Listen here:
Excerpts from the interview:
Q. Ranjit, you’ve been writing since the 1990s. How did you first find your way into storytelling and publishing?
A . Well, I never wanted to be a writer from the start. I liked writing, but I wanted to do automobile design and engineering — health issues stopped that. I began writing for The Times of India middle column. I had varied interests — natural history, birds, cars — and later, cooking. One of my father's friends suggested writing a book. It sounded pompous to me, but since I was doing a lot of birding at Bharatpur, ideas started coming.
I began writing Crow Chronicles, my first book. It took two to three years to do one-third, then I pushed myself to finish it in six months. Penguin took it up straight away. After that, I wrote The Life and Times of Altu Faltu, based on monkeys around my Delhi home — they were a nuisance, so I took my revenge by turning people I disliked into monkey characters. The idea was that even if someone recognised themselves, they couldn’t sue, because they’d have to admit they were the monkey.
Then came other subjects — insects, with The Caterpillar Who Went on a Diet; female infanticide with Faces in the Water triggered by a news report from Haryana; and dementia with Our Nana Was a Nutcase, based on my father’s Alzheimer's.
In nonfiction, I wrote about insects and then, under Jaya's persuasion, tackled climate change. Initially, I hesitated because of all the doom and gloom. But after reading, I realised many people are doing good work that goes unnoticed. Like the two Balinese sisters, aged 11 and 13, who campaigned successfully to ban plastic bags in Bali.
Q. Over your years of birdwatching and nature walks, what changes have you observed , and what do you hope to keep highlighting through your narratives?
A . We’ll never really get the better of nature. Even in technology, nature is far ahead. For example, scientists studying how lizards grip ceilings discovered they use molecular forces — a kind of natural nanotechnology. Similarly, for a long time, we didn’t understand how insects could fly because conventional aerodynamics said they shouldn’t. Research later showed they created tiny tornadoes with their wings to generate lift.
Nature is endlessly fascinating. Just being out in a forest or by the beach brings a deep calm, even without actively observing anything. I believe we were all born barefoot — that connection to the earth is natural. Every little detail, like how a grasshopper catapults itself or how a butterfly, seemingly flying erratically, still lands perfectly on a flower, is a marvel we often overlook. As a child growing up in Madras with big gardens, I spent my days outside, learning firsthand — which ants to avoid, how frogs behaved, or that fishing in a well with a paperclip was a lost cause. Without the Internet back then, learning came directly from experience.
Today, birdwatching has changed drastically. When I started, it was seen as a strange hobby for idle people — once, police even suggested we should just go to the zoo! Now, thanks to WhatsApp groups and the Internet, birding has exploded. It's become competitive, with people chasing "lifers" — birds they see for the first time. However, there's a downside: photographers sometimes disturb birds, especially at nests, leading many groups to ban nest photography. Still, the overall interest in nature has grown massively.
Through my column, I just hope to remind people that you don't have to visit national parks to experience nature — it’s everywhere. Just yesterday, I found a beautifully striped skunk by the pool. Nature is always close by; you just have to keep your eyes open.
Q. Do you find that your skills as a nature lover and birdwatcher cross-pollinate with your storytelling?
A . Well, yes, one does try to observe as best one can. But over the last few years, I haven't been birding as much, and you get out of practice. It's like any sport or musical instrument — you need to practice. A few days ago, I went to a lovely lake, supposed to be a waterfowl paradise. There wasn't a duck in sight, but plenty of woodland birds. I found myself struggling, not just to identify but even to spot them. I had my Man Friday with me, who's very good at spotting, but earlier I used to spot them easily myself. Now you're looking straight at a bird and not seeing it. You must keep at it and get back into the groove — it’s startling to realise you’re hearing but not seeing them because you're not looking properly.
What interests me more is bird behavior. Like yesterday, there was a peepal or some sort of fig tree in berry. A quartet of koels, like mafiosi, were driving every other bird away. There was enough fruit for every bird in the area, but no coppersmiths or others were around. Then a pair of hornbills joined forces with the koels, refusing to allow any others near the tree — complete dog-in-the-manger behavior, just like humans.
So, I prefer observing what birds are doing rather than just listing different species. It's about questioning why they behave a certain way — that's where it becomes interesting.
