Who is Howling in Arabian Nights?

It must be a wolf on a chilling night. The descendant of the one who smelled the blood of the prophet Yousuf. His brothers threw him into a well and lied to their father that a wolf had killed him—the one who undeservedly bore the burn of the blame among all the animals of the desert. We are so quick to assume Arabia is an astronomical stretch of sandy dunes margined by horizons. But it is not like that everywhere, especially in inhabited areas, places of settled life near water holes, valleys, and places where caravans used to meet their suppliers and buyers along the trails in the past but have grown to be modern-day towns.

I read Alfa Layla Wa Laylah (Thousand Nights and a Night) in Malayalam copy I borrowed from the college library. I did enjoy it myself. I owned a copy of my own in English much later in 2003 from a used bookstore in Kozhikode. Last week, my son had heard something about a tale from his school and came home asking if I had any such a book in our collection. "Home is where books are” Richard F. Burton cannot be wrong. I remembered mine and rushed upstairs to grab it, hoping to make the best of the kids eager to read. Only to find the copy lying on the table unattended sooner to my disappointment. Naturally, I craved a revisit and went through it settling on “When It was 18^th Night”.  Burton had given a footnote for a sentence “She was delighted and clapped her hands, whereupon a door was opened.”

The footnote goes thusly. “I need hardly say that in the East where bells are unused, clapping the hands summons the servants. In India, men cry “Quy hey” (Koi hai?) and in Brazil whistle “Pst!” after the fashion of Sapin and Portugal.” In Kerala, where I am from, it sounds more like “Kooi” often inviting someone’s attention or in the past, requesting the boatman at a ferry to wait a little while the man so close rushes to board the boat. The same whistling language was once used to declare the sighting of the moon confirming Eids or Ramalan, the holy month of fasting, as well as the local match victories, festivals, and childbirths.

Burton has always surprised me. Nothing he has penned is more wonderful than the very life he lived as his own.  Among numerous adventurers, he had undertaken a Hajj pilgrimage in disguise and made erstwhile classics like Kama Sutra (1883), The Perfumed Garden (18860 and Arabian Nights (1885 -1888) available to the English-speaking world. He lived his words in a way, with all the controversies around his life kept under the carpet. As 2024 is about to bid adieu, I remind myself of Burton “Conquer thyself, till thou hast done this, thou art but a slave; for it is almost as well to be subjected to another's appetite as to thine own. Starting in a hollowed log of wood — some thousand miles up a river, with an infinitesimal prospect of returning!” I wish the same to all my readers. Merry Xmas. Happy Cake Day and New Year.

You, the drunkard!

What are you fathoming, entirely focused, risking your awareness of your surroundings? This is the first time I've seen you dive deep into flowers to gather nectar. Your resilience in the face of potential predators is genuinely inspiring. Are you so engrossed in your work that you're distracted? Where do you go after you're done? Why are the flowers so stingy with their nectar, making your job more challenging? Why do you venture out alone, without your friends to keep watch, as you dive blindly into the center of the flower?

Hey, Zinnia! I hadn't fully appreciated your beauty until you were in full bloom. You’re a true marvel in full bloom! Make the most of the sunshine, dear flower! You're thriving in the light, and it suits you. Keep growing and flourishing. It doesn't feel like a chore when we're passionate about something. While theory and practice may differ in many ways, that's alright. You're still reaching your full potential, even if it's not exactly as expected, and that's what matters.

As I walked to my office, I stopped to take a photo like this. It's a moment that celebrates the beauty of independence - a treasure often appreciated most by those who have been deprived of it. The welcome message isn't audible but rather a silent language that resonates within your own neural pathways. The chemistry we share, the subtle scents you emit, and the vibrant colors you display all combine to create a captivating magic that draws me to you. Who's to say what's to blame and what's not?

Does it impact the food supply for animals, often considered thieves, when you collect nectar? Only plants can produce food through photosynthesis, and you play a crucial role in supporting them. While it may seem like you're stealing their honey, it's actually a mutually beneficial arrangement. Plants rely on you for pollination services; the nectar is your payment for a job well done. It's a remarkable and wondrous partnership. Keep up the good work! I'll catch up with you later.                                                              

I'm sure you're omnipresent and the primary beneficiary of photosynthetic sugars before plants transport them to their roots through the phloem. It's as if they're allowing you to be the first to savor the sweetness, like a corporate ice cream taste-tester. You get to enjoy the fruits of their labor before anyone else!

I recently heard that 80% of flowering plants rely on your species to reproduce and pass on their genetic legacy. You may not be familiar with the concept of deep ecology, which we frequently discuss at our international seminars. However, you embody the principle of 'actions speak louder than words' and excel in your role. As Stephanie Skeem aptly said, 'Flowers don't tell, they show.' Honeybees like you also demonstrate this wisdom. Our collaborative work has a lasting impact on the world we share. You come to mind whenever I hear about the so-called 'lifesavers' like herbicides, fungicides, and insecticides. May human actions spare your species, allowing you to continue your remarkable legacy.

Call me meow meow.

           Cats are cats; by any other name, they act like cats only. There are plenty of cats down the streets, and interestingly, a dictionary defines cats as an animal popular in the Middle East and Africa. Cats are usually very photogenic, and our archives have plenty of such pictures. But this one is not seen around here; he behaves as if he owns all the land and is in charge of the welfare of the entire neighborhood. I didn’t care either. Our neighbors Yahya and Jawahir are avid feline philanthropists feeding all the cats around with store-bought cat feed. She has set up a few labor rooms for cats to give birth and for maternity care. She doesn’t mind the thankless demeanor for which cats are notorious.

I sat on a stack of hollow bricks listening to an audiobook, Nature Fix by Florence Williams. I usually enjoy doing so during summer nights after strolling down the deserted driveway well-lit by a tall lamppost down the street yet to be called by that name. He, too, showed up from nowhere and sat by me, commanding control and authority on me. I had trouble reading his look clearly, but he settled down gracefully. I kept listening. After some time, he stood up with his tail held high and ears kept alert. The corner had obstructed my view of what he had his eye set on. Then he dashed to a few rocky boulders heaped around on the other side of the street in haste. I got up, driven by curiosity, only to see a street dog with a well-manicured medium white coat approaching.

The dog read my face and took a detour to access the other road leading to the neighbor’s house two blocks across. My face must not have been looking friendly. No sooner did the dog disappear than the cat took the spotlight and continued lying in the middle of the street as though nothing had happened. What a brilliant little, cute, four-legged, versatile gymnast you are!