Four-legged Contingent Joins the Parade

As Republic Day nears, everyone looks forward to witnessing the magnificent parade that is synonymous with this day. One of the highlights of the parade is the sight of the cavalry regiment with handsome horses marching in perfect sync, and the majestic and elegantly dressed camel contingents of the Border Security Force marching gracefully in time to martial music. 

Bactrian Camel

This year the parade will include new additions, not just showcasing the country’s military might and advances in science and technology, but also putting the spotlight on the different four-legged soldiers who play a vital role in supporting the country’s  defences and security. While some of these will be parading on Kartavya Path for the first time, they have long been faithful and dependable partners of our armed forces. There are different units of animals in the military depending on their applications. Their uses may vary according to requirement and working capability depending on the region and climate of the area. For special tasks and missions, specific animals that are specially trained are required.

This is a good time to recall their role, past and present.

Horses have been an integral part of wars since time immemorial. Along with elephants, they were ridden in the battlefields by armies across the world. Over time these were replaced by mechanized vehicles of war. The Indian army still has one of the largest, and among the last, operational horse cavalry units in the world. Its historic horse regiment is called 61 Cavalry Horse Regiment. Formed just after Independence, by integrating cavalry from the princely states, today this is still used known for its equestrian skills, and is used for ceremonial occasions.

This year, a new addition to the equestrian display will be four Zanskar ponies. Comparatively small and compact, this is a rare and indigenous mountain breed from Ladakh which is playing a key role in movement of goods as well as mounted patrols.  Known for their extraordinary endurance, these are perfectly adapted to the harsh landscape and high altitudes of Ladakh, these sure-footed equines can withstand temperatures up to minus 40 degrees Celsius, and carry loads of 40-60 kg over long distances, sometimes covering upto 70 km a day. These ponies were inducted into the army in 2020 where they have served in some of the harshest terrains and high risk areas, including the Siachin glacier.

The Camel Contingent and the Camel Mounted Band of the Border Security Force have been a popular and regular part of the parade. Camelry, or camel cavalry, has been a part of military establishments around the world for a long time. Camels were first mentioned as being used in warfare sometime around 853 B.C.In India, camelry dates back to the time of Maharaja Rao Jodha of Jodhpur in the early 15th century. When India became independent, the cavalry and camelry of the Rajasthan region merged with that of the Indian Army, becoming a part of the Artillery Regiment. Indian military camels were sent to join the Border Security Force (BSF) when it was established in 1965, and its camelry contingent has been a part of the Republic Day parade since 1976. The BSF has three main types of camels: Jaisalmeris, which are sturdily built; Bikaneris, which are high speed runners; and the Nachnas, which are used for ceremonial duties. Today the Border Security Force has around 1200 male camels on its rolls.

All the camels in the parade so far have been the one-humped Dromedary camels. This year the parade is introducing the Bactrian camel. The Bactrian camel is a high-altitude double-humped camel with formidable strength and stamina. Their broad feet enable these camels to firmly grasp and negotiate rocks, snow and sand with ease, while the bushy eyebrows, long eyelashes, and closable nostrils protect them against dust and icy gusts. They can haul heavy loads across difficult terrains, and can go without water for long periods, making them ideally adapted for Ladakh’s arid and freezing terrain. These are now used for high altitude transportation and reconnaissance missions; carrying huge loads with the help of modular load-carrying frames and custom-engineered harnesses.

This year two Bactrian camels will come a long way from their snowy outposts, to experience the new terrain of Kartavya Path as they join the parade.

The four-legged participants of the parade will also feature the “Silent Warriors” of the Indian Army—dogs. Dogs have long been part of the military in many parts of the world, including India. Dogs provide unflinching support to the troops not only in tracking and guarding, but also in counterterrorism operations, detection of explosives and mines, disaster response and search-and-rescue missions. Until recently the dog squads were made up largely of breeds like Labrador, German Shephard, Golden Retriever etc. But now indigenous breeds are being inducted and trained in these tasks by the Border Security Force. These include native hounds such as Mudhol Hounds and Rampur Hound, Chippiparai, Kombai and Rajapalayam. 10 canine warriors representing these breeds will proudly march alongside their two-legged trainers as part of the parade.

Perhaps the most breathtaking part of the Republic day parade is the grand finale—the Fly Past when the skies resonate with the sound and colours of the Air Force display—the guardians of our skies. This year will include other high fliers—real eagles. Raptors, known for their speed, sharp eyesight, and predatory instincts have played a vital role in military operation since time immemorial. Falcons and hawks were used to intercept and hunt enemy messenger pigeons. These abilities continue to make these invaluable, even in these times of extremely high-tech and sophisticated war weapons. Modern militaries use raptors like eagles and falcons for specialized tasks such as intercepting and disabling small drones, surveillance and reconnaissance in remote areas, and airfield security (driving away nuisance birds).

This year four of these Nature’s own flying machines will be a part of the parade, led by Captain Harshita of the Remount and Veterinary Corps (RVC). The RVC has been breeding, rearing and training animals for India’s armed forces since 1779. The Indian military currently has around 12,600 animals including dogs, horses, mules and camels. This year’s parade will bring these centre stage, and remind us that these furred and feathered friends are an integral part of our nation’s defence and pride.

Happy Republic Day 2026!

–Mamata

A Full Cycle

This week, newspapers have been headlining the news of Pune hosting a UCI-sanctioned international cycle race. The Bajaj Pune Grand Tour 2026, the country’s first UCI-category multi-stage professional road race, aims to put Pune into the centre of the global cycling world. The race — scheduled from January 19 to 23— will feature 171 elite riders from 29 teams representing 35 countries, and for the first time India is fielding its own national squad in a UCI event of this scale. Riders will pedal through 437 km of varied terrain, from urban loops to the Sahyadri foothills and rural plains.