Q. In Our Potpourri Planet , despite the gloom of climate change, there's hope through youngsters making a difference. Isn't that what you often do — observe, see the larger picture, and share it, even unconsciously, through your columns?
A . Yeah, well, that's how I see things. Last year, when I was here, there was a huge drama at the swimming pool with ants. I used to rescue these big ants from the water, but the chlorine probably poisoned them. The smaller ants would come out, drag the bigger ones into their colonies, one of which was under a corner of the pool. It was quite a task, like a tug pulling a jumbo jet, but together they managed. There were also bees and flies — we once picked up a big fly, put it outside, and soon ants were feasting on it. They dropped it in the water and several lines of ants fell in too. But I got a short story out of it. You just need a little patience. I've always believed you don't have to go to nature; nature comes to you. Sit quietly for half an hour, and things will start happening. You just have to keep your eyes and ears open.
Q. True, you can simply watch the magnificence of nature unfold around you. What kind of stories interest you — the ones you experience, or the ones you wish to share?
A . Yeah, these stories just come to you. For example, here in Goa, there’s this lovely songbird called the magpie robin. When we came here years ago for a holiday, one used to start singing around 5:30 in the morning. You come for a holiday and think, oh gosh, but here’s this bird, dressed in a tuxedo first thing in the morning, singing for you — you can't disrespect him. You listen, and after five or ten minutes, he stops. Then, from a little distance, another magpie robin starts a different song. I thought, good God, he’s got a jugalbandi competition going!
Male birds usually sing to woo females or to warn other males off. Then on the third morning, there was a third song, each better than the last. But in the garden, I could only spot one pair of magpie robins, so I was puzzled. Later, I read in a book that sometimes male birds deliberately sing different songs from different perches, pretending to be different males, to trick rivals into staying away. This guy had claimed a huge territory — swimming pool, flower beds, everything. And I got a story out of that too. That’s what keeps you ticking over.
Q. How do you shift between different audiences — effortlessly because the story demands it, or with effort?
A . I think it’s what the story demands. For example, in My Nana was a Nutcase, the children ranged from 6–7 to 16–17 years, so I had to cater to different age groups. A 12-year-old reader had to identify with both the younger kids and the teenagers, whose perspectives differ. The story itself guides the approach. Here, the story is told by the eldest girl, the most stable one, while the youngest two are twins always trying to make money through scams. The elder sisters watch over them to see what they’re plotting. Generally, I first create my characters, then think of a plot and put them into it — seeing how people like them would behave in that setting.
Q. Do you repeat your characters? How do you keep them unique and avoid muddling them up in your writing or presentation?
A. I think the story generally dictates that, because as long as I'm not repeating the same kind of story, I won't have the same kind of character. They might share common traits, like a love for nature, but it depends on the plot and what the story is about. I also love making animals into characters — like in The Tigers of Taboo Valley — because then you can poke fun at human society without risking trouble.
Q. Do you think it' s not just about nature, but about man coexisting in harmony with it?
A . Yeah. Otherwise, we won't survive. If we don't coexist peacefully and destroy nature, it will destroy us. The whole world is run by insects — no bees, no ants, and you're finished. I've got a frightening book about what's happening to insects. But there are always two points of view: the dire ones who say it's all doomed, and the hopeful ones who believe there’s still a lot we can do. Some conservation efforts have been successful — we've saved the Indian lion, for example. Our trouble is we wait for a crisis before trying to fix things, like with the tiger population. We don't have a long-term perspective. Think about it: 4,000 tigers against 1.4 billion people — what are the odds? We really need to appreciate nature because it's running the world. Insects, fungi under plant roots — they're keeping everything alive. We'd be finished without them.
Q. While nature and the environment are in a gloomy state right now, should there always still be hope?
A. That's important because if you give up hope, people will wonder, what's the point? Why read this book if it's all doom and gloom? Things are bad enough. I keep saying, when I start my day with three newspapers, I'm already depressed three times before breakfast, and then TV adds more gloom. So you need to lift spirits and show that it's not all black—there's a lot of good and interesting stuff happening too. Once you get interested, you won't let it go. The problem with children today is that they don't seem passionately interested in many things; skimming the internet has short-circuited their brain systems. But if you dive into something even slightly interesting, you'll discover so much.
