| You are a repository of natural
history knowledge now, but what triggered your own interest?
Where do I begin? Perhaps I should credit Juliet, Brownie
and Butter, my mother's favourite cows that were a part of
my childhood! Also our four dogs Tess (part terrier), Luxy
(whose whiskers suggested Airedale blood), Silky (a cocker)
and her daughter Toby. A cat lurks somewhere in my memory,
caterwauling after dark. But seriously, my mother, barely
educated, but so very literate, was probably most responsible
for instilling in me an earthy respect for things natural.
And my father, an educationist who obtained his Ph.D. from
Columbia, taught me the value of systematic contemplation.
You have influenced the direction of scientific field
biology in India through the BNHS. What were your own earliest
natural history influences?
I have to say my earliest influences were not always profoundly
scientific. I recall, for instance, an interesting story my
mother narrated about the Hawk Cuckoo, apparently the spirit
of a garland maker who in a fit of anger killed his brother
who had spoilt a garland in its making. The bird's call she
said was the garland-maker's spirit wailing in agonised remorse.
But I also remember the excitement in the house, in the days
before bird books, when we identified a Golden Oriole with
the help of a professor of zoology.
We used to go on day-outings to Ponmudi, now a tourist resort.
Two indelible images of wildlife remain starkly etched in
my mind. First the sight of a Kani tribal standing on the
hill road to Ponmudi, gun in one hand and a Grey Jungle Fowl
cock he had killed in the other. The second is that of an
Emerald Dove that had mistaken the white wall of our house
for the open sky in its headlong flight through the low tree
cover. Living things seemed to mesmerise me. They still do.
My mother also encouraged me in my efforts to rear the caterpillars
that I used to collect from Calotropis and oleander plants.
And I was an inveterate collector of shells and other trivia
from the city's seashore.
When did you join the BNHS and how did you come to meet
Dr. Sálim Ali?
I joined as a research assistant in 1950. In 1951, I accompanied
the Old Man to Chickalda in Berar, what is now the Melghat
Tiger Reserve. He had gone in search of the Whitebellied Tree
Pie, a bird that had been collected from the area a century
ago. In a casual after dinner conversation he asked if I knew
a Dr. Jivanayakam of Trivandrum. Apparently their paths had
crossed at the various travellers' bungalows of the former
Travancore State where they had stayed together, he on his
bird survey camps and the former as the secretary of an education
commission of the state. When I said the person was my father
he was dumbfounded by the remarkable coincidence. It was a
story he related to all his students in later years. I think
he was also impressed by the fact that neither my father nor
I had called upon their friendship when I applied for the
job at the BNHS. The rapport then established lasted his lifetime.
What dreams do you dream for the Society?
Yes, it is my life. To me it is much more than an institution.
The BNHS is a remarkable achievement by a remarkable group
of altruistic people. For the first 75 years it survived as
a commensal of Phipson and Co. Ltd., which was the business
of the first Honorary Secretary. In the post-Independence
second phase, it was Sálim Ali who consolidated its
excellence in scientific research and its scientific credibility.
Even today it attracts the best brains in science conservation
and business who offer it service of immeasurable value in
terms of money. My dream for the Society? That its scientific
temper continues to be its foundation and that its membership
swells from current levels of 5,000 to 20,000 or whatever
number it would take to make it financially independent and
therefore an unassailably independent voice for conservation.
Also that its staff, membership and field biologists definitively
shape India's conservation movement and help land managers
access knowledge that is based on a natural history data base
crafted by focussed, multi-disciplinary studies.
Can you give examples of the kind of knowledge to be gained
and used?
Take the case of the fauna of tropical rainforests. Here we
see a low number of individuals of species, but exemplarily
a rich biodiversity. As we go away from the equator towards
the higher latitudes, we see a reduction in biodiversity,
but, interestingly, a corresponding rise in the individual
numbers of each species. Conservation strategies designed
for temperate regions, therefore, may not work at all in the
tropical forests of Southeast Asia with its equatorial rainforests,
evergreen forests, wet-deciduous forests, dry-deciduous forests,
dry thorn forests and grasslands.
The rainforests and evergreen forests of the Western Ghats,
for instance, have an abundance of canopy-dwelling fauna,
particularly primates. Knowledge of botany and the ecological
requirements of species as varied as insects, reptiles, birds
and mammals is required to ensure a continuous canopy cover
needed by primates. A well-protected tree canopy would in
turn prevent soil erosion at the hands of the strong Indian
monsoon. Each ecosystem in the Indian subcontinent, with its
climatic regimes ranging from evergreen rainforests to temperate
and arctic conditions, needs specific studies to evolve specific
management strategies. Habitat protection must be supplemented
by such knowledge to ensure the survival of our biodiversity.
As you have often stated, this is really a battle to prevent
the extinction of species. Are you hopeful that such strategies
will succeed in India?
We must remember that, on a geological time scale, extinctions
have been a part and parcel of life on earth. What we are
fighting against are human-caused extinctions. I can vividly
remember the time in 1949 when news came in of the Maharaja
of Surguja's slaughter of the last three Indian cheetahs.
