c u on top - satyabrata dam

It is said (I have no idea by whom) that if you are lucky you die (which means everyone is at least lucky), if you are luckier then you almost die before finally dying, and if you are luckiest (like I always am) then you not only almost die but actually shake hands with death, smell her heady fragrance, embrace her if you may and then return before one day you finally die. This is actually a funny story (aren’t all stories are!) and has nothing to do with dying at least not of anyone I am aware of, but I thought this would make a good preamble to a tale where bandits would eventually drop down from out of African bushes. If I would listen to even one hundredth of safety advices that my friends and strangers throw my way all the time then I would still be a simple boy from the backyards of some obscure Himalayan village and wouldn’t even dream of going out anywhere outside the precincts of my grazing goat-land. So when I declared that I was heading on my own astride a matatu for the Nor

Matatu is synonymous to Kenya as the lions. The country is unthinkable without either. If I had the power, I would put a lion inside a matatu as Kenya’s national emblem. Every guidebook worth its misguided notions recommend a visitor to stay as far as possible from one while all my well meaning friends, both original born Kenyans (surprisingly) and expatriates and those working in the country for a while, vociferously united in their anti-matatu campaign and tried their best to dissuade me (even to the point of making it scary) from ever riding into one. What more an excuse did I need to decree that come what may, hail or hurricane, a matatu ride has to be an integral and absolute part of my Kenya package! Now most of you might be wondering what exactly am I referring to! Those who have been to Kenya would upturn their nose and declare – ha, we know it all, while those who haven’t might head for Google. But I would request you both to indulge me a bit and learn it from the latest fan a

Just today I returned from Camp Sarara in the Mathew Ranges, the only eco-lodge within the vast 850,000 acres Namunyak Conservancy Trust. It is managed by Piers and Hillary Bastard along with the son Jeremy. I am not going to write my post on Sarara as of now since that will be akin to riding a time machine and fast forwarding my entire Kenyan safari as I have so many more experiences to share that happened before Sarara. While departing from the lodge when Hillary handed me over the visitor’s book, the following rhyme came to my mind out of the neighboring hills and I jotted it down in the book. It might sound and seem incredibly silly but I thought that to pay my immediate tribute to this wonderful piece of paradise on earth and to acknowledge the grace, charm and hospitality of Hillary, Pierce and Jeremy I must at least post this poem that in its simplicity depicts what Sarara experience is all about. It is a place like none other I have visited before. Here’s to you the trio of PHJ

I fully agree the above title is rather on the face, as I am already in a wild place, looking for wild things and going even wilder than I was intended to become, but even then this is the best I could come up with. I am deliberately skipping the first day at Kenya since it was spent at Swara Plains Ranch, where I shall return soon and would get to experience it in a more leisurely manner. For now, let’s dive right into the wild wagon and swing free like a chimpanzee straight into Born Free office Nairobi. Even before I had arrived I had done some amount of digging into Born Free, a UK based NGO that is proactively working towards wildlife conservation. They have a huge presence in Kenya and are doing commendable work across all fields of conservation and related community outreach programs. Born Free Kenya had graciously offered me a field trip with their country manager, Iregi Mwenja, into the far flung reaches of Samburu Region in the Northern Highlands. Sandy drove me to Born Free

For once the rapidity of the incidents unfolding around me has by far out maneuvered and outwitted my mental agility (many of you my staunch supporters would perhaps say, that is always the case) and consequently I am bit incoherent, confused and short on verbosity in this fine evening as I sit under a dark canopy of twinkling stars in the remote town of Wamba in Samboro Region. Very soon the moon would be up and would bereft of my soliloquy with the stars. Therefore, let me begin with a quiz that is an answer in itself; so no prizes if you get it right. Prize might come your way if you don’t get the answer actually. And don’t even ask me why should my first story from Kenya come with the above title. I hope you would understand it by the time you reach the end. So here goes! Q. Where on earth can you accomplish and successfully achieve all of the following within the span of the first 24 hrs of arrival: - Cross the Equator twice Gaze at the two highest peaks of a single continent Shak

