S entenced to death by the gas chamber yet again. I have fled and sought asylum in Goa once more, hoping to meet up with some of my old acquaintances here. They, I find seem to be goofing off too but news of my arrival seems to have gone around and now, somewhat sheepishly, I suspect they are showing themselves again.

My old friend the magpie robin seems to have given up his position on top of the water tank for his flute concertos (crows and jungle mynas disport themselves on it) – though you can’t really blame him because this is not the season for birdsong as such. So, he hops around diffidently in the garden, letting off the occasional long whistle and harsh ‘chrr’ to ensure other magpie robins don’t get ideas. I think he ‘puts up’ as they like to say somewhere just behind the house

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