THE SONG OF THE MAGPIE ROBIN
Zafar Futehally
(With Shanthi and Ashish Chandola)
Rupa; Rs 500
"All around our property were lush rice fields dotted with toddy palm and palmyra. To the north was the Gilbert Hill, an abode of jackals and hyenas that announced their presence at sundown … ."
There are many pleasures - and some pain - to reading The Song of the Magpie. The line above from the book represents one of many bittersweet moments I experienced as I read through the night, curious to get acquainted with this largely unknown and unsung doyen of the wildlife conservation fraternity and fascinated with the story of the evolution of our contemporary conservation movement through the eyes of a man who played a starring role. The prose above describes the author's childhood home that, unbelievably, was in Andheri in Bombay (as it was known then). I lived there for two years in the past decade. All I recall is a fervent wish to escape the concrete maze and traffic snarls that defined Andheri, and I felt a tremendous sense of loss for a Bombay I did not know and is now long gone, except for a few tiny pockets like the Borivali National Park, which we owe to men like Zafar Futehally.
The memoir is full of such triumphs and tragedies as it carried me along on a journey through India's conservation history that Futehally shaped and influenced in so many ways - such as helping establish sanctuaries within and around Bombay and playing a pivotal role in getting citizens of the financial and glamour capital and beyond interested in nature and out into the field brandishing binoculars. I exulted when Project Tiger, the world's biggest initiative to save a species, took shape. I read, almost in awe and considerable envy, as Futehally articulated the strong political will to conserve, which has plummeted sharply over the years.
But I move ahead of myself. For the uninitiated, Futehally held key posts in all the important conservation organisations, such as the Bombay Natural History Society (BNHS) and World Conservation Union (IUCN), he played a major role in establishing WWF-India and was on various government committees, including the Steering Committee of Project Tiger. He was also a businessman (which he said was "his source of bread and butter, if not jam"), partner and managing director of Dynacraft Machine Co, an engineering firm, established with his brother. He was a Padma Shri and also a recipient of the prestigious Order of the Golden Ark.
But Futehally was so much more than the sum of the designations he held or the organisations he represented or even the many conservation battles he fought. Writes the renowned and pioneering wildlife biologist George Schaller in the foreword, "Zafar was self-effacing, solicitous; he invited me, a complete stranger into his home and encouraged me to pursue my studies."
Futehally fought with as much zeal to save a small lake from encroachment as he did to lobby in international forums for the global community to give due importance to India's wildlife. He remains a well-known, respected name in the ornithological world, and it was India's most famous ornithologist, Salim Ali, and his wife Laeeq's uncle, to whom the author largely owed his calling. The chapter on the legendary birdman in itself makes the book worthwhile, providing unexpected insights not just into Salim Ali the man, but also the politics and petty jealousies that hindered the working of the BNHS and the conservation world in general. Futehally's characteristic candour runs through the book: he minces no words and spares no feelings as he lays open the politics and egos that interfered with the conservation cause. Equally, he is generous with his praise for those who have worked toward the cause.
For many years Futehally ran a "Newsletter for Birdwatchers", which he launched from his home in 1959 at a time when this interest was nascent if not virtually non-existent. As one subscriber put it, "It was a bi-monthly reminder that I am not the only eccentric in the country." The newsletter threw up many interesting observations and facets of the avian world. My favourite is one from a farmer in Ahmednagar that talks about the economic role of birds. The farmer describes how he used to deploy women to drive away birds; the birds went, but the pests moved in, destroying the tuver crop. "We used poison, which did no good. We stopped driving the birds away, and within a week no insects were left." If only our planners imbibed such wisdom.
The Song of the Magpie, named after a bird whose song resonated in the author's garden and heart, is a lucidly written memoir, sparking with wit and rich in insights. For those not associated with wildlife, it is an easy read and has the power to inspire; for those of us smitten by the wilds I can only thank the author (and his co-authors Shanthi and Ashish Chandola) for giving such eloquent expression to a life well lived; and feel deep gratitude for his enormous contribution to the cause. We lost Zafar Futehally last year. We, and the wilds, miss him.
The reviewer is trustee, Bagh, and a former member of the National Board for Wildlife. She also edits TigerLink