The race has significance for India. The Union Cycliste Internationale (UCI) is cycling’s highest governing authority — the body that sets global rules, certifies races, ranks riders, and decides what counts as legitimate professional competition. When a race is UCI-sanctioned, it means it meets international standards of safety, equipment, timekeeping and anti-doping. Riders earn global ranking points.

For many readers, that the Indian riders’ cycles cost–upwards of ₹10 lakh–was the headline novelty. To put it in contrast, in1947, a new bicycle cost roughly ₹60 to ₹120 — a substantial sum at a time when a schoolteacher or clerk earned ₹50 to ₹100 a month. A cycle was not casually bought. It was saved for, negotiated over, sometimes purchased second-hand, and treated as a family asset. Owning one meant time saved, distances conquered, and opportunities expanded.  And some service-providers like postmen depended on it, as did newspaper delivery boys, vendors, etc. In a fuel-poor, infrastructure-scarce nation, the bicycle was mobility itself.

Indian-made bicycles were only just beginning to gain ground in the 1940s. Many cycles in circulation were British brands or locally assembled models using imported parts. After Independence, companies such as Hero, Atlas, Avon and TI Cycles would expand production rapidly, bringing costs down over the following decades. Ludhiana emerged as a manufacturing hub, producing sturdy roadsters designed for rough roads, heavy loads and endless repair. These were not glamorous machines, but they were indestructible — and that was the point.

By the 1960s and 1970s, Indian bicycles were already travelling far beyond Indian roads. Manufacturers exported extensively to Africa, the Middle East and Southeast Asia — markets that valued exactly what Indian cycles offered: affordability, durability and ease of maintenance.

Then, gradually, cycling slipped out of aspiration. Motorisation took over the national imagination. Cycles remained everywhere — in villages, campuses, small towns — but rarely in headlines. What we are witnessing now, through urban cycling clubs, endurance events, and races like Pune’s, is not a new culture but a resurfacing one.

Girls go Cycling

In 1947, a girl owning a bicycle was rare — often limited to fancy schools or unusually progressive families (and heroines in movies who not only cycled but also sang at the same time!). But things slowly changed. Manufacturers, once slow to respond, eventually followed demand, producing lighter, better-fitted cycles designed specifically for girls. What had once been radical became normal.

In 2001, Tamil Nadu launched a free bicycle scheme for students, including girls, under the Jayalalithaa government. The bicycles were procured and distributed by the state. Then in 2006 in Bihar came the game-changer. Mukhyamantri Balika Cycle Yojana, a statewide initiative launched by the Nitish Kumar government targeted girls entering Class 9, particularly in rural areas, and provided funds to purchase a bicycle rather than distributing cycles directly. Girls cycling in groups along rural roads became such a familiar sight that it changed public perception. With the success of the scheme, many states followed. . Few development interventions in India have delivered such disproportionate impact at such low cost.

Hearteningly, the cyclist who has brought India international fame in the past is a woman. Deborah Herold, from the Andaman & Nicobar Islands, is India’s standout name in track cycling. She won three gold medals at the 2019 South Asian Games, setting records, and went on to become the first Indian woman track cyclist to qualify for the UCI Track World Championships. She has represented India multiple times at World Championships and Asian Championships and won medals at the Asian Track Cycling Championships. In 2021, she received the Arjuna Award. Arpita Biswas and Minati Mohapatra are other women who have dominated the international cycling circuits. Esow Alben and Ronald Bira have also brought us glory.

Seen through this lens, the Pune race is not merely a sporting event. It is a cultural signal. It tells us that the bicycle is once again being taken seriously — as sport, as industry, as solution.

God speed!

–Meena

Pic: Deccan Herald

A Spoonful of Good Luck: Dahi-Cheeni

It has been the tradition in my family that is most closely associated with my mother. And one that we continue to follow. Giving a spoon of curd and sugar just before any one leaves for an exam, an interview, an important meeting, and embarking on any travel, short or long. My mother never failed to do this, even when she herself could not do so easily, but by reminding us to take it ourselves before we said au revoir.

We sisters always believed that this was something exclusive to our mother and our family, never once wondering where tradition originated, and where and when it began in our family. Then this week I read an article on this very practice, and realized that another family also considered this as a personal family tradition! And that, perhaps there were many others who followed this tradition. A more focussed exploration uncovered that the tradition of dahi-cheeni (curd and sugar) as it is called is not only an ancient one, but is also Pan-Indian! In North India it is a spoon of curd with a sprinkling of sugar, as also in Gujarat. In Bengal it is doi-shinni a mix of curd, sugar and sometimes a bit of banana or jiggery. In Tamil Nadu it takes the form of thayir sadam, the ubiquitous curd rice. I am sure that every state has its own version with some variations on the theme.

This combination features in Valmiki’s Ramayana in the book on Ayodhya Kand, when Sage Bharadwaja offers a sumptuous banquet to Bharata and his army. Among the list of rich foods offered as part of the feast, there is a mention of fresh curds mixed with sugar and spices. Thus it finds its niche While this offering seems too simple as compared to the rest of the meal, it held a great significance, and had its niche in the menu.

