Above: Impatiens acaulis in a rocky habitat at the Sanctuary

It’s the tail end of the south-west monsoon. The north-east  rains are about to begin. The gap between the two is very short this time. I’m sitting by some Impatiens plants in the shola habitat of the Sanctuary’s plant conservation area.The petals of each and every Impatiens flower glisten from the last shower, and the whole slope above me is backlit  in the morning sun. There are several different species of Impatiens here, some on trees, some on rocks, some growing tall and shrubby, others that are  annual, among grass. I watch them dipping their leaves in the warm breeze. They seem to thrive  in large gregarious huddles. They also snuggle up with mosses, grasses, orchids and all kinds of other plants. I watch the dazzle of colour, pinks and whites and crimsons and reds, offset by greens of every hue. 

Outplanted epiphytic Impatiens

Impatiens flowers are notorious among botanists for their so-called changeable characters. J. D Hooker,  who attempted the first classification of the species within the genus in the early 1900s complained that they are a ‘terror to botanists’ and ‘deceitful above all plants, and desperately wicked’.  And this too at a time when only  158 species had been described by botanists of the day. Now, over 850 species are described, mostly distributed in the tropics, from Africa to India, South Asia, southern China and Japan. The fact that there are only  a handful of  species found in America and Europe, presents a puzzle to phylogeneticists studying the group.

Above: A closer look at the flowers of a scapigerous Impatiens

I perch on my rocky ledge and wonder how  Noah would have dealt with the Impatiens. How would he have decided on what is a kind, in his mission to have on board the ark, two and two of every kind? How would he have  distinguished between  different species in what’s arguably the largest genus in the whole world, at 1000 species (including the ones not yet described but still being debated). And would he have allowed them to multiply on board, and to further speciate too?

I’ve had a lot of problems with Noah, and not just because of his high handed choice of limiting the lucky ones  to only two per kind, but also for all the assumptions he must have made about sex and biology, about what constitutes  a minimum viable number, and whether individuals can exist outside of mixed species communities, in other words, whether there can be meaningful conservation if individuals removed from habitat. 

Above: Another scapigerous Impatiens

For if I were Noah, I would, in a heartbeat,  choose my personal friends and family (human and nonhuman) of course, but then I’d assume each of them would want to make their own further choices, and I’d acknowledge the interdependency between all of us, that is, between all creatures: animals, plants, fungi, and bacteria; and then I’d leave it up to everybody, to gather all those who they felt a belonging with. All this assuming that I, and I alone, had this choice, which of course begs a whole other series of questions on how any of us has the right to choose the fate of another. The ark concept, on closer look, is quite fraught, and needs to be rethought for those of us who work in conservation, and those of us who use the word ark as a metaphor to describe these refugia, and those of us who think of our captive breeding and ex-situ conservation centres as arks, where we-in-control, exercise choice, restriction, and the power to include or exclude one or the other. Which is not to say we don’t have limitations on what we can or not do (especially considering how the wild world is being further rapidly decimated). 

We acknowledge at the Sanctuary, that these choices are born out of space and time constraints partly, but much more out of our own abilities or lack of.  Cultivating specific plants such that they happily grow into populations, and into communities, takes a long time, and the learning curve is very steep. We have to make sure we don’t lose any in the first place. If things work out,  then it leads to better skills for growing other similar plants. Besides, we have  to encourage habitat growth at the same time as well, which in turn leads to conditions that other plants prefer, and these together, sound horticulture, combined with habitat rehabilitation or restoration is a far more effective way to support the plants we bring in through our search and rescue operations for rare and endangered species.

Above: Epiphytic Impatiens have pronounced juglike spurs

To complete the Noah issue, I would also have a problem on deciding on kind, or species, as a (taxonomically defined) discrete entity, when, pretty much everyone I see on this slope, is cohabiting in community, and I see the influence of environment on the bodies of each, and the behaviour of each, and how these so called discrete characters, are actually quite flexible, and certainly in the case of the Impatiens, they seem to be very flexible for they seem to be speciating under our very noses! The point being, these Impatiens are happy with these grasses, and these mosses, and these Wendlandia trees. And that perhaps left to themselves,  they have entirely another approach to the question of who is necessary, not on the basis of kind only, but on the basis of community.

