Here Are Some Field Notes on Vermiculture:Turning Garbage into Gold
Vermicompost and vermiwash are the two earthworm products that havebecome very popular nowadays. Ordinary organic garbage which consistsof litter, such as, kitchen waste and dead plant material is used andconverted into manure with the help of earthworms.
VermicompostA pit, a small plastic or wooden crate or, even a bucket, can be usedfor vermicomposting organic matter. Although not necessary, two cratescan be used simultaneously; while one is being used for fresh garbage,the garbage in the other can be allowed to decompose.
First, 6-8 holes should be made (one at each corner and four in themiddle of the crate). A pot or a bucket needs about 3-5 holes. Thecrate or pit must first be filled with a one inch layer of pebbles orbroken bricks.
Then, a half to one inch layer of sand should be spread.Over that, a five to six inch layer of soil should be spread. ThenLampito mauritii and Perionyx excavatus earthworms should beintroduced. The soil must then be moistened with water.
A little bit ofcowdung (nitrogen) and some hay (carbon) should be spread on it, andthe contents of the pit left for 20-30 days. This is called a vermibed.The cowdung and hay will allow the worms to multiply. With this, thevermicompost crate or pit will be ready for processing organic waste.All organic waste should be evenly spread out on the vermibed. As faras possible add garbage in small quantities regularly rather thandumping large quantities at one go. The earthworm begins processing thegarbage immediately. Water the container occasionally so that thevermibed remains moist.
Once the container is full with organic waste,it should be covered with a little soil and allowed to decomposeundisturbed. Only watering the pit should continue. After it hasdecomposed fully (roughly 45 days) watering must be stopped for about 3to 5 days. This will force the earthworms to migrate down to the bottomof the container which will have some moisture as compared with the topsoil. Then the top layer of soil which is really the organic matterwhich has been converted into manure should be removed withoutdisturbing the vermibed. This organic manure can be used for plants.
--an excerpt from "free from school" by rahul alvares
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Will We Become The Elephantine Tiger??
Once upon a time, in a hot and humid jungle (though one with stretches known better for heat and dust), there lived an old elephant. She was a big, slow, lumbering elephant, with a long but not always happy history, and it was widely accepted that she had known better days.
She was prone, the other animals knew, to lie back and scratch herself and talk nostalgically about the glorious past, her great accomplishments in times long gone by, but when the other animals listened they did not forget that that was really a long time ago.
After all, for some time, the elephant's own stretch of the jungle had come under the sway of a fierce lion from far away. Despite her size and strength, the elephant had proved no match for the lion and had been cowed into submission, until the day when the lion, tired of subduing distant lands, had finally slunk away.
Despite this experience, the elephant tended to lecture the other animals, secure in the conviction that she had all the answers.
She would raise her trunk and trumpet her views about the right way to do things, the correct manner of living, the ideal principles according to which to organise the jungle, and the other animals would nod politely, trying not to point out that the elephant herself hadn't done all that well, and that she was visibly becoming a bit mangy and flea-infested.
She certainly was not the strongest animal in the jungle, for her way of doing things meant that she did not grow as big and strong as she might have. (The other animals, not entirely kindly, spoke somewhat patronisingly of "the elephant's rate of growth").
She was large, of course, and that meant she could never be entirely ignored; as she came steadily, unblinkingly (and unthinkingly) on, the smaller animals at least had to get out of the way. But the number of animals who did as she did, and lived as she told them to, dwindled with each passing season.
In another part of the jungle, to the south-east, another group of animals was faring much better than our elephant. They were a sleek band of tigers, their stripes glistening in the sun that seemed inevitably to shine on their patch of forest. The tigers were lithe and well-muscled; they ate well, they bounded about, and they grew strong and contented. While tourists still came occasionally to photograph the elephant, the tigers attracted swarms of visitors, who took pictures and films which framed the tigers' fearful symmetry.
The visitors also gushed about the greenness of the grass the tigers grazed on, brought them ever more food and water, and stroked their backs till their coats glittered.
If the elephant noticed what was going on, she pretended not to; far from wondering what shoulder and what art might have twisted the sinews of the tigers' heart, she acted as if the good fortune of such small little creatures was of no consequence for an animal as large and important as an elephant.
But then, one day, she fell ill. She lay down and bellowed, until the veterinarians from the big animal hospital came running to see what the matter was.
And when they had examined her, they told her the sad truth: either she would have to change the way she was living, allow others into her jungle patch and pay attention to the needs of the other animals (needs she could help them fulfil), or she would soon have to sell her tusks to be made in-to ivory trophies for the mantelpieces of distant humans. "My tusks!" she exclaimed in consternation (and horror). "i'll never sell my tusks?!"