Indeed, this simple combination is a trusted part of the ancient holistic health system of Ayurveda where curd (dahi) and sugar (sakara) were considered sattvik, pure life-supporting foods that bring clarity and calm. Charaka Samhita, one of the oldest books on Ayurveda, written over 2000 years ago, mentions curd mixed with jaggery as being refreshing, and helping in alleviating Vata qualities. Ayurveda deals with three doshas: Vata. Pittta and Kapha, which are believed to be responsible for a person’s physiological, mental and emotional health, and categories different foods as having a ‘heating’  or ‘cooling’ effect. With reference to dahi-cheeni it is believed that the curd’s potentially cold nature combined with jaggery’s warmth leads to better digestion and vitality making it a wholesome food. Also while curd can be heavy, adding sugar or jaggery helps to balance it, making it easier to digest. Jaggery provides quick energy while curd offers hydration. Thus the mixture is cooling yet energizing.

If Ayurveda offers a ‘balanced’ perspective to dahi-cheeni, astrology has its own theories wherein consumption of dahi-cheeni before important events is believed to have celestial significance. Vedic astrology believes that the moon is associated with mind and emotions. Consuming dairy products like curd is thought to appease the moon, bringing clarity and emotional balance. Here too, the combination of cool (yogurt) and warm (sugar) is believed to create a balance of energies, aligning with the cosmic balance. Some astrological beliefs suggest that the act of eating dahi-cheeni can help ward off negative planetary influences ensuring a smooth start to important tasks.

A simple tradition supported by ancient schools of thought!

Fast forward to the present. A new age currently obsessed with healthy eating and superfoods. One would have imagined that the humble dahi-cheeni would find no place on the menu (what with its lactose content and wicked white sugar too!!) Surprise Surprise! It finds endorsement again, with a new vocabulary.

What does the combination offer?

Probiotics in curd which promote gut health, alleviate digestive issues, and boost the immune system.

Calcium in curd essential for strong bones and teeth.

Protein content which is crucial for muscle health and overall body function.

Hydration through the high water content in curd, which is crucial for long journeys or along day.

Blood sugar regulation through the protein in the curd which can slow down absorption of the sugar added to the curd, potentially preventing spike in blood sugar.

Yes, all these are much-touted as benefits of curd which has been part of our diet since times immemorial, but reincarnated today as the Superman of Probiotics! And the question arises, will just a spoonful of curd and sugar be enough to wrought such miracles?

Some have sought to explain the dahi-cheeni tradition with a simpler explanation.

Everyone has butterflies in their stomach before an important event. Today this is explained by the ‘gut-brain axis’ wherein there is a close connection between the brain and digestive systems. The butterflies are manifestation of stomach discomfort that is triggered by stress. The probiotic nature of curd can help settle the nervous distress to some extent. The protein in the curd combined with carbohydrates from sugar provide a quick energy boost and enhance alertness, which are needed at the start of a journey, or a day which could be potentially draining (think exam or interview!). Curd also has a cooling effect on the body which can help calm nerves and reduce stress. It is a soothing food that the brain associates with safety and comfort. Thus it can help one to be a bit less ‘hot and bothered’ at the onset of an important event. It is a soothing food that the brain associates with safety and comfort.

These sound more plausible. However, all the ancient texts and contemporary theories seem to miss out on the key ingredient that make dahi-cheeni so special. It is a gesture of love and care; a form of confidence and protection bestowed by loving ones on their loved ones. It is the taste that lingers in the mouth as one steps into a taxi, or into an examination hall, or an interview. It is the flavour that says ‘we are with you, we always wish the best for you, we believe in you’. How much more can be heaped into a single spoonful?  

–Mamata     

Toy Story

Meena’s piece on ‘stupid’ toys resonated deeply as I was recently observing my young grandchild ‘play’ with endless possibilities offered by a discarded cardboard carton and corrugated packing material. From basement parking, a hideaway for stashing precious knicks and knacks, to becoming a bumpy road in a ‘rough road-smooth road’ scenario, the original contents of the package became irrelevant in the light of the child’s imagination, in which a host of exciting make-believe objects took on mind-boggling avatars.

Toys that adults may decry as “stupid” afford hours of enjoyment to a child. A toy is described as an object for play, especially for children, or a miniature replica of something real. Toys could be broadly classified on the basis of the material used, like wooden toys, clay toys, cloth toys etc., or the kind of play that they are used in like pulling toys, rattles, dolls and mechanical toys.

The fascination for such objects is as old as humankind is. The earliest toys were made from materials found in nature such as stones, sticks and clay. Anthropologists have found evidence of such toys dating as far back as there is a record of human life. Such toys have been unearthed at the sites of most of the ancient civilizations.  

India has a long and rich tradition of such toys. The origins can be traced back to the Indus Valley Civilization. A wide range of toys have been discovered during archaeological excavations at different sites in Mohenjo daro and Harappa. These include clay figurines, dolls, carts and wheeled animals, as well as whistles shaped like birds, and toy monkeys which could slide down a string. These were made from locally available material, and many of these have lived on through the centuries, with some changes but retaining their essence. Today these are described as indigenous or ‘folk toys’.

India still has a living culture of indigenous toys. Traditionally these were linked with fairs (melas) and festivals where the artisans would themselves sell their own products.  These toys usually fall in two broad categories—static toys and dynamic toys.

Static toys are those that are basically representational like dolls, figures of animals and birds, and models representing themes of everyday life. Many static toys often become decorative items, while others take on ritualistic associations. These include dolls and figurines of gods and goddesses, people, animals, birds and themes related to our day-to-day environment. They are in a variety of materials, clay, wood, metal, leaves, bamboo, or paper, often using established craft techniques.

Some of these figurines are a key element of the Dussera display in homes in the Southern states during Sankranthi or Navratri. Known as Golu (Kannada), Bommala Koluvu (Telugu) or Bommai Kolu (Tamil) these elaborate displays include a great variety of such dolls collected over generations.

The tradition of making these dolls continues in several parts of India. Colourful Channapatna wooden toys are made by a few families in Channaptna town close to Bangalore and Mysore, who continue a generations old tradition, where the designs and techniques are passed on by word of mouth from parents to children.