Above: Annual Impatiens grow profusely in a grassland habitat at the Sanctuary

All these are purely personal thoughts that arise as I marvel at the daily work of plants, and the daily work of my colleagues at the Sanctuary. The spectacular achievements of Laly Joseph, in growing more than 100 species of Impatiens are evident firstly in the exuberant responses from the plants themselves. Laly’s ability to recognize similarities and differences between related plants, and her ease with modern taxonomy, as well as her own set of mnemonics derived from 25 years of close association with these plants, and a lifetime in this place, is a whole study in metacognition in itself, for it comprises an extraordinary memory for Impatiens biogeography across the Western Ghats, an awareness of their conservation status, a fine apprehension of their ecologies in each and every place, as well as hard skills in cultivating them so that they grow well in a living habitat, which, though primarily of their own making, is supported by techniques born from her understanding of what conditions they prefer.

Above: Epiphytic Impatiens in nursery

Various scientists have been trying to understand historical biogeography, speciation and diversification in the Impatiens genus for southern India, and also at a global level. By evolutionary biology accounts 100 species in a narrow mountain range, signifies a very high level of diversity. These scientists want to work out a tree of relationships (phylogeny) to see which of the forms would be the most ancient, the proto-Impatiens, the one from which all others arose. They also look at the genetics of flower colouration  and they collect leaf samples from as many species as possible to formulate what are called molecular protocols. Their field studies also look at pollinators that like the Impatiens. A very good friend of ours, Dr. Bhaskar, has written a monograph on the south Indian Impatiens, the most comprehensive and exhaustive work to date. 

Above: Impatiens raziana close up

But what defines the Impatiens? Here are some simple and straightforward clues to the genus : Herbaceous or shrubby plants, with fleshy watery translucent stems (which occasionally can be woody), prominent leaves which are also  soft and membranous and usually toothed at the edges, bright irregularly shaped flowers with 3-5 petals, often spurred,  and fused stamens forming  a cap over the ovary.  It’s the springy action of the seed pod or the capsule that gives the genus its name  (old folk name: Touch-me-not from the Latin noli-ma-tangere),  the way it explodes on being  touched, when ripe, so that the seeds may disperse widely. Erasmus Darwin, great grandfather of Charles Darwin has a verse on this peculiarity, in his long poem ‘The Loves of Plants’, published in 1791.With fierce distracted eye Impatiens stands, Swells her pale cheeks and brandishes her hands, With rage and hate the astonished groves alarms, And hurls her infants from her frantic arms.”I’ve never understood how he got away with that, perhaps because he was Erasmus Darwin!

Above: Impatiens maculata, a perennial Impatiens

And for those who like to  muse upon the meaning of flowers,   Impatiens, in traditional European flower lore, signify “ardent love”.  Further, the  family Balsaminaceae   derives its name from the word balsam, meaning: liquid resin or resinous oily substance. Chambers also provides the following interpretations for balsam: any healing agent; fragrant (balsamy). The word balm, incidentally, has its roots in balsam, which itself has ancient roots in the Greek word : balsamon.

Someday I would love to know more from our Paniya neighbours and Kurchiya neighbours about plants like the Impatiens. There are so many parallel and intertwined taxonomies still alive in places like Wayanad with its rich human diversity, that to tease out one would be a lifetime’s study.

Above: Outplanted scapigerous Impatiens with epiphytic grass

The Impatiens have presented a problem to taxonomists for two reasons primarily: they make very poor herbarium specimens because of the succulent and watery nature of their tissues; they are indeed highly variable in nature, hybridizing rapidly to form all kinds of intermediate forms which bridge the gap between species that are often very distinct, and this over relatively short periods of time, within our experience for instance.

