Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nature. Show all posts

Monday, September 14, 2026

The Hero Who Lived Next Door

 

The Hero Who Lived Next Door

The Hero Who Lived Next Door
The Hero Who Lived Next Door

Sometimes, we search for heroes in movies and books. We watch their stories, get inspired by their courage, and think heroes are people who do extraordinary things.
But many times, we don’t realise that some heroes are already living among us.
They don’t wear a uniform. They don’t have background music playing when they arrive. Nobody may even know what they have done.
They are just ordinary people who become extraordinary when someone needs them.
This is one such real story. A story that may take a little time to digest, because when everything is over and you think about what could have happened, you realise how differently that day could have ended.
To keep the people and relationships private, I am taking you to a place that may resemble somewhere you know, but you will probably never find it on a map.
Now, if you like to hear stories in my way, hop in and put your seat belt on.
Let us take a small drive before we reach the story.
Imagine an evening somewhere in the middle of the Western Ghats. There is a light rain outside. The road is wet, surrounded by green, and every few kilometres another curve is waiting for you. You are driving slowly, maybe around 40 or 50 kmph, while some beautiful old melodies are playing on the car stereo.
Keep the window half open.
Every now and then, tiny rain droplets splash onto your face. The air coming through the window is cool and fresh, carrying that smell which comes only when rain touches trees and soil.
Now relax.
Visualise it in your own way.

Come, let us go to the story. 


A Normal Family, A Normal Morning

There lived a family in a fairly big city. Not as big or heavily populated as Bengaluru, but still busy enough with concrete buildings, traffic and people always running behind something.
The husband had his own CA firm.
He was a busy man. For him, work was almost like worship. He spent a lot of time working, probably because when you have struggled through life and built something without shortcuts, you somehow become very attached to it. Hard work becomes part of your daily routine.
His wife was a homemaker. Her world mostly revolved around their two little children, aged around five and two.
His mother was also staying with them, but around this time she had gone to visit her elder son’s family in another city.
That morning started like any other day.
The husband left for his office. Their elder child went to school.
At home, it was just the mother and the younger daughter.
Nothing about that morning gave any indication that, within a few minutes, this family would be facing something none of them had expected.

“Amma, Let’s Go Down”

Amma, Let’s Go Down
Amma, Lets Go Down



The little girl had her own routine.
Like many small children, she loved going to the terrace. That was her little playground. Usually, mother and daughter would spend some time there between around 9:00 and 10:30 in the morning.
That day also, they went upstairs and played as usual.
Around 10:30 AM, the little girl had enough.
She told her mother that she wanted to go back home and play inside.
So both of them started walking down the staircase.
For some reason, the daughter went a little ahead of her mother.
Children do that.
One moment they are beside you, and the next moment their tiny legs have already taken them several steps ahead.
Within seconds, she had reached near the front door.
Then she stopped.
She noticed something close to the entrance.
In her own little words, she started describing it to her mother.
Her mother was still coming down the stairs and didn’t think much about it. From whatever the child was describing, she thought it might be a small snail or some little creature near the door.
After all, this was a house close to the main road, surrounded mostly by a concrete jungle. There were not many trees or gardens around where you would expect much wildlife.
Her mother came closer.
Another few seconds passed.
Then she looked properly.
That was not a snail.
It was a snake.

The First Thought Was Her Daughter

There was hardly any time to think.
Her first instinct was simple.
Protect the child.
The mother tried to open the door, thinking that if they moved inside, perhaps the snake would get disturbed and move away in another direction.
But sometimes, when we try to solve one problem quickly, the situation takes a completely different turn.
The door opened.
And instead of moving away, the snake entered the house.
In seconds, it disappeared into the hall and went below the TV stand.
Now imagine the situation.
A mother standing there with her two-year-old daughter.
A snake somewhere under the TV stand.
No one else at home.
And you don’t even know what kind of snake it is.
Initially, she thought it could be a small rat snake or some harmless young snake. It was tiny, after all.
Still, she knew she could not take any chance.
Very carefully, she tried moving the TV stand slightly to see where it had gone.
That was when the situation changed.
The little snake raised its head.
Its hood opened.
And it hissed.
Only then did she realise what she was looking at.
A very young spectacled cobra.
Small in size, yes.
But definitely not something anyone would want to handle casually.
For a few seconds, fear completely took over.