Kondapalli toys, lightwood toys painted in vibrant colours are made by artisans in Kondapalli close to Vijaywada in Andhra Pradesh, depicting rural life, mythology, and daily life scenes.

Thanjavur toys from Tamil Nadu are roly-poly bobble headed toys made from papier mache or terracotta.

Asharikandi putola are traditional terracotta figurines of deities, animals and everyday objects, handcrafted by craftsman in a village in Assam called Asharikandi.

Almost every state in India has similar traditions and craftspeople who make such toys, but these are being eclipsed by the surge in mass produced toys, usually made of cheap plastic and often using harmful synthetic colours.

As distinct from Static toys, Dynamic folk toys create movement, change form, and make sounds. Such sensory stimuli are direct and clearly understood—which is the object of the toy. They illustrate simple themes derived from our physical environment. These toys provide simple entertainment and amusement for young children. They are simple in construction, but the design of these toys is based on the application of one or more basic principles of physics—the laws of mass and gravity, centrifugal force, simple mechanics, sound and magnetism. These toys are low cost, made of simple, everyday used materials like paper, cardboard, bits and pieces of wood, bamboo, metal sheets, wire, etc. Most of these are ephemeral in nature, lasting a few hours or days. Their themes are often humorous: a wrestler boxing, two men fighting, a joker dancing, an acrobat somersaulting, a sparrow chirruping and flying, a frog croaking, a bee humming, a horse galloping. All these themes fascinate young children.

Traditionally, such toys were associated with fairs and festivals where one could find vendors selling flutes and whistles, spinning paper wind-wheels, moving puppets, chirruping birds in motion, striking bamboo snakes, crawling paper snakes, rattles and drums, optical illusion toys, and more.

It is visiting such local melas that sparked in Sudarshan Khanna the curiosity to understand more about these objects that were simply considered as “child’s play”. Sudarshan Khanna embarked on a lifelong engagement with folk toys to become a pioneer in toy research and design. Among one of the first batches to graduate from the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad, and later as faculty there Sudarshan Khanna attended mela after mela, collecting, researching and documenting indigenous toys. He was fascinated that the makers of these toys were not formally trained engineers nor designers but they understood the mechanisms and design processes perfectly. Their products were usually eco-friendly, and always child friendly! These observations led him to encourage his ‘official’ design students to also work on toys as products, while he headed the Toy Innovation Centre at NID, one of the very few centres that offered formal programmes in toy making and design. Sudarshan Khanna’s documented work and his workshops and talks have contributed significantly to the revival in interest and conservation of folk toys.

Also a reminder that toys do not necessarily need to be ‘state-of-the art’ products, ordered online, and delivered packed in endless layers. Merry Christmas!

–Mamata

The Joy of the Bouncy Bite

Did you know that Q is a word? No, not QUEUE, but just plain Q. It is the Taiwanese name for a range of textures best translated, imperfectly, as “bouncy.” It is the degree of chewiness of a given food and how it feels against the teeth and tongue.

If you’ve ever bitten into something that resisted you just a little—neither soft nor hard, but springy, elastic, and alive—you’ve probably encountered Q without knowing its name. Think sabudana, tapioca pearls in bubble tea, or handmade noodles that snap faintly between your teeth. That sensation—the cheerful recoil, the gentle resistance—is Q.

What makes Q fascinating is that it describes not one texture, but a spectrum. There is nen-Q, soft and tender; cui-Q, crispy-bouncy; tan-Q, chewy-springy. Noodles are Q: resilient but not rubbery, lively but not tough. (In the case of pastas, I suppose ‘al dente’ is the equivalent,) Even sweets and desserts aspire to it—marshmallows, herbal jellies or sweet potato balls.

In Taiwanese food culture, to say something is Q is high praise. Q is considered one of the keys to good food in Taiwan, on par with taste, color, and consistency. It’s not about indulgence alone; it’s about skill. Achieving Q often requires precise technique: the right ratio of starch to water, the correct kneading time, the ideal temperature.

What’s intriguing is how Q resists quick translation. “Chewy” is too blunt. “Springy” is closer, but incomplete. “Bouncy” catches the spirit but misses the nuance. Q is pleasant resistance, playful elasticity, a sassy texture. It invites you back for another bite. It’s the opposite of mushy or limp.

Q became a recognised food term in Taiwan in the late 20th century — roughly the 1980s to early 1990s,when it moved from slang into mainstream food language. Interestingly, the letter Q itself is not traditional Chinese. It entered Taiwanese usage as a borrowed symbol from English, chosen because:

  • the sound (“kyu”) suggested elasticity
  • the shape felt visually “springy”
  • and there was no single Chinese word that captured the idea precisely

At first, it was slang but now it’s formal enough to appear in Taiwanese dictionaries, culinary writing, product labels and restaurant menus

In Taiwan, the term has gone beyond the kitchen and found its way into everyday speech, where it can describe hair, skin, or even the bounce in someone’s step.

In a world increasingly obsessed with flavour profiles—smoky, umami, citrusy—we sometimes forget texture altogether. Yet Q reminds us that eating is as much about feel as it is about taste.

Q—Taiwan’s playful word for “bouncy”—captures that perfect bite: springy, chewy, lively, and irresistible. From bubble-tea pearls to handmade noodles, Q celebrates food that pushes back just enough. It’s a texture so prized in Taiwan that it’s become part of the language itself, standing alongside taste and aroma. Every culture has its version of Q—al dente pasta, mochi-mochi rice cakes—and we in India find it in sabudana, fresh idlis, rasgulla, modak and more. Q is not just what you chew, but what you feel: a small, elastic joy.