In our work in plant conservation we deal not only with this variability of plant form but also with life histories, ecologies and preferences – big and small.  So, of course we are continually brought face to face with  the link between plants and  time and space (the crux of biogeography): the past in the present as it were,  through form and hue, the sense that there are aeons of time rolled up in one curve, one shape and then its relationship  to the  land that we, the plant and us, together inhabit today. And in evolutionary biology terms, this movement and adaptation of beings across the planet, over vast stretches of time, leads to the endless variety we see around us.

Above: Impatiens grandis, also a perennial.

                                 Above: Impatiens grandis

In the monsoon the Impatiens are everywhere. With more than 100 species in these mountains, it’s like having 100 species of the Panthera genus in the same area. It’s almost impossible to go anywhere in the Ghats in this season and not see them, and what’s fun is that there are special ones to each of the plateaux and peaks and ranges within the whole range, and different species at different elevations, and also lots of different types of Impatiens, from annuals to perennials, and stemless ones, to shrubby and epiphytic ones. 

I love meeting different species of Impatiens in different parts of the Western Ghats, there is something about them that seems to give a very special character to a place, almost like the yellow browed bulbuls and the slaty headed scimitar babblers, which to me, are inextricably part of waking up here everyday.  

Why only the Impatiens speciated in this “rapid” way is still a mystery, but they do indeed seem to love cool wet places, they are clearly tropical mountain plants: orophytes. They tend to congregate in altitudes over 1000m and they love high rainfall.  

We’ll await the findings of evolutionary biologists: why did so many species come about in this mountain range, and do they go back to an ancestral single one that was common to the mountains of Africa and India, and is it that, over the sixty million year drift, the mountains grew hot and cold, grew higher, were isolated from other mountains, and that this mountain building process, went  hand in hand with the speciation of Impatiens? 

Some scientists insist we have to go deep into the cell, to find the conclusive factor to explain the endless transfiguring beauty of Impatiens variety, and how after all this time, and all this circumstance, one genus should attain such richness. Others say, something in the environment reciprocates with something in their genes, that the two play upon each other,  that a twist in the chromosomal  structure of the Impatiens group leads to their mutation under stress, especially under stress from excess or insufficient water. One theory goes that the size of Impatiens chromosomes is affected by the amount and periodicity of moisture available to the plant. And this in turn leads to an unusual degree of hybridization between species. As gardeners we don’t dwell too long on the why question, we have so many other more pressing issues to deal with, but we all love to hear good stories!

Above: Impatiens scapiflora growing on trees and rocks at the Sanctuary

Laly knows their biogeography really well. She and I made a table some 15 years ago, long before we got a computer. We did two versions of this table, so we could see all the species on the left first column, and against each all the places and all their ecological preferences, and their conservation status, and horticultural details. In the next table, we had all the places from north to south in the left column, and then for each place, all the species found there. This was our first handwritten database, and was really interesting, because we could see clusters of subgroups within the genus, and then see how these clustered in particular places.

I remember almost the exact moment I got hooked by them, traveling up a winding road up the steep Nilgiri escarpment, how suddenly my attention was commanded by them, because I had learned to see them. Those roadside succulent weedy plants with  pretty pink flowers, that I just  glanced at on previous journeys now began to turn my head. In that mountain area alone there were some 38 species, all endemic to that locale, found nowhere else in the Western Ghats, let alone Asia or the world.

Above: Impatiens dalzelli, an annual

All this thought on a group of plants, is just to demonstrate the surprises in store when anyone starts to engage with the natural world. I’m presenting the Impatiens as a synecdoche, that is, using a part to talk of the whole.

For conservation gardeners at the Sanctuary, the genus signifies: a particular complex of physical, climatic and evolutionary factors, without which we would not have the Impatiens in such diversity and abundance;  the abundance of sweet water, both atmospheric and ground,  cascading down rock slopes and vertiginous cliffs, and in gusting deluges from the sky; the beauty of a season, a magical monsoonal beauty, with meadows and dark sholas and mossy tree trunks coming alive in a blaze of colour; the intensely contrasting phases of dry and wet, leading to peculiar stresses on Impatiens physiologies and growth preferences; and of course, the presence of all kinds of other beings, from butterflies and birds and frogs, to mosses and orchids and grasses and if you look further, to tahr and sambhar and tiger and elephant.