"Why, then," the vets said, "you must change. You must become more like the tigers." The elephant blanc-hed (which looked particularly awful under the grey pallor of her mottled skin), but said nothing. She lumbered heavily to her feet and plodded uncertainly towards her new destiny. Slowly, very slowly, but with the deliberateness for which she was known, she began to change.
As the seasons passed, the other animals began to notice that there was something different about the old elephant. She brushed off the fleas that had begun feasting on her. A certain sprightliness entered her step.
She still moved with that familiar elephantine gait, but there was a pronounced sway from side to side now, as though she was prepared to entertain all possibilities. The old fat began to give way to muscle. Her ears flapped in a way that suggested she was — surprise! — actually listening, instead of merely lecturing others.
She dipped her trunk into clean water and sprayed it liberally on herself, washing away decades of dirt and mud (though some clumps still stubbornly clung to her). She began to grow — how she began to grow! Soon the visitors started crossing over from the tigers' sanctuary to take a look.
And they started chattering to each other in excitement, since they could not believe what they were seeing. For, appearing on the elephant's back, at first faint but soon clearly visible, was the unmistakable sign of stripes.
Large, black stripes, swirling confide-ntly around her torso. And then, even as the visitors gawped with disbelief, the elephant's dirty grey skin began to acquire a distinctly golden hue.
There was no doubt about it. The elephant was becoming a tiger. Miracle of miracles! All the animals came to look, and admire. Some were afraid: imagine the strength of a tiger within the size of an elephant! What would happen to the rest of the jungle?
Others said there was no reason to worry: whatever stripes she grew, the elephant would always be an elephant at heart. And still others said, it can't last; the stripes will fade away soon enough, and we will again see the comforting sight of our old plodding, stumbling friend. Which of the animals would be right? Who knows?
Tune in a few years from now, when we will recount the next episode of our favourite animal fable.
--- "The Elephant Who Became A Tiger' by Shashi Tharoor
She was prone, the other animals knew, to lie back and scratch herself and talk nostalgically about the glorious past, her great accomplishments in times long gone by, but when the other animals listened they did not forget that that was really a long time ago.
After all, for some time, the elephant's own stretch of the jungle had come under the sway of a fierce lion from far away. Despite her size and strength, the elephant had proved no match for the lion and had been cowed into submission, until the day when the lion, tired of subduing distant lands, had finally slunk away.
Despite this experience, the elephant tended to lecture the other animals, secure in the conviction that she had all the answers.
She would raise her trunk and trumpet her views about the right way to do things, the correct manner of living, the ideal principles according to which to organise the jungle, and the other animals would nod politely, trying not to point out that the elephant herself hadn't done all that well, and that she was visibly becoming a bit mangy and flea-infested.
She certainly was not the strongest animal in the jungle, for her way of doing things meant that she did not grow as big and strong as she might have. (The other animals, not entirely kindly, spoke somewhat patronisingly of "the elephant's rate of growth").
She was large, of course, and that meant she could never be entirely ignored; as she came steadily, unblinkingly (and unthinkingly) on, the smaller animals at least had to get out of the way. But the number of animals who did as she did, and lived as she told them to, dwindled with each passing season.
In another part of the jungle, to the south-east, another group of animals was faring much better than our elephant. They were a sleek band of tigers, their stripes glistening in the sun that seemed inevitably to shine on their patch of forest. The tigers were lithe and well-muscled; they ate well, they bounded about, and they grew strong and contented. While tourists still came occasionally to photograph the elephant, the tigers attracted swarms of visitors, who took pictures and films which framed the tigers' fearful symmetry.
The visitors also gushed about the greenness of the grass the tigers grazed on, brought them ever more food and water, and stroked their backs till their coats glittered.
If the elephant noticed what was going on, she pretended not to; far from wondering what shoulder and what art might have twisted the sinews of the tigers' heart, she acted as if the good fortune of such small little creatures was of no consequence for an animal as large and important as an elephant.
But then, one day, she fell ill. She lay down and bellowed, until the veterinarians from the big animal hospital came running to see what the matter was.
And when they had examined her, they told her the sad truth: either she would have to change the way she was living, allow others into her jungle patch and pay attention to the needs of the other animals (needs she could help them fulfil), or she would soon have to sell her tusks to be made in-to ivory trophies for the mantelpieces of distant humans. "My tusks!" she exclaimed in consternation (and horror). "i'll never sell my tusks?!"
