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One day when I was at home in my house in New Delhi, I answered the door. The chowkidar (guard) was standing there to ask me if I could see a visitor? I agreed, and a man stepped into view. He was one of my neighbors. In his hand was a dead peacock. He had a sheepish, sort of frightened look on his face. He asked me if I would please take the bird, which he had accidentally shot. It was illegal to kill peacocks. In fact as any good Hindu will tell you, you will not kill any living thing, period. So, I grasped the problem right away, and took the bird without asking any questions. With a relieved look and a broad smile, my neighbor went back home empty handed.

Our cook Rama Rao didn’t ask any questions, either. He plucked the bird, carefully disposed of the plumage, and we had a roasted peacock. It did not taste like chicken, folks. I felt a little like Julius Caesar, I must admit.

Every morning I got up and had my pot of tea at my desk in the den. There was a big window there that could be opened, and I would sit there watching the birds making their early morning rounds. It was a very good time of the day.

The variety of birds in India never failed to astound me. From humming birds and other tiny birds, to parakeets, peacocks, various cranes (some standing as high as a man) and ubiquitous crow. It was an animal rights dream.

I remember one train trip I was taking to Amritsar in the Punjab. Looking out the window across the fields at sundown, the flocks of crows, seeking a place to roost for the coming night, absolutely blocked out the sunset. I have never, ever, seen so many crows. In general I considered the crows a noisy nuisance. They do perform a useful function, though. They scavenge, and will eat just about anything. So nothing lies around for very long. There is no garbage lying about in New Delhi. It is consumed or recycled. Come to think of it, the Indians were probably the ones that invented recycling. Nothing is wasted or thrown away.

In late summer, when I planted a small garden out back of the house, the birds would eat the delicate sprouts. I had to cover the garden with netting to protect the seedlings. Once established, the net was removed, and the birds then served to keep my garden free of insects. I grew beautiful butter head lettuce, chard, spinach, beets, even Brussels sprouts.

There were cows everywhere, wandering down the streets browsing on anything available. Relaxing in the middle of a busy city motorway. These animals seem to belong to no one, but in actuality, they belonged to everyone. It is illegal to slaughter cows. They are a religious representation. There is even an old cows home in Vrindaban, home of Lord Krishna, the Hindu God always depicted having a blue face. The home is there expressly to take in old, dying cows. Sort of a cow hospice. Oddly, milk is not gotten from cows. The milk from the water buffalo is prized for making cheese, ice cream, yoghurt and ghee (clarified butter) for the vegetarian diet. Buffalo milk is very rich in butter fat, and makes the best ice cream I have ever tasted.

Buffalo meat, taken from calves, is the Indian substitute for beef. We had a man bring it by the house once a week, and we would pick out what we wanted. Usually, it was the tenderloin. It was very reasonably priced. There are areas of India where beef is available. I used to bring it back with me whenever I made a trip to Calcutta. The Bengalis allowed killing of beef. So when our guests, dining on buffalo steaks, asked where I got the beef, I would tell them, ‘Calcutta’.

Cow manure is carefully gathered up, shaped with the hands into a pita-bread sized patty, and stuck to the side of the house to dry. Once dry it is odorless, and burns well. It is the most common fuel for cooking and heating. It does produce a haze of smoke, but it is odorless and probably harmless. In winter time, with early morning temperature inversions, there is a haze covering Indian cities. The foreign comics in Delhi called it ‘shog’.

Rhesus monkeys were frequently seen in the housing areas. Usually a big male with several females and lots of little ones. They were not to be trifled with, either. A large Rhesus monkey will weigh about 100 pounds and he has 4 arms. The tactic is simple. With clear intentions, those darling little animals will run up to you, jump up and grab you, and bite your face off. More people die in India every year from monkey bites, than from snake bites. So when they come through the yard, you just get up and go into the house and hope they keep going.

We were sort of camped out in our house in July 72, when our household goods, coming from Bangkok, were delivered in their large lift vans. I was astonished to see them coming down the street, a parade of rubber-tired carts drawn by combinations of oxen and water buffalo. Slow but sure. I wish I had a picture of that. It is not unusual to see camels teamed up with oxen, to pull a cart.

The Asian elephant is considerably smaller than its African cousin. But there are many of them that have been domesticated for use in various jobs, the local equivalent of a small tractor dozer or loader would be used. It is not uncommon to see them ambling down the street with their mahouts on their back, pulling branches off of trees as they go, stuffing them into their mouths. On motor trips to Kerala and Mysore state, I would encounter wild elephants on the road, usually at night. An alert bull elephant, ears outstretched and trunk elevated, caught in the head lights is an imposing sight, let me tell you!

When I left India to live and work in Damascus, Syria, I found it to be devoid of flora and fauna. One of the things I missed the most about India was the wildlife. Almost total absence. Sheep and goats, yes. But not much else. It was not all due to the environment, either. In the middle east, the common practice seemed to be to kill it.

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