Today, January 7, is the birth anniversary of Gerald Durrell, beloved author to some, and to others a path-breaking conservationist who changed the flavour of the word 'zoo'. I have been inspired by Durrell for most of my life, although circumstances (and a general lack of guts and initiative) have prevented me from following in his footsteps. As a child, though, I kept whatever animals I could find around the house - and these included but were not limited to snails, scorpions, toads, centipedes, millipedes and those delightful transit passengers - caterpillars. Often, I journeyed far to collect specimens for my menagerie. They were well looked after and never suffered for want of nourishment, exercise or entertainment. I had then a band of schoolmates with similar afflictions and, frequently, we fell in and out over ideological and egotistical issues. Yet, we remained united in our reverence for Gerald Durrell.
January 7 also marks the day, six years ago, that my wife and I decided to be fellow-travellers on life's journey. I have her to thank for enduring my babble 24x7, and for her encouragement for keeping this blog alive.
This piece, titled 'My Family and Other Animals', was written for the October issue of M magazine. Wildlife Week is observed in October.
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| Gerald Durrell (1925-1995) |
The Octobers of my childhood were awaited eagerly for Wildlife Week. I’d re-read Gerald Durrell until the red colobus monkey appeared in my dreams. I’d wear out tapes of David Attenborough’s Living Planet recorded from TV. I’d win painting and essay competitions urging the world to save wildlife. It was a time of celebration.
It was also a time when neighbours kept away from my family.
At first it puzzled my parents why the sight of me made the usually affable Mr Murthy bound across the road like a wallaby. Or why Mrs Ambujam, the fat lady next door (who never sang, mercifully), forbade her son from speaking to me.
The answers weren’t blowing in the wind, but in time my parents learned that they crawled in a cubbyhole at the back of the house. Here I kept racks of bottles, buckets of dark fluids trembling with unseen life, and glass tanks that seemed to most people to contain nothing unless they looked very carefully (and then shrank back in horror).
This was my Laboratory of Life, a place of many happy discoveries.