Maybe every culture has its own version of Q, a word for the textures it prizes most. Italians chase al dente, the Japanese revere mochi-mochi and kori-kori. But Taiwan’s Q feels particularly evocative—a single letter carrying a thousand sensations.

So the next time you sip a bubble tea and play absently with the pearls at the bottom, or tear into a dumpling that seems to smile back at your teeth, remember this small, clever word. Q is not just what you’re chewing. It’s what you’re feeling—a quiet, elastic joy.

And here is a tour of Indian Q foods that I can think of: sabudana, fresh idli, rasgulla, modak, noodles, dhokla,  sevai, and appam.

Any others?

–Meena

Listen carefully. Listen widely. Listen without assumptions: Gallup Polls

For many of us who grew up reading international newspapers, Gallup was a familiar name—almost a synonym for “what America thinks.” Their polls were quoted in classrooms, editorials, speeches, and policy discussions. If Gallup said Americans trusted an institution, or were worried about unemployment, or supported a policy, it felt as if a nation had spoken.

November 19 marked the anniversery of the birth of the man who started it all–George Gallup, a career journalist. His interest in politics led him into the areana of forecasting polls, and he set up a company to do this. He set up the American Institute of Public Opinion in 1935 to do this, at a time when the idea of systematically measuring public opinion was almost revolutionary.

Gallup polls represent a methodology of scientific polling initiated by George S. Gallup in the 1930s, aimed at accurately assessing public sentiment. This was a significant departure from earlier, less systematic polling methods, as it emphasized the importance of selecting representative samples of the population. Gallup polls gained widespread recognition in 1936 for successfully predicting Franklin D. Roosevelt’s election victory but faced criticism in 1948 when they incorrectly forecasted Harry S. Truman’s defeat. These setbacks led to learnings, and Gallup refined his polling techniques, employing random sampling and continuous polling to enhance accuracy, particularly in presidential elections during the 1950s.

When Gallup moved to random sampling in the 1950s and began polling continuously until the eve of elections, he wasn’t chasing precision for its own sake. He recognised a deeper truth: societies shift quietly, between headlines. Polls must therefore be reliable mirrors, not hurried sketches.

Over the years, Gallup polls have become integral to political campaigns, influencing candidate nominations and public policy discussions. They have also mirrored societal changes, capturing evolving attitudes on issues such as gender equality and civil rights. Despite their utility, there is ongoing debate about the reliance on polling data by political leaders, with critics cautioning against using polls as the sole measure of success. Overall, Gallup polls continue to play a vital role in understanding public opinion and shaping political discourse.

But over the past twenty years, America has changed dramatically. People stopped answering landlines. Survey participation dropped. Voter behaviour became harder to predict. And suddenly, the organisation that once defined polling found itself struggling to keep pace with a shifting landscape.

There were headline moments—for example, missing the mark in the 2012 US presidential election—that forced painful introspection. To their credit, Gallup did omething rare: they hit pause. They stepped back from national election polling, admitted where methods were no longer working, and began a long process of rebuilding.

Today, Gallup occupies a different—but still significant—place in American public life.

They no longer dominate political horse-race coverage the way they once did. But they have pivoted towards areas where long-term, stable measurement matters more:

  • Public trust in institutions
  • Wellbeing and life evaluation
  • Workplace engagement
  • Social attitudes that evolve over years, not election cycles

Their “State of the American Workplace” and “Global Emotions Report” are now widely cited, not for predicting results, but for revealing how people feel about their lives and work. In a country where political noise can drown out quieter realities, Gallup’s longitudinal datasets offer something precious: continuity.

And that, perhaps, is Gallup’s place today. Not the sole voice of American opinion, but a steady, methodical listener in a crowded room.

And Then Comes the Indian Question…

All this inevitably leads to a Indian doubt: Do we do anything like this?

India is a nation where elections are larger than many countries, where tea stall debates spill into WhatsApp forwards, and where “sentiment” is often declared loudly—but loosely. So who is actually listening methodically?

The answer is both reassuring and sobering.

Yes, India does have organisations that follow rigorous polling practices—most famously CSDS-Lokniti, which uses sampling frames, stratified selection, field-tested questionnaires, and detailed post-poll analysis. Some private agencies also attempt scientific sampling, though with varying transparency. But polling in India faces unique challenges: population size, linguistic diversity, urban-rural divides, accessibility, and the sheer logistics of reaching voices beyond the easily reachable.

The result? While we do have pockets of high-quality research, we also have a landscape crowded with “quick polls,” “mood trackers,” and “snap surveys” whose methodology, if printed, might fit on the back of a bus ticket. Till today, election forecasts have minimum credibility.

Let’s see if all the bad press drives election forecasters to move towards more statistically sound and scientifically based approaches. Well, we can hope!

–Meena

Pic from: The India Forum

When Feet Take Flight: A Memory and the Magic of Sepak Takraw

Some memories come back vividly when there is a trigger. Sadly, the trigger for this memory was a newspaper item reporting an accident involving a Sepak Takraw team.

But the memory itself is joyful. A trip to Burma, about fifteen years ago. It was a warm afternoon in Yangon. The tea stalls were buzzing, the pagodas gleamed in the sun, and somewhere between wandering and people-watching, I found myself drawn to a small patch of open ground near a quiet lane.

A group of young boys were playing a game I had never seen before. A boy leapt into the air, spun like a dancer mid-flight, and kicked a small rattan ball clean. I stood completely still, mesmerized. It was my first encounter with Sepak Takraw. We stood and watched for quite a while—the grace, the athleticism, the sheer joy of the players—was something amazing to watch. Fortunately on the way out, I found a Sepak Takraw at the airport and bought it.