The Impatiens genus also signifies the decades of collective time given over by various botanists, Hooker and Gamble and Fischer and Wight and Barnes and Bhaskar, who were all mystified by the taxonomic slipperiness of the group!

Above: Maya Goel , by a MIchelia champaca tree covered in scapigerous Impatiens in the monsoon, near her home in Kodagu

But mostly, Impatiens signify most profoundly, home. Like for young Maya in the picture above, for me, home is where wild balsams grow free.


Farewell to a lovely terracotta rooftile habitat

We know that the forest would take over our human dwellings if we didn’t do a little bit of maintenance work, which we reluctantly do once in a few years.  In between, we enjoy the fabulous ecologies we live under, and within.

The Sanctuary roofs deserve a whole post in themselves. As do unplastered brick pillars and walls, and little ruins that can be left alone to be dens, and piles of rubble that soon become thriving hubs of activity. 


This post is partly a farewell to a roof that once was. The library roof (above) needed rescue this year, it was bearing down with the weight of layers of humus, and leaf debris, and  the entangled branches of a bougainvillea, and the rootmats of many different plant species. The picture shows how it looked like for many years during the monsoon months.

 Such a wealth of plant diversity makes for a wealth of animal and fungal diversity. From rat snakes, cat snakes and pit vipers, to beetles, birds, bats, rats, shrews, spiders, ants, butterflies and worms of all shapes and sizes, this particular roof was a fascinating place, packed with action.

Below: A closer look at  Impatiens gardneriana  on the library rooftiles. What a perfect place for this sun loving gregarious plant, an annual species, endemic to these mountains, flowering profusely in the monsoon, now self propagated all over the Sanctuary in open sunny areas, particularly on courtyard walls, and roofs. This signifies that they like rocky banks, and cliffs, and the closest we can get to that kind of habitat, is a terracotta tile roof, or a drystone wall.


Co-existence is a delicate business, and how not to step on different kinds of toes, or tails, or probing roots, as well as keeping one’s bed for oneself, calls for lots of negotiations, as well as different degrees and types of awarenesses. While niche creation is delightful, as it is educational and ecological, every now and then, somebody suffers, usually nonhumans at the hands of our human choices.

Sadly the library roof is bereft of most of the flowers now, and the bougainvillea is no more, the little tree saplings taking root in the humus are gone, the succulent Remusatia (a native aroid) is nearly all gone, in fact, the entire mini-forest up there is gone, barring some mosses, and a few scattered individuals of different species.

Of course, this is a temporary gap. In a couple of years it will be lush again,  for we’ll leave it alone.  The Impatiens will surely be fully back, as will orchids, ferns, nettles and mosses.


Impatiens gardneriana

We once did a project with 12 year old school kids on the habitats just around us, within which we live, and how we share our most intimate spaces with myriad species. They examined every nook and cranny in the house,  and how a firewood pile is home to all kinds of insects, the life in a drystone wall, and the incredible diversity even on paths. The lists of animals and plants found were impressive!

This is both a sobering fact, as well as one to work with. Living beings are adept at making bare places into homes, given the slightest chance. Imagine how beautiful the whole world was, before industrial civilization hit it. With over 90% of most habitats gone, every little physical toehold that we can give other creatures, is also a toehold in time for those species. Protecting what remains of the wild world is the first most important thing we need to do, and giving more and more destroyed, or degraded spaces back to wild creatures to make their homes is the next. This also includes perceiving our houses as homes of other creatures.  To invite them to be co-creators of a shared home is a great way to bring beauty and ecology together. There is room and roof, for many! If not all! 

Giant pill millipede


This post is dedicated to the giant pill millipede, an unsung hero of the rainforest nutrient cycle. This extraordinary creature spends its adult life breaking down leaf litter to humus,  which is essential for plants. It is a natural compost maker, or detritivore, and thus a great ally to rainforest gardeners at the Sanctuary. 