Excerpts from the interview:
Q. Ranjit, you’ve been writing since the 1990s. How did you first find your way into storytelling and publishing?
A . Well, I never wanted to be a writer from the start. I liked writing, but I wanted to do automobile design and engineering — health issues stopped that. I began writing for The Times of India middle column. I had varied interests — natural history, birds, cars — and later, cooking. One of my father's friends suggested writing a book. It sounded pompous to me, but since I was doing a lot of birding at Bharatpur, ideas started coming.
I began writing Crow Chronicles, my first book. It took two to three years to do one-third, then I pushed myself to finish it in six months. Penguin took it up straight away. After that, I wrote The Life and Times of Altu Faltu, based on monkeys around my Delhi home — they were a nuisance, so I took my revenge by turning people I disliked into monkey characters. The idea was that even if someone recognised themselves, they couldn’t sue, because they’d have to admit they were the monkey.
Then came other subjects — insects, with The Caterpillar Who Went on a Diet; female infanticide with Faces in the Water triggered by a news report from Haryana; and dementia with Our Nana Was a Nutcase, based on my father’s Alzheimer's.
In nonfiction, I wrote about insects and then, under Jaya's persuasion, tackled climate change. Initially, I hesitated because of all the doom and gloom. But after reading, I realised many people are doing good work that goes unnoticed. Like the two Balinese sisters, aged 11 and 13, who campaigned successfully to ban plastic bags in Bali.
Q. Over your years of birdwatching and nature walks, what changes have you observed , and what do you hope to keep highlighting through your narratives?
A . We’ll never really get the better of nature. Even in technology, nature is far ahead. For example, scientists studying how lizards grip ceilings discovered they use molecular forces — a kind of natural nanotechnology. Similarly, for a long time, we didn’t understand how insects could fly because conventional aerodynamics said they shouldn’t. Research later showed they created tiny tornadoes with their wings to generate lift.
Nature is endlessly fascinating. Just being out in a forest or by the beach brings a deep calm, even without actively observing anything. I believe we were all born barefoot — that connection to the earth is natural. Every little detail, like how a grasshopper catapults itself or how a butterfly, seemingly flying erratically, still lands perfectly on a flower, is a marvel we often overlook. As a child growing up in Madras with big gardens, I spent my days outside, learning firsthand — which ants to avoid, how frogs behaved, or that fishing in a well with a paperclip was a lost cause. Without the Internet back then, learning came directly from experience.
Today, birdwatching has changed drastically. When I started, it was seen as a strange hobby for idle people — once, police even suggested we should just go to the zoo! Now, thanks to WhatsApp groups and the Internet, birding has exploded. It's become competitive, with people chasing "lifers" — birds they see for the first time. However, there's a downside: photographers sometimes disturb birds, especially at nests, leading many groups to ban nest photography. Still, the overall interest in nature has grown massively.
Through my column, I just hope to remind people that you don't have to visit national parks to experience nature — it’s everywhere. Just yesterday, I found a beautifully striped skunk by the pool. Nature is always close by; you just have to keep your eyes open.
Q. Do you find that your skills as a nature lover and birdwatcher cross-pollinate with your storytelling?
A . Well, yes, one does try to observe as best one can. But over the last few years, I haven't been birding as much, and you get out of practice. It's like any sport or musical instrument — you need to practice. A few days ago, I went to a lovely lake, supposed to be a waterfowl paradise. There wasn't a duck in sight, but plenty of woodland birds. I found myself struggling, not just to identify but even to spot them. I had my Man Friday with me, who's very good at spotting, but earlier I used to spot them easily myself. Now you're looking straight at a bird and not seeing it. You must keep at it and get back into the groove — it’s startling to realise you’re hearing but not seeing them because you're not looking properly.
What interests me more is bird behavior. Like yesterday, there was a peepal or some sort of fig tree in berry. A quartet of koels, like mafiosi, were driving every other bird away. There was enough fruit for every bird in the area, but no coppersmiths or others were around. Then a pair of hornbills joined forces with the koels, refusing to allow any others near the tree — complete dog-in-the-manger behavior, just like humans.
So, I prefer observing what birds are doing rather than just listing different species. It's about questioning why they behave a certain way — that's where it becomes interesting.