All these years later, that moment still shines brightly in memory. Because Sepak Takraw is not a sport you easily forget.

For many of us in our generation, our playground sports were familiar—gully cricket, kho-kho, maybe a weekly volleyball session if your school had both a net and enough motivation to set it up. But Sepak Takraw feels like someone took volleyball, infused it with martial arts, added the grace of classical dance, and sprinkled it with sheer joy.

In the lanes of Myanmar, Malaysia, Thailand, and Indonesia, this sport has lived for centuries. Its early form, sepak raga, simply meant “kick the rattan ball.” Communities played in circles, keeping the woven ball aloft with feet, knees, heads—much like our own childhood attempts to keep a rubber ball bouncing on our legs, but infinitely more skillful.

Over time, the game evolved. Nets were added, rules refined, teams formed. What remained unchanged was the heart of the sport—rhythm, teamwork, and an almost balletic coordination.

What struck me in that first encounter in Burma was the joy. There was no crowd, no scoreboard, just a group of boys pushing the limits of their bodies, laughing, teasing, showing off impossible kicks.

Since then, as videos of Sepak Takraw swirl across the internet, the world has begun to share in that delight. Watching professionals play is like watching physics bend slightly. The killer kick—a full somersault that sends the ball crashing down at an angle—feels like something from a choreographed stage performance. The teamwork is intuitive, almost telepathic.

Interestingly, Sepak Takraw has been creeping into India’s sporting landscape too, especially in the Northeast. Manipur in particular has embraced it with enthusiasm, with players who train tirelessly and compete internationally. Perhaps some Indian traveller today will see a game in Imphal or Aizawl and feel the same quiet awe I felt in Yangon all those years ago.

Today the game is played at international level, and has entered the AsianGames. Efforts are on to get it into the Olympic list. 

But for me, it is the memory of that afternoon in Burma—the dusty field, the laughter of boys, the swift arc of a rattan ball against the sky. It is a reminder of how sport, in its purest form, connects us across borders and time.

–Meena

Operation Cat Drop: Borneo to Cyprus

As an environmental educator there was a popular story that we used to illustrate how everything is connected, and how one step can sometimes have a chain of unanticipated consequences that disturb the delicate balance of nature. The story goes thus:

In the early 1950s, there was a severe outbreak of malaria amongst the Dayak people in Borneo. The World Health Organization tried to solve the problem. They sprayed large amounts of a chemical called DDT to kill the mosquitoes that carried the malaria. The mosquitoes died and there was less malaria. That was good. However, there were side effects. One of the first effects was that the roofs of people’s houses began to fall down on their heads. It turned out that the DDT was also killing a parasitic wasp that ate thatch-eating caterpillars. Without the wasps to eat them, there were more and more thatch-eating caterpillars. Worse than that, the insects that died from being poisoned by DDT were eaten by gecko lizards, which were then eaten by cats. The cats started to die, the rats flourished, and the people were threatened by outbreaks of two new serious diseases carried by the rats, sylvatic plague and typhus. To cope with these problems, which it had itself created, the World Health Organization had to parachute live cats into Borneo. Operation Cat Drop as it was called, air dropped a number of cats (numbers range from 20 to 1400!) into the region. This step was visualized as the initiation of a reverse cycle that could restore the chain of predator-prey, wherein the cats would feed on the rats which were posing the public health challenge.  The story did not continue to describe the new consequences of this step.

I remembered this story when I read a recent report where the problem and not the solution has started with cats!

This is on the small island nation of Cyprus in the eastern corner of the Mediterranean where currently cats outnumber the local human population!

Cyprus has a long history associated with cats. It is believed that cats were first domesticated in Ancient Egypt. But archaeological discoveries of cat remains close to human burial sites in sites in Cyprus dating back around 9500 years ago indicate that the interactions between humans and cats may have started here much earlier. It is speculated that cats must have been introduced to the island from the mainland, and there are several stories about this. One legend states that in AD 328 Saint Helena, a Roman Empress began construction on a monastery on the island. At that time a terrible drought afflicted the area, people fled and snakes proliferated. Helena got boatloads of cats shipped over from Egypt and established them in the area to destroy the snakes. The monastery was built, but also destroyed later and subsequently rebuilt several times. But the cats remained and thrived, and established themselves as an unofficial sub-breed known as the Cyprus Cat.

There is still a monastery, St. Nicholas of the Cats, that is believed to have been founded by St. Helena and where there are some cats which are purported to be the descendants of the original cats! The monastery has a tradition of taking in any stray cat brought to them in honour of the centuries of service of the felines. Cyprus itself is an island of cat nurturers where cat food dispensaries and other cat services are a common sight. This has also added to its tourist attractions (albeit for cat lovers!).

Cyprus Cats are part of the island’s identity; they are an example of how ecology, cultural history and animal love intersect. But they are also an example of how too much of a good thing can be counterproductive.

With the passage of time, no outside interference, and favourable conditions, the cat population on the island continued to grow. Unchecked breeding, especially in urban areas has now turned into an explosion of feral cats. The cats now outnumber humans. And that is a matter of concern for the civic authorities. Given cats’ predatory nature, a larger than sustainable population has the potential to wreak havoc with the island’s ecosystem. The feral cats threaten local wildlife, they become urban traffic hazards as they scavenge for food in the populated areas, and they themselves carry threat of diseases which could spread rapidly if there is an outbreak. Without sustainable measures the situation can reach an irreversible point. And ecologists are concerned that this point is close.

