur three days ago.' I replied sheepishly.

'Oh well, you must be feeling very underwhelmed by these, then.' She chuckled.

I smiled. 'No no, I still find them fascinating. Can't get enough - in fact, I'm hoping to try my hands on making one.'

'You look artistic, sir. I'm sure you'll ace it.' She said. 'What about the clothing? I can suggest some Nehru jackets that would suit you very well.'

'Oh no, thank you. Buying clothes are wasted on me.' I grinned uneasily.

'But selling clothes aren't wasted on us, sir.' She laughed cheerily. I smiled and waltzed off back to my parents. You had to admire her salesmanship. 

'Danish, how does this look?' Mama asked, showing me a red and black brilliantly patterned kurti.

'Hmm,' I put on a look of intense concentration. 'The contours really bring out the vivacity of the colours, while not being too garish; it kind of says you're passionate about everything but with the quiet dignity of an introv...' 

'Oh shut up,' Mama scowled. 'You're no help at all.' She turned to Papa, who said, 'Colour is good. Take it.'

'Cool,' Mama turned to the counter. 'Could you show me something else?'

By Charlesjsharp - Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65178728

The red-whiskered bulbul (Pycnonotus jocosus), or crested bulbul. It feeds on fruits and small insects. Red-whiskered bulbuls perch conspicuously on trees and have a loud three or four note call. The red-whiskered bulbul feeds on fruits (including those of the yellow oleander that are toxic to mammals), nectar and insects. This species was once a popular cage bird in parts of India, and still is in parts of Southeast Asia. 

By Arshad.ka5 - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34544529

The black-rumped flameback (Dinopium benghalense). It is associated with open forest and cultivation. This species is normally seen in pairs or small parties and sometimes joins mixed-species foraging flocks. They forage from the ground to the canopy. They feed on insects mainly beetle larvae from under the bark, visit termite mounds and sometimes feed on nectar. In Sri Lanka these woodpeckers go by the generic name of kæralaa in Sinhala. In some parts of the island, it is also called kottoruwa although it more often refers to barbets. This bird appears in a 4.50 rupee Sri Lankan postal stamp. It also appears in a 3.75 Taka postal stamp from Bangladesh.

This went on for a while, until we finally took some souvenirs and dresses and walked out of the shop. My mother only indulged in clothes once a year, maybe. Otherwise, she spent money lavishly on books and travel.

We reached the OTDC hotel, and it was time to go to Nityasa's place. 

'Ma, I'll be back before...'

'Yes, yes,' she waved me away. 'Just have fun.'

Chintu dropped me within walking distance of her house, in ten minutes. Everywhere was close, in this state. I walked to her society. I knew the house number, but the number plates were slightly indiscernible.

I entered the wrong house, and hearing no activity, tip-toed out.

When I went up to the right one, Nityasa stood with her arms akimbo. 'Where did you go?'

'Sorry, wrong house number. But I thought since it's you, it would be Plot 666...' I grinned back.

'At least come in before we start the trash talk,' she rolled her eyes and led me inside.

I met her uncle, aunt, and her two cousins, one of whom arrived a little later, fresh from work. 'Startups,' he mumbled, and no further questions were asked.

First I started narrating the entire Odisha experience to them, starting from the sand art to the recent Bhitarkanika. I kept glancing at one artwork on the wall, and Aunty noticed.

'I drew that one. A long time ago; now I've lost practice.' She said humbly.

I walked up to it and stared at the intricacies - the outlines and colours were perfect.

'It's acrylic, with proper Camlin brushes.' She said. 'A Hi-Fi way of doing tribal art,' she laughed.

I told her about Raghurajpur, and the nearby places, asking Nityasa if she'd been to any of them.

'Oh she doesn't know anything, she's Marathi,' her uncle joked.

'Hey,' Nityasa protested and hid inside her phone. 'Let's change the subject.'

'Yes,  what all foods have you tried yet?' Uncle asked.

And that took another hour.

'Dinner is ready,' Nityasa's grandmother called, and we scrambled towards the table like schoolchildren.

'There's fish fry, pura pita (coconut stuffed sweet pancakes), chicken kassa, janhi poshto,' she smiled, looking at me. 'Have your fill.' Nityasa couldn't help laughing at my expression.

We got to discussing work life and current affairs, and the topic segued to the bitcoin. 'It sounds like a sham,' Uncle grimaced. 'Like a kid selling Monopoly money on the street which you can only exchange for Monopoly money.'