There was no conservation movement to speak of and Sálim
Ali's was the lone voice in India when he condemned the dastardly
act through his editorial footnote in the Journal of the BNHS.
That was it.
Today, 51 years later, I find myself deeply concerned that
the same fate might befall several single-population species
such as the lions in Gir, the hangul deer in Dachigam, the
brow-antlered deer in Manipur and the hardground barasingha
in Kanha.
What about the tiger and leopard?
Being more widespread, these animals are relatively safer
than the ones I mentioned. The leopard is a great survivor
and provided we can control its commercial exploitation at
the hands of the illegal wildlife trade the balance is tilted
in
favour of its survival in our many national parks and sanctuaries.
In the case of the tiger too, the key to its survival depends
on whether or not we are able to prevent its habitats from
being consumed by humans. I must confess, that I worry however,
about what is emerging as a single-minded focus on the tiger.
This might be blinding us to the imminent demise of several
other less 'spectacular' species. If the single-population
animals mentioned earlier were to get even a fraction of the
attention and hype reserved for the tiger they might actually
escape the spectre of extinction that stares them in the face
in the 21st century.
And the elephant?
We can save the elephant, provided we are able to ensure the
viability of its migratory routes and corridors. When we interrupt
their paths, as has been done in the Rajaji National Park
near Haridwar and Dehradun by the Chilla Canal, we confine
the pachyderms to tracts that hold limited resources. In such
a situation, elephants are likely to destroy their habitat
through overuse. The elephant ranges defined by Project Elephant
can ensure their long-term survival if this is combined with
effective population management.
The Ministry of Power has announced plans to build the world's
largest dams in the Northeast, in some of the world's most
biodiversity-rich forests. It appears not to share your concern
for elephants.
There cannot be a greater folly than the building of large
dams in the Northeast. Quite apart from the impact of forests
that are a treasure trove of biodiversity, the entire region
is seismically active and the siltation rates would negate
any imagined benefits in a few short years. The devastating
Assam earthquake of 1952, which E.P. Gee then wrote about
in the BNHS Journal, seems to have been conveniently forgotten.
I would advocate a series of micro-hydel projects for flood
control and hydroelectricity. The smaller scale would also
ensure that the benefits flow to local people instead of to
distant industries or cities.
What about that other threat… biopiracy?
Clearly we have to protect ourselves from this very serious
threat. But we continue to be smothered in apathy and inaction.
We need to discuss the manner in which India's biodiversity
wealth should be monitored and managed, to prevent our national
heritage being sacrificed for monetary gains. Medicinal plants
for instance desperately need protection from multinational
pirates on the prowl. In the age of WTO and patent laws, we
probably need to cover the nation's biodiversity wealth with
a legislative blanket of laws enforcing national sovereignty
before it becomes too late.
If you were in charge of all the field biology institutions
in India what changes would you herald?
In that unlikely event one would strive to cultivate a work
ethos unrelated to office hours and encourage students of
any discipline to take up wildlife studies without any qualification
fences. I would encourage the scientific temper and not merely
rely on those who somehow manage to gain a doctorate. Remember,
some of the finest naturalists this country has ever produced
had what might be considered doubtful basic qualifications.
This would include Charles McCann, a top class botanist, mammalogist,
herpetologist, entomologist and a fine writer as well. It
would also include S.H. Prater and Dr. Sálim Ali (who
was eventually conferred an honorary doctorate for his lifetime's
work). Today in some quarters these all-time greats would
be called 'anecdotal scientists'. But such people have actually
been the backbone of the BNHS and their work constitutes the
vast majority of the Journals of the BNHS.
And why did you not write a thesis for your own Ph.D.,
despite the fact that you have been a guide for as many as
11 Ph.Ds. and seven MScs.?
In my book a Ph.D. can only be earned if you dedicate 24 hours
a day, seven days a week from start to finish. Considering
as how it took me 23 years to finish my reptile book, I could
not possibly have given it that kind of time priority. In
more ways than one perhaps I consider myself to be a naturalist,
rather than a scientist. I would say, for instance, that there
are two or three elephants in a range, or one or two hatchlings
in a clutch of five might survive. Modern scientists in search
of elusive accuracy often suggest numbers like 2.39 elephants
or an average of 1.65 hatchlings! Sometimes their reliance
on sheer statistics is too literal for my liking.
At another level I think there is need for reform of the
Ph.D. process. For instance, guides should not be the examiners
and theses should also be sent overseas for external examinations…
but all this is far too involved to really get into here.
Any advice for budding young wildlifers?
Be active, but base your activism on hard facts. Do not be
needlessly aggressive and fundamentalistic. If you are, you
will merely put people's backs up and even fence-sitters might
find it difficult to support you. Try and stir people's imagination
and conscience in support of your cause. A certain amount
of idealism is vital for a conservation involvement or career.
And please don't come in search of get-rich-quick opportunities
in this field, or you might be forced to compromise both your
principles and your science. |