"Why, then," the vets said, "you must change. You must become more like the tigers." The elephant blanc-hed (which looked particularly awful under the grey pallor of her mottled skin), but said nothing. She lumbered heavily to her feet and plodded uncertainly towards her new destiny. Slowly, very slowly, but with the deliberateness for which she was known, she began to change.
As the seasons passed, the other animals began to notice that there was something different about the old elephant. She brushed off the fleas that had begun feasting on her. A certain sprightliness entered her step.
She still moved with that familiar elephantine gait, but there was a pronounced sway from side to side now, as though she was prepared to entertain all possibilities. The old fat began to give way to muscle. Her ears flapped in a way that suggested she was — surprise! — actually listening, instead of merely lecturing others.
She dipped her trunk into clean water and sprayed it liberally on herself, washing away decades of dirt and mud (though some clumps still stubbornly clung to her). She began to grow — how she began to grow! Soon the visitors started crossing over from the tigers' sanctuary to take a look.
And they started chattering to each other in excitement, since they could not believe what they were seeing. For, appearing on the elephant's back, at first faint but soon clearly visible, was the unmistakable sign of stripes.
Large, black stripes, swirling confide-ntly around her torso. And then, even as the visitors gawped with disbelief, the elephant's dirty grey skin began to acquire a distinctly golden hue.
There was no doubt about it. The elephant was becoming a tiger. Miracle of miracles! All the animals came to look, and admire. Some were afraid: imagine the strength of a tiger within the size of an elephant! What would happen to the rest of the jungle?
Others said there was no reason to worry: whatever stripes she grew, the elephant would always be an elephant at heart. And still others said, it can't last; the stripes will fade away soon enough, and we will again see the comforting sight of our old plodding, stumbling friend. Which of the animals would be right? Who knows?
Tune in a few years from now, when we will recount the next episode of our favourite animal fable.
--- "The Elephant Who Became A Tiger' by Shashi Tharoor
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Gitanjali:35
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
--Rabindranath Tagore
--Rabindranath Tagore
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Old age..
as i watch my grandfather move around the house carefully measuring each step's worth before fully committing to it, i wonder if this is the cruelest lesson one learns..this definitely is the harshest way that the powers-that-be have chosen to put the point across..some point is being rubbed in, i'm not sure what..n i wonder who the message is being sent out to.. to us, the un-old or to the ones themselves in preparing for a new life...
Granny...
This one is in memory of my grandmother, who was fondly called biji..
She found her new home on 5th jan,2007...
Sifting through the ashes for her last remains
My mind wanders back in time
Glimpses of the past flash across
The hearty laugh, that toothy smile
Now confined to the limits of a frame
Sits in a corner who once knew no bounds
My hands that held her till yesterday
Can only clutch at old photographs
Its funny how life plays around
She used to ask me to sit and talk
And i never had anything to narrate
Places switched as she lay ill,I was begging her to talk
I could go on about anything,if only she would respond
Jus once i want to hear her still
But she has wandered out of my reach
Probably she's talking,should stop and listen hard
Maybe she's singing my favourite song
Each time i cross her room cant help peeping in
My heart stops for a second,waiting for the familiar call
How she loved me and how i loved you granny
Shit shit shit!,I cant believe she's gone
The ashes have been gathered,her remains have been pouched
Where yesterday lay my granny,now lies dead dry ground
The truth is still sinking,the knife twists each time
Have to live without her,just have to bear the pain.
She found her new home on 5th jan,2007...
Sifting through the ashes for her last remains
My mind wanders back in time
Glimpses of the past flash across
The hearty laugh, that toothy smile
Now confined to the limits of a frame
Sits in a corner who once knew no bounds
My hands that held her till yesterday
Can only clutch at old photographs
Its funny how life plays around
She used to ask me to sit and talk
And i never had anything to narrate
Places switched as she lay ill,I was begging her to talk
I could go on about anything,if only she would respond
Jus once i want to hear her still
But she has wandered out of my reach
Probably she's talking,should stop and listen hard
Maybe she's singing my favourite song
Each time i cross her room cant help peeping in
My heart stops for a second,waiting for the familiar call
How she loved me and how i loved you granny
Shit shit shit!,I cant believe she's gone
The ashes have been gathered,her remains have been pouched
Where yesterday lay my granny,now lies dead dry ground
The truth is still sinking,the knife twists each time
Have to live without her,just have to bear the pain.
Agony And The Man...
He tries to cross the fence
The barb-wires tear through his flesh
Blood splutters blurring his vision
But the focus is not lost.
He pulls the chains with all his might
They dont yield, yet
Muscles rupture, veins burst
Suffocating on his own breath
Strangled by the passing time
He is not strong enough still
And the storm brews.
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