A Phone Call That Changed Everything

When something like this happens, sometimes you don’t even know whom to call first.
She called her mother-in-law.
Her mother-in-law was in another city. There was no way she could physically come and help.
But sometimes, even from hundreds of kilometres away, one person can still change what happens next.
The mother-in-law listened to her.
She understood the situation.
And instead of panicking, she started thinking.
That presence of mind made the difference.
She immediately called the neighbour living just behind their house.
At the same time, she asked her daughter-in-law to call the nearby aunty and simply ask her to send uncle over because they needed urgent help.
Interestingly, she didn’t explain the whole snake story.
Probably there was no time for a long conversation.
Just one message.
“Ask uncle to come once. It is urgent.”
And sometimes, when there is a real need, help comes from a place very close to us.
In this case, literally from the house next door.

Uncle Arrived

The neighbour whom everyone called “uncle” was an animal lover.
A die-hard one.
They had two beautiful dogs who were like family to them, and he was also someone who loved nature and animals. More importantly, he was the kind of person who would come when somebody needed help.
Only a compound wall separated the two houses.
He understood that this was not a normal call.
And when he came, he didn’t come empty-handed.
He walked in carrying a bag and a snake-handling tool.
That itself gave the family some confidence.
By then, the mother-in-law had also informed her son.
The moment he heard what was happening at home, everything else became secondary.
He left his work and rushed back.
By the time he reached, uncle was already preparing to handle the snake.
Everyone knew one thing.
If that small cobra managed to enter one of the bedrooms, hide behind a cupboard, or disappear into some corner of the house, finding it again would become much more difficult.
So they needed to act carefully.
Not fast.
Carefully.

A Few Very Long Minutes


A Few Very Long Minutes
A Few Very Long Minutes


Uncle asked them to bring a small bucket with a proper lid.
Then he slowly approached the cobra.
What followed probably lasted only a few minutes.
But for the family watching it, those few minutes must have felt much longer.
The cobra was small, alert and defensive.
Uncle was equally alert.
There was no intention to hit it or hurt it. His aim was to control the situation, protect the family, and also make sure the snake came out safely.
He knew he was dealing with a living creature that was probably frightened too.
Slowly, using the snake-handling tool, he guided it away from the TV stand.
The snake resisted.
It raised itself again.
There was hissing.
There was tension inside the room.
Everyone stayed at a distance.
Uncle remained focused.
One wrong movement could create a completely different situation.
Finally, he managed to guide the little cobra towards the bucket.
For one moment, everybody watched.
Then it went inside.
The lid was closed.
That was it.
The hall suddenly became quiet.
The same house that, a few minutes earlier, had been filled with fear and confusion was now silent.
I can imagine everybody looking at one another and slowly realising that the danger had passed.
The little daughter probably didn’t understand the seriousness of what had just happened.
Maybe that was better.

The Journey Was Not Over

The Journey Was Not Over
The Journey Was Not Over 


But for uncle, catching the snake was only half the work.
The intention was never to kill it.
The small cobra was simply in the wrong place.
It had somehow entered a concrete neighbourhood where humans had built their homes. It was not there looking for a fight.
So the husband and uncle took the safely contained snake away from the house and ensured it was released in a suitable natural area away from the family.
Only after that was the incident really over.
The family went back home.
The house was safe.
The child was safe.
The mother was safe.
And somewhere away from all those buildings and concrete, the little cobra was also given another chance to continue its life.

Who Was the Hero?

When I think about this story, one person naturally stands out.
Uncle.
Nobody had to force him to come.
There was no big discussion about the risk.
Someone needed help, and he came.
He had only one intention—to protect the little child and the family while making sure the animal was not unnecessarily harmed.
That is why I call people like him our silent heroes.
But when you look closely, this story actually had more than one kind of courage.
There was the mother, standing inside the house with her little daughter when a cobra was under the TV stand. Fear was definitely there, but she stayed present enough to protect her child and call for help.
There was the mother-in-law, sitting in another city, unable to physically do anything, yet having the presence of mind to immediately think about who nearby could help.
There was the husband who dropped his work and rushed home when his family needed him.
And finally, there was uncle, who walked across that small compound carrying his snake-handling tool and quietly did what had to be done.
No introduction.
No applause.
No camera.
Just help.

Heroes Are Sometimes Very Close

Life is full of small fights that we face every day.
Most are ordinary.
Some arrive without warning.
And during those moments, we realise the value of the people around us.
We sometimes look towards the sky and ask God to help us.
But maybe help does not always arrive in the way we expect.
God may not personally knock on our door.
Sometimes, He sends someone who is already living next door.
Someone we simply call…
“Uncle.”