In recent years there have been programmes to control the cat population through sterilization, but the numbers have now exceeded manageable limits. The civic authorities feel the effective control and management of the issue needs huge funding, as well as a concerted effort which includes the active participation of NGOs, national as well as international animal welfare organisations, volunteers, the general public, as well as the tourists.

While the parachuted cats of the Borneo story became the saviours of the moment, it would be interesting to go back and review whether the cats, in turn, impacted the ecosystem. Meanwhile the Cyprus Cats continue to challenge the fragile balance.

–Mamata

Stars in the Forest: Fireflies

Photo source: https://www.firefly.org/

Poets have celebrated them, children have been awe-struck by their magic, scientists have not yet unravelled all their mysteries …These are fireflies that glow and twinkle in the dark of the night, like the stars come down to earth.

What makes a firefly? The ‘fly’ part of the name is misleading as these insects are not flies but soft-bodies beetles.

The ‘fire’ in the name is more self-explanatory. It comes from the flashes of light that these insects naturally produce. This phenomenon is called bioluminescence. It is caused through a chemical reaction by two enzymes in a firefly’s tail: Luciferin which is heat resistant and glows under the right conditions (in Latin the word Lucifer means ‘light-bearing’), and luciferase, an enzyme the triggers light emission. The two enzymes combine in the presence of magnesium, oxygen and ATP (Adenosine Triphosphate), to emit light.

This bioluminescence in fireflies is nearly 100 per cent efficient, in that very little energy is wasted to produce their light. By contrast, in an incandescent light bulb 90 per cent of the energy is lost as heat. Because it produces no heat, scientists refer to firefly lights as “cold lights.

Like most insects, fireflies have four life stages — egg, larvae, pupa, and adult. Their average lifespan is around two years, most spent of this is spent as larvae. But fireflies emit light at all stages of their life. Their tiny eggs glow in the darkness underneath leaf litter; the worm-like larvae glow as they crawl around the forest undergrowth, and the adults shine as they fly around among the forest foliage.

Scientists believe that fireflies evolved the ability to emit light to avoid predation, warn predators (like bats, birds, and toads), and signal that they are distasteful. Fireflies release drops of toxic, foul-tasting blood, and their light is an early warning that keeps predators away.

Over time, adult fireflies began using this ability to emit light as a mating signal. Every firefly species has a unique flash pattern, much like Morse code. When a male firefly wants to communicate with a female firefly, he flies near the ground while he flashes his light every six seconds. Once he’s near the ground, a female can more easily tell if he’s from the same species as she is. (Most female fireflies can’t fly.) She answers his flashes by turning on her lights. Then the male finds her. That’s how males and females of a species identify each other and mate.

After the twinkling courtship, an adult firefly lives only long enough to mate and lay eggs in the soil or on aquatic plants. The larvae hatch in around 25 days. The larval form lasts two months to over a year (depending on the species), before becoming adults and giving birth to the next generation. The larvae eat snails, worms, and slugs, which they inject with a numbing chemical to disable. An adult firefly’s life span is just one to three weeks.  Not much is known about what the adults eat; they may feed on plant pollen and nectar, or they may eat nothing.

Presently there are about 2,000 firefly species globally, although there may exist many more which are not yet known to science. They are found on all continents except Antarctica, and inhabit a wide range of habitats: forests, grasslands, marshes, coastal mangroves, and even vacant plots and city parks which meet their two important requirements: adequate food for their larval form (slugs, snails and small insect larvae), and darkness so that adult fireflies can use their light signals to find mates. At least 50 species have been reported in India, distributed across the country.

Fireflies have been on earth for at least 100 million years. Sadly in this  anthropocene epoch firefly populations are in decline. This is because the natural habitats where the adults fly and mate are destroyed or degraded, the pesticides in agriculture fields kills firefly larvae and the insects that they depend on for food. Artificial lighting from streetlights, buildings and vehicles creates light pollution and wipes the darkness that is necessary for the firefly’s signalling during mating season.

A recent year-long study carried out by Tamil Nadu Forest Department’s Advanced Institute for Wildlife Conservation (Research, Training and Education) about the insect’s genetic diversity, distribution, habitat and their ecology, and seasonal changes in population, as well as the environmental conditions at ten different locations within the Annamalai Tiger Reserve identified at least eight distinct species within different micro habitats. The studies aimed to understand the health of the ecosystem and develop strategies to conserve firefly habitats.

The study reinforced the concern that human activities, especially those that create a lot of artificial light (headlights, floodlights from religious festivals, and even the glow of mobile phones) in buffer areas around protected areas are adversely affecting fireflies. This affects synchrony, the phenomenon where thousands of fireflies flash in unison and which is an ecological marker, an indicator of habitat health.

At the same time there are also opportunities for non-scientists to enjoy the pure magic of firefly illumination at some places in Maharashtra which hold Firefly Festivals in May-June every year. Two of these are in Bhandardara (Kajwa Mahotsav) and Purushwadi.

But one can always be on the lookout for even a little spark of the magic in a dark park or garden (even your own) between May to July when adult fireflies emerge. And if you are lucky enough to spot fireflies you can become a citizen scientist by becoming a part of FireflyWatch (https://citsci-india.org/projects/project/fireflywatch/)

–Mamata

Farmers of Our Forests: Hornbills

Last week saw the launch of India’s first Centre of Excellence for Hornbill Conservation. This is hosted by the Anamalai Tiger Reserve in Tamil Nadu, and will be dedicated to the long-term study and conservation of this threatened species.

Great Hornbill

What are hornbills, and why are they threatened?

Hornbills get their name from the casque—a horn-like projection on the top of their long and downward-curving beak. While this is their defining feature, bright skin around their eyes and long eyelashes, and a brilliantly-coloured pouch of loose skin at their throat add to their striking appearance. They also have distinctive calls. Hornbills are giants among the forest birds in many ways.