'The origins are pretty dark,  if you'll pardon the pun,' I looked at Nityasa's cousin, who grinned. 'This was initially meant to be internet crypto-currency only meant for barter-like transactions for the underground black market or for paying hitmen, on the Dark Web. You can't encash them, cause it wasn't legal. Now, I'm not sure how many banks are allowing it. I think everyone can invest in it, but people only sell and buy stocks. And it's dependent on nothing. You're sitting in a desert and somehow have an internet connection, and you can create your own coin if someone is willing to buy. Very surreal. It's like auctioning a MacGuffin.'

Uncle laughed. 'So say I want to buy tomatoes tomorrow, I can't go to the mandi and offer him a bitcoin, can I? How is it even useful, then? And only for stocks - sounds a bit shady.'

'Speaking of food and MacGuffins, any idea where I can get gurai roshogulla around here?' I asked the table desperately.

'Try this Bengali sweets shop near the Old Airport road,' Uncle told me. 'I don't know if it's still open or if I remember the location correctly, but that's your last hope.'

'So, you liked our Odisha?' Aunty asked as I finished the meal, licking my fingers shamelessly until I realized I was a guest.

'Yes. It was...' I stared off into my plate. 'I'll come back.' I finished, and everyone smiled.

I thanked the cook, and went towards my shoes. 'Our cook will drop you back, no worries,' Nityasa said, as I tied my shoelaces. 'Just text when you reach.'

I nodded. 'Been in contact with anyone from campus?'

'Well, my wingmates, some Raag people, that's about it,' Nityasa replied. 'Let's see, when I start organizing treks and all, my friend circle will increase.' She teased.

'You heard about that? All roads leading to a start-up, now.' I shook my head.

'You can actually consider it. And first take Raag people on that trip you promised them.'

'Yeah, we're planning for the neelakurinji bloom in Munnar, next year.' I told her. I wore my shoes and stared at the swing outside, for a while.

'Nostalgia?' Nityasa asked finally. 'What about?'

'Campus, Odisha, everything.' I looked at her. 'Thank you so much. Thank your family too, please. And you were so nice.'

'So surprised.' She shook her head. 'I'll tell them. Good night; hope you find what you're looking for.'

I nodded and went to the car. The city lights were gone, and I followed my nostalgia back home.

By Mprasannak - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=58891946

The Asian barred owlet (Glaucidium cuculoides) is a species of true owl, resident in northern parts of the Indian Subcontinent and parts of Southeast Asia. It ranges across north central and northeast India, Nepal Bhutan, north Bangladesh, and southeast Asia (Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam). Its natural habitat is temperate forest.

Chapter - 42 : Reflections Of Passion

'Get up,' Mama instructed, rolling the bedsheet into a rope and whipping me where the sun didn't shine. 

'Aarggh,' I groaned and got up. Mama chased me around the room in the exact progression of my morning duties, and before I knew it, I was fully clothed and packed, ready for breakfast.

'Oh, our flight has been delayed, so we have enough time for the Odisha Tribal Arts Museum, and lunch.' Mama said gleefully. 'It's one of the most well-maintained museums in India, people say.'

'It's drizzling,' I looked at the sky of melancholy yellow and grey. 'We got lucky.'

We had our breakfast - poha, dosa and tea - and dashed off. Soft drizzles were the best - cooling without drenching you, and bringing with it an overcast sky. Cloudy weather always made me gloomy, though. I preferred rain with strong sunlight, a rare phenomenon; something which happened surprisingly often in Bhavnagar.

True to hearsay, the museum was lush green, spacious and tidy. Each gallery was housed in a hut of sorts; the whole arrangement was quaint and uncluttered, like a village of its own.

We pored over the textiles, hunting, fishing and foraging tools, musical instruments, pagan idols, paintings, depictions of village activity and even the shamanic elements of tribal culture. I was reminded again of their proximity to nature and their respect for it; their understanding of the big picture, with which came acceptance of death and desire for the welfare of the community rather than the individual, and their belief in witchcraft and paranormal forces, which were still not fully understood by science.

By Andreas Trepte - Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10609249

The common redshank or simply redshank (Tringa totanus). Common redshanks in breeding plumage are a marbled brown color, slightly lighter below. In winter plumage they become somewhat lighter-toned and less patterned, being rather plain greyish-brown above and whitish below. They have red legs and a black-tipped red bill, and show white up the back and on the wings in flight. They are wary and noisy birds which will alert everything else with their loud piping call. Like most waders, they feed on small invertebrates. Redshanks will nest in any wetland.