Q. In Our Potpourri Planet , despite the gloom of climate change, there's hope through youngsters making a difference. Isn't that what you often do — observe, see the larger picture, and share it, even unconsciously, through your columns?
A . Yeah, well, that's how I see things. Last year, when I was here, there was a huge drama at the swimming pool with ants. I used to rescue these big ants from the water, but the chlorine probably poisoned them. The smaller ants would come out, drag the bigger ones into their colonies, one of which was under a corner of the pool. It was quite a task, like a tug pulling a jumbo jet, but together they managed. There were also bees and flies — we once picked up a big fly, put it outside, and soon ants were feasting on it. They dropped it in the water and several lines of ants fell in too. But I got a short story out of it. You just need a little patience. I've always believed you don't have to go to nature; nature comes to you. Sit quietly for half an hour, and things will start happening. You just have to keep your eyes and ears open.
Q. True, you can simply watch the magnificence of nature unfold around you. What kind of stories interest you — the ones you experience, or the ones you wish to share?
A . Yeah, these stories just come to you. For example, here in Goa, there’s this lovely songbird called the magpie robin. When we came here years ago for a holiday, one used to start singing around 5:30 in the morning. You come for a holiday and think, oh gosh, but here’s this bird, dressed in a tuxedo first thing in the morning, singing for you — you can't disrespect him. You listen, and after five or ten minutes, he stops. Then, from a little distance, another magpie robin starts a different song. I thought, good God, he’s got a jugalbandi competition going!
Male birds usually sing to woo females or to warn other males off. Then on the third morning, there was a third song, each better than the last. But in the garden, I could only spot one pair of magpie robins, so I was puzzled. Later, I read in a book that sometimes male birds deliberately sing different songs from different perches, pretending to be different males, to trick rivals into staying away. This guy had claimed a huge territory — swimming pool, flower beds, everything. And I got a story out of that too. That’s what keeps you ticking over.
Q. How do you shift between different audiences — effortlessly because the story demands it, or with effort?
A . I think it’s what the story demands. For example, in My Nana was a Nutcase, the children ranged from 6–7 to 16–17 years, so I had to cater to different age groups. A 12-year-old reader had to identify with both the younger kids and the teenagers, whose perspectives differ. The story itself guides the approach. Here, the story is told by the eldest girl, the most stable one, while the youngest two are twins always trying to make money through scams. The elder sisters watch over them to see what they’re plotting. Generally, I first create my characters, then think of a plot and put them into it — seeing how people like them would behave in that setting.
Q. Do you repeat your characters? How do you keep them unique and avoid muddling them up in your writing or presentation?
A. I think the story generally dictates that, because as long as I'm not repeating the same kind of story, I won't have the same kind of character. They might share common traits, like a love for nature, but it depends on the plot and what the story is about. I also love making animals into characters — like in The Tigers of Taboo Valley — because then you can poke fun at human society without risking trouble.
Q. Do you think it' s not just about nature, but about man coexisting in harmony with it?
A . Yeah. Otherwise, we won't survive. If we don't coexist peacefully and destroy nature, it will destroy us. The whole world is run by insects — no bees, no ants, and you're finished. I've got a frightening book about what's happening to insects. But there are always two points of view: the dire ones who say it's all doomed, and the hopeful ones who believe there’s still a lot we can do. Some conservation efforts have been successful — we've saved the Indian lion, for example. Our trouble is we wait for a crisis before trying to fix things, like with the tiger population. We don't have a long-term perspective. Think about it: 4,000 tigers against 1.4 billion people — what are the odds? We really need to appreciate nature because it's running the world. Insects, fungi under plant roots — they're keeping everything alive. We'd be finished without them.
Q. While nature and the environment are in a gloomy state right now, should there always still be hope?
A. That's important because if you give up hope, people will wonder, what's the point? Why read this book if it's all doom and gloom? Things are bad enough. I keep saying, when I start my day with three newspapers, I'm already depressed three times before breakfast, and then TV adds more gloom. So you need to lift spirits and show that it's not all black—there's a lot of good and interesting stuff happening too. Once you get interested, you won't let it go. The problem with children today is that they don't seem passionately interested in many things; skimming the internet has short-circuited their brain systems. But if you dive into something even slightly interesting, you'll discover so much.
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