There are 62 hornbill species worldwide, with 32 found in Asia and 30 in Africa. India is home to nine species. Among these: The Great Indian Hornbill or the Great Pied Hornbill is the largest among the hornbills found in India. The Malabar Pied Hornbill is endemic to tropical forests in India and Sri Lanka. The Rufous-necked Hornbill which is the most endangered, and the least studied of the nine hornbill species is found in the North-eastern parts of India.  The Narcondam Hornbill is only found in a 12 sq. km stretch in the tropical forest of the Narcondam Island in the Andaman Sea. The Malabar Grey Hornbill is endemic to the Western Ghats. The Indian Grey Hornbill is the most commonly seen hornbill species in India, and is sometimes spotted even in cities. 

Whatever the species, hornbills play a vital role in forest ecosystems as dispersers of seeds of forest plants, aiding the regeneration of forests. Hornbills are among the very few birds that can feed on fruits with large seeds. They digest only the fleshy parts of fruits that they swallow and then regurgitate the seeds, spitting them out, or defecating the seeds intact. As the hornbill flies from tree to tree, or during the nesting season flies back and forth over long distances to search for and carry food for its mate, the regurgitated cleaned seeds are dropped far and wide, enabling them to grow into trees far from the original trees from which they originated. The Namdapha National Park in Arunachal Pradesh has the highest density of hornbills across Asia. Studies have indicated that hornbills here disperse seeds at the rate of 11,000 seeds per day per sq. km! 

Thus hornbills are critical in keeping the forest alive. If we lose hornbills, many forest trees that depend on them to spread their seeds may eventually disappear from the forest too. Hornbills symbolise not only the health of a forest, but also a key to their continued survival.

Hornbills in turn, depend on a healthy tree density in the forest for their own survival. All hornbills are cavity nesters. While they cannot build their own nests or dig cavities, they use existing holes in a variety of trees to make their nest. The process begins during a month-long courtship when the male presents the female with food. As they embark on playful behaviour the pair also check out tree cavities to select their nesting site. Having done this, the two prepare the nest by cleaning it, creating the wall lining, and undertaking repair work. Once the nest is ready, the female prepares to confine herself in the nest while the male continues to provide for her needs by bringing food and nesting material. The female then seals the nest entrance with her own faeces, food and bark fragments, and mud pellets brought by the male. Only her beak protrudes out from the sealed nest. This helps to protect the eggs and chicks from predators. She lays her clutch of between two and five eggs and incubates them for over 20 days. Throughout this period the male diligently flies back and forth, feeding his mate through her protruding beak. The mother emerges from the nest shortly before the chicks themselves are ready to fly, and the chicks once again seal the nest from the inside, even as they continue to be fed. Now both the parents share in providing food and caring for the chicks. One of Nature’s many marvellous examples of nurturing the young.

This unique nesting habit of hornbills has also, in recent times, become a threat to the very existence of these birds. The fact that they use the same nests over the years makes it important to protect their nesting trees, and the habitats where they grow. The destruction of forests by habitat fragmentation, deforestation and clearance of forest areas for agriculture and dams is depriving these birds of places to nest and breed. The loss of native trees also affects their diet, posing a significant threat to their survival. Adding to these human-made threats is the impact of climate change which disrupts flowering and fruiting patterns critical to hornbill feeding and breeding. Thus it is imperative that the trees that they use, and the trees and forests that that provide them food and shelter to breed be protected. Sadly these are being rapidly depleted, thus endangering the birds

The rapidly increasing threat to these magnificent birds calls for urgent action at all levels, from the government measures to people’s efforts.

The Hornbill has great cultural symbolism among many tribes of North East India, especially in Nagaland and Arunachal Pradesh. A unique community-based initiative to protect nesting trees of hornbills is the Hornbill Nest Adoption Programme spearheaded by the Nyishi tribe in the Pakke Tiger Reserve in Arunachal Pradesh. The tribe which traditionally hunted hornbills for their casque which were a symbol of their tribal identity have become active partners in protecting and conserving the hornbill nesting areas. The programme invites donors across the world to become ‘hornbill parents’ by adopting hornbill nests. The donations help pay salaries to the local community nest protectors who patrol the area, and ensure that the habitat continues to invite these birds. What an appropriate way to celebrate a bird that is, in its unique way, a diligent nest protector and parent.

A great People’s Science initiative is Hornbill Watch, a website where anybody can share details of a hornbill sighting from anywhere in India. This user-friendly website can be accessed by people from all backgrounds to share their hornbill sightings; being a wildlife conservationist or photographer, or even an avid birder, is not a necessity. The website has information on Asian hornbills in general, and detailed descriptions of the nine species found in India, as well as photographs submitted by contributors. Over time the data collected would help in identifying and prioritizing sites for hornbill conservation.

Now the setting up of a dedicated Centre of Excellence for Hornbill Conservation is another important step. The Centre will focus on the four species that are found in the Western Ghats which is a globally recognized Biodiversity Hotspot. The four are: the Great hornbill, Malabar grey hornbill, the Malabar pied hornbill, and the Indian grey hornbill. The great hornbill and Malabar grey hornbill are categorised as vulnerable, while the Malabar pied hornbill is near threatened as per IUCN. The Centre will monitor hornbill populations, study their breeding habits, map their nesting sites and food sources, and track their movements using GPS or satellite telemetry techniques. The Centre will also engage with the local communities to work for habitat restoration and nest protection. 

The initiative looks beyond monitoring the species to protecting entire forest ecosystems upon which the hornbills depend for their survival, and which in turn are kept vibrant with help from their farmers—the Hornbills.

–Mamata