Mama couldn't help buying more souvenirs; artifacts and herbal preparations straight from the Saora tribe. 

'Look at this art,' she showed me a Ganesha assembled from pieces of husk. 'They weren't taught about God like we are. They simply observed, and believed - the first priests. Be it a need to believe in a higher force or simply an expression of gratitude for the resources they got; religion was a passion for them, unlike most others in the urban life, where it's a necessity. And these are their reflections of passion.'

I nodded. All of art was just this - a reflection of your search for something beyond the mundane, an attempt to peek behind the green screen that was reality; or, it was a lot of fun.

We had a fancy lunch at a buffet place close to the airport. I couldn't help but miss the raw taste of seafood from the Puri beach, Chilika and Bhitarkanika. The desserts were a refreshing change, though - I'd missed chocolate. 

'Golly, look at the time!' Uncle suddenly exclaimed, making the saunf quake in our mouths. 'We have a half an hour to get to the airport.'

'Arre, it's close by,' Aunty waved her hand. 'It'll take ten minutes.'

'We also need to go to that Bengali Sweets shop. Gurai roshogulla, remember?' I quipped hopefully, and Mama glared at me.

'Oh. In that case, we should be running.' Aunty said calmly.

So run we did. I put in all permutations of the words relating to Bengal and confectionary, and finally found a match close by. 'Chintu, slow down. Everyone, look to your right!' I yelped, while the Mission Impossible soundtrack played in the background. 

Everyone's necks swung to the right, and I'm pretty sure we scared a few pedestrians on the other side. Spotting nothing, we took a U-turn from the closest roundabout and swung our necks to the left. Thankfully, there were no pedestrians left to creep out. We did end up alarming the guy behind the Bengali Sweets counter, though.

'Bengali Sweets,' I whispered. 'Dismount!' I roared.

We rushed to the shop in unison, and the guy almost put his hands up.

'Gurai roshogulla?' I asked sweetly, with an edge of desperation. 

He pointed below. 'Take whatever you want.' 

I bent down to look at the container, filled with golden-brown orbs, soaked in maraschino-esque syrup. It took me a full minute to realize we'd found it. Abdi family - 3; MacGuffin - 0. 

'We'll take fifty,' I said, not breaking eye contact for a second, and no one protested. 

He offered me one, and I handled it like a stolen diamond. I prepared myself and gobbled it, savouring the earthy cane sugar flavours, complemented magically by the chhena and a hint of cardamom (elaichi). 

'Unprecedented success.' I turned to my parents. 'Oh, I have to thank someone.'

I took a photo of another container (cause we'd parceled the first one) and sent it to Nityasa. Maybe there is a God. Your uncle is my favourite person on the planet right now, I wrote to her.

'All right, let's go.' I picked up the package and got in. A fitting exodus from this state. 

We rushed to the airport with five minutes to spare. The clouds had gotten darker, and the drizzle stronger. A gusty wind blew through the city, almost like the weather was shooing us away. 

We got down from the car to part ways, like a river separating into its distributaries. 'Stay in touch, we'll meet again.' Aunty said.

'Yes. We'll come to Delhi sometime.' Uncle told us. 'This trip has kindled some hidden interest in birds. We'll buy binoculars and cameras and come.'

We all laughed and hugged, and Uncle Aunty got into the car, waving to us as they drove off. We turned around to enter the airport. 

I looked at the sky one last time. 'So long, and thanks for all the fish.' I said and walked off with my parents.

Photos, courtesy of Razi Abdi and Rupa Abdi.

Rupa Abdi's Blog: https://travelnaama471249025.wordpress.com/

Anjana's Blog: https://anjlifeexperiences.wordpress.com

Vedant's YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_-wTP-OKAF6HskDOqSeREw

Vedant's Instagram Page: https://www.instagram.com/vedantsapra/

Epilogue - Face In The Photograph

'Mama, you've shared all the photos, right?'

'Yes, yes. They're even classified properly. There's Odisha_museum, Odisha_birds, Odisha_landscapes...organized better than you ever will be.'

'Ma,' I protested. 'All right then, just one more blog post left. Then I'll write about Sharavati and Kodchadri. They're piling up.'

'Yes, do that. And take care to give due credit for the photographs - or I'll sue you.' She chuckled.

'Yes ma'am. Oh, I'm not able to find photographs of me. Which folder are they in? I looked at Odisha_people, but...'

'Oh, I've put pictures of you under Odisha_fauna.'

'Ma,' I protested while she laughed loudly.