I am Kenya bound in less than a week. The obvious conclusion most of you would draw is that I am going there to climb Mt Kenya, Kilimanjaro and jump into Lake Victoria and Turkana and perhaps try to put my head inside the jaws of a hungry lion, if only to see what happens! I have already done all of these before, well may be not the last one, yet. While not intentionally, but providentially some or all of the above may happen, but this trip to Kenya is vastly different than my previous ones. I would be there for more than two months, spending most of my time with the wild animals and with the people who-often selflessly-are trying their best to keep the animals wild. It’s an exciting project I would be working on and gaining immense on ground experience in wild life behavior, habitability, man-nature conflict issues, and myriads of other. While there I would be writing regular posts and filing my stories as and when possible to access the net. You would be able to follow my journey th

How far will you go before you know you have gone far enough! Well this is a question that cannot be answered hypothetically or theoretically. You need to get out there and into a situation where you would be stretched out both physically and mentally to know the answer. Even then you may never learn the real answer to the above quest. I haven’t, though I often go far, sometimes really far; and after going the distance when I turn around to return (for reasons of practicality) I know it deep inside my heart that I hadn’t yet gone far enough. I don’t know if indeed there’s a horizon that would be my furthest where my heart would finally succumb and declare that I had gone far enough and it was now time to return. I don’t know if there would be a day when I would find this horizon even if it existed. People say I am living on and off the edge anyway. But how far is really far for me personally is something I have no clue about. Even then today I will relate to you of an incident that was

This is not a tale of courage, or intrepidity. This is a story about a promise made by a fool, influenced by foolish chemicals rushing through his non-existent brain; a promise he fulfilled and in the process almost did not make it back to the one he had made the promise; much to the predicament of the latter. But overall it’s a story of how minds react and body overreacts at high altitudes where air is thin and summits even thinner. Enjoy this harebrained tale of a foolhardy cavalier, who has since then learnt his lessons; or has he! It has often happened in my life that when I disappear for long extreme adventures, I had an amorous interest; but not after I return. The person either presuming that I wasn’t going to return, would herself disappear or would opt for someone else more earth and civilization bound. This has been and is an oft repeated reality of my life – no complaints though. The fault, if any, lay clearly on my court since I simply refused to promise that I would return

I am often asked what exactly my mind churns when I am doing a dangerous and reckless climb, where the outcome is unknown and I had already crossed the point of no return. Never have I been able to give a satisfactory answer, mostly I would nod and say I don’t remember, since once out of the perilous situation (self orchestrated) my numb and dumb brain would quickly forget all that my mind must have gone through. But in a recent trip of mine, the moment I returned to safer grounds, I jotted down some of my thoughts immediately on a piece of paper and later on reading it, thought it may still not be the right answer to the question of my mind, but it is a convincing one nevertheless, so here it is. While I was going through the miniscule notebook that I had managed to keep and return with during this trip, through the smudged up pencil marks and torn and soaked pages, I discovered that at the end of the day when I climbed the peak and then came down through atrocious conditions, thankfu

Satya’s own website! The idea seemed far-fetched and preposterous and Satya said so to his friend who insists that Satya must immediately grab the domain name www.satyabratadam.com Satya’s logic is simple, why a personal website and who would be interested? A (Satya’s ever faithful computer geek friend) further insists that many around the globe would be keen to follow him and his stupid insane exploits and would want to know what in general is happening with him once he is out of the Navy. But I am not a celebrity, people only follow celebrities and their bovine tantrums, Satya persists. Well my friend, you are, A chips in, and if you are not we would make you one and getting a website is the first step towards it. That jolts Satya’s self esteem a bit; and he retorts, but I am a kind of non-conformist (he didn’t want to mention the word ‘celebrity’) in my own field, after all people pay for my airfare, boarding and lodging and something on the sides from many countries just to hear me