This is a great time to see lots of them; the monsoon brings them out.   I’ve been  bumping into one or more on almost every walk I take around the garden or the forest.  Some with a bluish sheen to their tergites (plate shields), and others glossy black, mostly likely related to how old they are (blue=young). 


Giant pill millipedes belong to the order Sphaerotheriidae (sphaerum meaning sphere, referring to their habit of curling up into a ball when threatened), within the class Diplopoda, to which all millipedes belong. Unlike other millipedes however, they have no poison at all, and they rely completely on their curling up ability to protect themselves from predators. The second plate and the last one fit perfectly into each other, to make a tightly sealed ball which is impenetrable, thus protecting their soft underbellies. 

A visitor many years ago likened them to mini-buses, because of their smooth travel over any surface, and their reverse movements too, seeming motor like. I think rather, it’s an inappropriate comparison to make, not only because I dislike using machine metaphors for living creatures, but because their movement is so smooth and so flexible that they can travel vertically, and horizontally, and across short gaps between roots and stones, and their bodies are very elegantly bendable, and the rapid action of their 40 odd legs calls for great coordination and awareness of the textures of the leaflitter world they inhabit. Hardly mini-bus like!

Sometimes we see very young ones when we dig into the soil, white, tender, juicy, and without their protective hard shell, tucked into a pocket in the ground. It’s not clear at all how long they take from egg stage to first emerge above ground, but it is reported that they can live as long as ten years.

The largest giant pill millipedes I’ve seen are about 10 cm long, though it’s possible they get even larger.


Millipedes are one of the arthropod groups, which means they have jointed legs, a tough exoskeleton, antennae, compound eyes, and different stages in their life cycles. 

Males use stridulation to call females during the mating season, by rubbing their last pair of legs against protrusions in the anal shield. Their legs have tiny ridges, whose shape and size is unique to each species, thereby making their stridulations unique too.

Giant pill millipedes are active and visible these days, but they actually spend most of their time burrowing underground. It’s always a treat to see them.

Here’s a video of one! A few minutes in the life of a giant pill millipede in the Sanctuary!

A Note on Orchids

The monsoon is a time to see some strange and wonderful things at the Sanctuary. Here’s what I saw yesterday: pink and mauve pinions curving around moist iridescent pouches.  Pudgy yellow faces stippled in red. Furry tubes and tiny scallops.   Elegant spidery visions in white.   Cascades of cream and orange and purple. I began to feel like I was in the midst of a floral fugue. Endless variations on a very simple theme.



Above, a Peristylus.

A great deal has been written about orchids. And a great many people have been charmed by them. Orchid mania has been a serious affliction for at least 200 years. The early Victorian passion for collection sent intrepid explorers around the world to search out rare and unusual plants – orchids mostly.  Running in parallel with colonial expansionism, but unaccounted for in most history books, is the story of plant collection and plunder, the strange passion in European hearts at that time, for exotic beings. Like orchids.

Below: Liparis wightiana


Those of us who have our homes in the Western Ghats may wonder, what is so alluring about the orchid family? We look around the mountains and fail to see these heart-stopping objects of desire.  Where are those gorgeous ostentatious blooms we drool over in flashy picture books? Those almost luridly waxy and everlasting Phalaenopsis flowers sold for thousands of rupees? Those nun and dove and tiger orchids we hear so much of? 

Below: Liparis platyphylla, snug in its leaflitter home, in an area that is being rehabilitated from coffee plantation to native species.


Most of the southern Indian orchids are tiny, inconspicuous  plants,  adopting the quietest of camouflages –  evanescent herbs merging with their substratum. A  few are vivid: their floral displays emblazoning the forests and grasslands with splashes of brilliant colour.

Below, a Seidenfia blooms in the monsoon. These are tiny flowers of a ground orchid, and held upside down on the stalk!


