Hebbal Lake after a night of rain.
The air is filled with birdsong.
The air also carries the stench of something that has died. It comes from a half eaten carcass of a dog with a beautiful face.
Through the slush I head out towards the little wetland area to find birds.
Overflowing drainage makes my path difficult. The scattering of garbage underfoot is bad but not so bad that it can't be cleaned up if some 100 people spend one hour at the same time. That's what I think.
Men with toothbrush in mouth and lota in hand behind a mound of earth.
My presence makes them vanish.
Three or four people are taking a walk on the raised bund. Motorcycle riders zoom past. It is a shortcut for people in a hurry.
There's work ahead if the lake and the land around it have to be put to other, more public and social uses. That is obvious.
Little birds, large birds, creaking, screeching, calling, whistling, singing, birds flying like arrows, birds wading majestically, birds twittering atop trees...
There's a great poem about Peter the Great of Russia standing lost in thought in front of an immense swamp. He reclaimed it and created a city of bridges and buildings with domes, gardens and palaces. Where there was a swamp, now flows the Neva, the soul of that historical city, known once as Petrograd.
There's inspiration to be found everywhere. We have ideas, energy, and knowledge. We have the will and we have a team that is sure to grow.
My dreams are simple, and I am no emperor. I know that one day soon I shall sit by the waterfront at the Hebbal lake and wait for the sunset, as children gather to play and birds return to their nests to roost.
The air is filled with birdsong.
The air also carries the stench of something that has died. It comes from a half eaten carcass of a dog with a beautiful face.
Through the slush I head out towards the little wetland area to find birds.
Overflowing drainage makes my path difficult. The scattering of garbage underfoot is bad but not so bad that it can't be cleaned up if some 100 people spend one hour at the same time. That's what I think.
Men with toothbrush in mouth and lota in hand behind a mound of earth.
My presence makes them vanish.
Three or four people are taking a walk on the raised bund. Motorcycle riders zoom past. It is a shortcut for people in a hurry.
There's work ahead if the lake and the land around it have to be put to other, more public and social uses. That is obvious.
Little birds, large birds, creaking, screeching, calling, whistling, singing, birds flying like arrows, birds wading majestically, birds twittering atop trees...
There's a great poem about Peter the Great of Russia standing lost in thought in front of an immense swamp. He reclaimed it and created a city of bridges and buildings with domes, gardens and palaces. Where there was a swamp, now flows the Neva, the soul of that historical city, known once as Petrograd.
There's inspiration to be found everywhere. We have ideas, energy, and knowledge. We have the will and we have a team that is sure to grow.
My dreams are simple, and I am no emperor. I know that one day soon I shall sit by the waterfront at the Hebbal lake and wait for the sunset, as children gather to play and birds return to their nests to roost.
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