Monday, July 6, 2026

The Woman Who Called Herself Vrishabhavathi

 

The Woman Who Called Herself Vrishabhavathi

A Metro journey, a disregarded river, and a conversation Bengaluru desperately needed.
There are journeys that end when you reach your destination.
And then there are journeys that continue long after you have stepped off the train.
This is one of them.

The Woman Who Called Herself Vrishabhavathi
Vrishabhavathi 

A Morning Like Any Other


A Morning Like Any Other
Metro ride


The other day, I was travelling to my office.
Whenever work takes me to the other end of Bengaluru, towards Global Village, there is one companion I never complain about—the Bengaluru Metro.
On most days, it saves me from spending hours in traffic that never seems to end.
That morning was no different.
I boarded the train and found myself standing near the door, holding that familiar steel handle that thousands of commuters hold every single day.
After Majestic, the crowd gradually became thinner.
On the other side, the trains heading towards Whitefield are usually packed like festivals.
The Kengeri side somehow breathes a little easier than Whitefield or the Electronic City side during the morning, but the opposite by evening.
For the first time that morning, I could actually look outside.
I have always enjoyed watching Bengaluru through the Metro windows.
It tells stories that roads never do.
Buildings.
Flyovers.
Apartment towers.
Concrete after concrete.
Every few seconds, a lonely water tank would rise above the rooftops.
It stood there almost like a watchman reminding everyone that water once mattered here.
A few old trees somehow survived between endless blocks of cement.
They looked tired.
Yet they were still standing.

The Stream That Refused to Disappear

The Stream That Refused to Disappear
Stram that RefusStreamed to disappear

As the train crossed Deepanjali Nagar and headed towards Pattangere, just before the RV College station, my eyes caught sight of something below.
A narrow water channel.
At first glance, it looked exactly like another sewage drain.
Dark water flows through the channel.
Here and there, concrete walls that say, 'This is modern human-built architecture .'
The kind of sight every Bengalurean has sadly become used to.
But as the train moved a little further, I noticed something unusual.
Hidden beneath the filth were natural rocks.
The curves did not look man-made.
The land looked ancient.
Almost as though a real stream was struggling to breathe beneath everything we had built over it.
I found myself wondering...
"How did a natural stream become this?"
Before my thoughts could go any further, I noticed someone standing beside me.

The Woman With Tears in Her Eyes


The Woman With Tears in Her Eyes
Tears in her eyes


She was quietly crying.
Not loudly.
Not asking for help.
Just tears flowed as she stared out the window.
There was something about her that felt different.
She carried no laptop bag, which is common in Bangalore metro.
No phone, a must-have for daily life.
No earphones, without which people look like they don't have a job to do.
No hurry.
Her face carried an age that could not be measured in years.
For a few moments, I hesitated.
Then I asked softly,
"Ma'am... are you alright?"
She slowly turned towards me.
Her eyes carried the pain of centuries.
She smiled faintly.
"You noticed."
I looked confused.
"Most people don't."
"Why are you crying?"
She looked outside once again.
Then she said something that completely changed my journey.
"My name is Vrishabhavathi."
I smiled politely.
"That's a beautiful name."
She smiled.
"It wasn't just a name."
"I was once Bengaluru's river."

When a River Began to Speak


When a River Began to Speak
When a river began to speak

For a second, I thought I had misunderstood.
She looked at me as though she already knew.
"No... You are not dreaming."
"I have simply come because someone finally looked down from the Metro instead of into a mobile phone."
Silence filled the space between us.
Then she began telling her story.

When Bengaluru Knew How Water Flowed

When Bengaluru Knew How Water Flowed
When Bengaluru knew how water flowed

"I was born near the feet of Basava."
"People now remember the giant Nandi statues."
"Very few remember that I began there as clear flowing water."
She spoke of children playing on her banks.
Women collecting water.
Farmers are waiting for the monsoon.
Birds are nesting beside her.
Fish swimming beneath the surface.
"I was never as mighty as the Ganga or the Cauvery."
"But I gave life to everyone who lived beside me."
She smiled.
"I knew a young city called Bengaluru."
"It was not built with glass."
"It was built with wisdom."

