As the idea of writing this post formulates in my mind, I’m about to sleep with a pair of moths in my room, attracted by the glitzy lights of my phone. There are a bucketload of geckos on the main door of the house. Armies of ants are perpetually on standby, picking up crumbs or dead bugs on a moment’s notice. Squirrels scramble loudly in the false ceiling as a predator approaches. Prickly Caterpillars and Orb-Weavers have spun invisible obstacles for me to manoeuver around in the morning. Nightjars and Cicadas are jamming, mixing their own constant rhythmic tunes. Remnants from the late evening rain pitter-patter on the roof. Palm Civets jump from tree-tops, howling occasionally. All this is happening inside and outside the house, but I doze off to a blissful and deep sleep nevertheless. Just like every night.
I’ve come a long way for an MH02 boy who grew up in a concrete box, shielded from the elements.
How did I get here? And why did I get here?
It’s been five years since I picked up my jhola, out of the city and into the densely forested rural landscape of Guhagar. I’d lived in many cities prior, spent significant amounts of time in the wilderness on treks and expeditions, but none of those excursions could have prepared me for living in a village permanently.
The first major change that my body felt almost immediately was the clock, or the lack of one. Time in the village doesn’t work quite the same way as in the city. Especially in a sleepy, idyllic village like Guhagar. Probably the clock only really matters if one has to catch a bus or train. Otherwise, time is based on the shade of the sky and the calendar is based around festivals and the dance of the moon.
People work when needed, not because they must. There is no Friday or Saturday night to unwind on, because everyday is a Sun-day and every night is a Moon-night. In a couple of months, I figured the tide is cyclic and basically repeats the same schedule every lunar month. After a year, I could tell you the date based on the tide and the moon, or the tide based on the date and the moon.
As my body synced with natural rhythms – my sleep, hunger and energy levels adjusted themselves accordingly. It’s the incessant chirping of the Puff-Throated Babbler that wakes me up, the salty sea breeze which kicks in around noon that tells my system it’s time for lunch and the dark, still sky which drains my battery at a rate no amount of caffeine can reverse. Late-night binging never presented itself as an option anymore.
The next major change that this city-boy navigated was a real sense of community. Having lived in 11 different apartments over the eight years prior to coming to Guhagar, a smile was the most I would offer to my neighbours. Here, the carpenter and me would chat about how much it has rained in neighbouring towns before he would get to work. I couldn’t buy something from the kirana without kaka and me discussing my plans in Guhagar, and him sharing a few paise of his knowledge – warranted or not. Moushi at the fish market would excitedly tell me about how I am her first customer of the day, and the proceeds were dedicated to Goddess Bhavani.
Likewise, I developed a community with the flora and fauna around me. The morning dew drops on the grass felt cool and fresh, activating all my senses and preparing my body for the day ahead. My breakfast would get done along with most of the other birds, with only Bulbuls, Ioras and Robins fluttering around post 9 am. On an overcast day with light rain, the forest remained active – encouraging me to take advantage of the weather and go out and explore. In summer, the forest provided a bounty of edible berries, acknowledging my needs. Right after sunset, a White-Bellied Sea Eagle would perch on the casuarina tree, signalling that it’s time to head back from the beach.
As I started hosting people from the cities, the differences in perceiving the world became increasingly stark. Normal people from my Mumbai bubble spend their Sunday afternoons at a cafe in Bandra, not layering mulch in the plantation or swimming in natural pools of water.
My need for constant activity, constant stimulation, my obsession with utilising every second of time, was all but urban conditioning. I re-learned something that was probably the first thing I did – doing nothing.
So, before I digress and talk about the cosmos, I’m going back to getting comfortable with critters. I read somewhere that a human being is born with only two innate fears – a fear of falling and one of loud noises. So why was I afraid of snakes, sharks, scorpions, and stingrays, when none of them have tried to take a bite of me over the past 5 years?
The quick and obvious answer is mass media, and their clever use of our disconnect with the wild to sell dramatic storylines. But also, the restraint on exploration that most urban children have. Being forced to stay within the boundaries of a sheltered bubble majorly contribute to a ingrained fear of the unknown. Not just animals, even humans from outside the bubble are treated with skepticism. However, the natural world works very simply. A species only cares about us if we have a prey-predator (or some other survival based) relationship with our species.
Now, when visitors ask me if snakes will ambush and bite them while walking around, I tell them that they wont go out of their way to attack humans. I’ve seen hundreds of them slithering around and can testify that they want nothing to do with us. Just like a lone human in a wildlife sanctuary wouldn’t go and attack an elephant with their bare hands if they had no vehicles or weapons. It’s downright suicidal for any creature to attack a much larger creature if their survival is not threatened. If only we were equally terrified of actual things that are killing us, albeit slowly, such as microplastics or the lack of footpaths in the city.
So, this was about how. But the how was strongly driven by the why. Why did I do this to myself? I could have stayed in the city and managed work remotely or even built a fairly urban life in Guhagar. In my case, I was building an eco and community tourism centre, so I had no way to go but forward. In business school, we were taught to ‘fake it till you make it’, so I grit my teeth and powered through the days when a strange flying bug in the room bothered me. Until it didn’t.
Besides professional reasons, I also had other motives I’d like to talk about. Hopefully they help you in your journey, if you are looking to decondition too.
As a traveller, one of the most amazing things to discover on the planet are it’s natural splendours. Getting comfortable with natural ecosystems literally unlocks new universes for exploration. A better understanding of the natural world will not just make your journeys more fulfilling, it will also allow you to enjoy and be comfortable while travelling. The whole point was to have a stress-free trip right? Also, think about the amazing content you will get for your ‘gram if you can hike past thorny shrubs and reach pristine waterfalls and viewpoints. I’m only partly joking – its alright to openly acknowledge that capturing content is a big part of travel. Anyway, besides content, you’ll truly take in the unique gifts each natural location will shower upon you. All you have to do is surrender, and listen.
The other motive that I deeply resonate with is evolving from within. I’d like to think that every passing day, I learn more and grow more. Learning more about the planet and its intricacies enhances my day to day. A tree that has survived hundreds of years has infinite wisdom for us to absorb. Curiosity, resilience, and humility are traits I have honed by observing the struggles and joys of tiny insects around me. And perhaps most importantly, contentment. Kingfishers don’t keep hunting and stockpiling their catch infinitely. I’ve learnt to stop. Pause. Reassess if I want more.
Finally, and possibly the biggest motivation for all of us is health. One that I am seeing significant benefits of, lately. Just like the Smooth-Coated Otters in the rivers here – I can swim, run, do nothing and be alert at any given time in the day. There is a perpetual spring in my step. I don’t need to go to sleep or make any effort to sleep at all. The forest cradles me to sleep and wakes me up when it’s time. I haven’t used an alarm since I moved to Guhagar, and I’ve always had a very productive morning.
My mental health and nervous system have responded positively as well. Once you’ve dealt with the shock of discovering a frog hiding in the shower curtain, both of you aghast at being exposed to the other, there aren’t many things that terrify you. The natural world doesn’t hold onto anything for long either. Golden Orioles don’t carry grudges, Crested Porcupines don’t come back for vengeance and a bunch of Roux’s Forest Lizard’s don’t discuss their existential crises. Living amongst all these beings, the only option I know is to soldier on.
As I complete this post sitting in the cafe at Raan, its getting dark outside. A light drizzle is about to set in. Whether there will be a mantis on the table over dinner, a firefly, prickly caterpillars, or just the omnipresent house gecko, I do not know. What I know for sure is that the forest will take care of me.