Kempegowda Understood What We Forgot


Kempegowda Understood What We Forgot
What we forgot 

Her eyes brightened.
"When Kempegowda dreamed of this city, he understood something today's planners often forget."
"He never fought nature."
"He worked with it."
She spoke about valleys.
Natural streams.
Rainwater.
Hundreds of interconnected lakes.
Overflow channels.
What we now call Raja Kaluves.
"We simply called them home."
She spoke of forests.
Peacocks.
Otters.
Turtles.
Jackals.
Fish.
Countless birds.
"The monsoon had somewhere to rest."
"Groundwater had somewhere to sleep."
"The lakes spoke to each other."
"The rivers breathed."

When Growth Forgot Gratitude


When Growth Forgot Gratitude
Growth forgot gratitude

Then her smile disappeared.
"People discovered another kind of gold."
Factories.
Industries.
Layouts.
Technology parks.
Flyovers.
"The Silicon City was born."
"I was happy."
"Cities must grow."
"People deserve opportunities."
"I never hated development."
Then she looked directly into my eyes.
"But development forgot gratitude."
"It forgot limits."
"My floodplains became layouts."
"My streams became drains."
"My lakes became real estate."
"Storm-water channels carried sewage."
"Factories emptied poison into my body."
"Every day I carried what nobody else wanted."
She paused.
"Slowly..."
"People stopped calling me a river."
"They called me..."
"Kengeri Mori."
Those two words felt heavier than everything else she had said.
Imagine giving water for centuries...
Only to be remembered as a drain.

The Forgotten Sisters


The Forgotten Sisters
Forgotten Sisters


She spoke of her sisters, too.
Arkavathi.
Kumudvathi.
The eastern valleys feed Bellandur and Varthur.
"When rivers lose their paths..."
"Lakes lose their purpose."
"Then people wonder why lakes catch fire."
She wasn't blaming anyone.
She was simply remembering.
"The saddest part isn't pollution."
"It is forgetfulness."
"You forgot we were alive."

She Saw Memories. We Saw Buildings.

She Saw Memories. We Saw Buildings.
Memories vs Buildings


Outside the Metro, another apartment tower rushed past.
She pointed.
"A wetland."
Another place.
"A grove."
Another.
"A stream."
Another.
"A nesting ground."
Then she turned towards me.
"You see buildings."
"I still see memories."

The Last Question


The Last Question
Last Question


The announcement interrupted us.
"Next station... Kengeri."
I realised I had crossed the station where I was supposed to get down.
But somehow I didn't care.
I wanted her to continue.
She stood up.
I quickly asked,
"Can we still save you?"
She smiled.
"That is the wrong question."
The doors opened.
Without turning back, she said,
"Ask instead whether you can save yourselves."
"Rivers always find a way."
"It is civilisations that disappear."
The doors closed.
The train moved.
Only then did I realise...
She had never walked out.
She had simply vanished.

The Journey That Never Ended


The Journey That Never Ended
Journey that never ended


A few minutes later, I finally got down at Kengeri Satellite Town.
I boarded another Metro back towards the office.
The journey lasted only a few minutes.
But my mind was still travelling with her.
Even after reaching work...
Opening my laptop...
Joining meetings...
Her words refused to leave me.
Urbanisation is not the enemy.
Progress is not the enemy.
The enemy is the belief that nature exists only until we need the land beneath it.
Every civilisation believes it has endless time.
Every city believes growth has no limits.
But everything has an expiry.
Even uncontrolled urbanisation.
When rivers die...
Groundwater follows.
When wetlands disappear...
Floods arrive.
When biodiversity vanishes...
The silence that replaces it cannot be engineered back.
By the time we realise what has been lost...
Nature may no longer be waiting for our apology.

Every Time I Cross That Bridge

Every Time I Cross That Bridge
Every time I cross that bridge


Sometimes I still travel on that Metro route.
Every time the train crosses that narrow channel near Pattangere, I look outside.
Most passengers continue scrolling through their phones.
Some are sleeping.
Some are talking.
I simply look down.
Searching.
Hoping.
Wondering...
Who was that woman?
Was she only my imagination?
Or did Bengaluru's forgotten river finally find someone willing to listen?

Now let me bring a few details on the river ( Infographics)


Now let me bring a few details on the river ( Infographics)
Rivers of Bengaluru

My  Note

This is a work of magical realism inspired by the history of Bengaluru's rivers, lakes and vanishing wetlands. While the conversation is fictional, the ecological decline of the Vrishabhavathi River and Bengaluru's interconnected water systems is very real. Sometimes, stories can help us hear what facts alone cannot.


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