Our love (and consequent concern) for plants at the Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary started with a single orchid. It appeared suddenly, one day, out of the confusing disarray of the wet dark green woods.  An Aerides crispa astride a rotten branch that crashed out of the forest canopy and lay miraculously alive on  our firewood pile for weeks – a bizarre, strangely different life form, stiff and waxy, with  silver stilted velamen  and strap like leaves.  It was something we had never really noticed before – this epiphytic being, adapted to a soil-less world, living off of humid tropical air and leaf wash and decomposed bark dust. 

Below: another Seidenfia


That was the beginning. When we knew and understood nothing about plants or the forest or about how plants and environments co-create each other.  Now, 40 years later, the garden at the Gurukula Botanical  Sanctuary is home to nearly 700 species of orchids.   Our learning curve has been steep. For much of the early years we had little access to books or experts. We struggled with the wealth of information we were so suddenly faced with. The dark woods began to gleam  with myriad forms. Our home in the forest took on a different meaning. We now shared a space with an immense and dazzling variety of beings. Orchids were prominent among these.   


The Sanctuary’s orchidarium and garden host most of the Western Ghat species. Both nursery and garden areas are structured according to the ecological requirements of individual plants. Special consideration is given to light requirements as orchids can vary quite a lot in their preferences – ranging from highly sciaphillous (shade loving) to highly heliophillous (sun loving) species. In the main orchidarium, simple structures provide room for both epiphytes and terrestrials, organized as much as possible by taxonomy unless  environmental conditions prevent related taxa from being located together. Additionally, there are greenhouses and simple  mist chambers utilized for the very tender and difficult species as well as for the acclimatization of new arrivals. 

Below: Ipsea malabarica, the daffodil orchid, in a rat proof outdoor intermediate stage nursery.


Below, Brachycorithis iantha flowers amongst grasses in the nursery.


The Orchid family, one of the largest plant families worldwide, reported to have at least 20,000 species (and some experts claim, 35,000), is represented by around 300 species in south India, 40 % of which are endemic to here. Which means, that 120 species are found here and nowhere else on the planet. They are utterly localized, native beings, with their niches in the rugged interiors of the subcontinent.

Below Habenaria rariflora


Orchids are notoriously difficult to cultivate. For a garden concerned with species conservation through propagation, this is a big problem. While vegetative propagation is very easy and although  large numbers of species have been multiplied very successfully through this method, it is much more difficult to grow them by seed, without the aid of micropropagation and other high tech techniques. In  recent years, however, some interesting developments have taken place,  showing that this may not be an altogether  impossible task.    For this to happen we have to step aside and allow nature’s creative hand to take over.

Below, H. rariflora outplanted in a habitat with other herbaceous plants.


Learn your landscape through the orchids. They may be prodigious but they are all specialized. They have close affinities to specific conditions. They speak volumes on the history and health of a place. If you spot one, allow yourself to listen to its story, there is a lot there. In conservation jargon, orchids are an indicator group of the vitality of an ecosystem.   They will tell you how wholesome your environment is. How viable. And hopefully you will find out that whatever’s good for an orchid is good for you too. 

Photographs by Sora Tsukamoto

The Stones in our Lives


It’s time to honour the lithosphere (the rocky outer shell to the planet), whether at continental scale, like the Indian plate whose uplifted western flank form the mountains where we live; or more local: outcrops, dells, ridges, valleys, crevices. Look out of your window, and muse upon the bedrock below your house, or a stone wall on the street perhaps. How does it come to be there, and what is its connection to biological life? 

Landscape architects work with stone, and so do most gardeners. That stones lend themselves to beauty is hardly a surprise, nor that they are used to build our human dwellings.

But that stones are essential to life is rarely celebrated, nor actively worked with, nor given much space in any ecological discourse.


In this post, a moment to cherish the lithos in our lives, whatever part of it we see. Why do the old peoples of the world recognize stones and rocks and mountains to be alive? What is the connection between your bones and the rest of your body, or the calcium in your nails to the calcium in the sea? How can we separate the lithosphere from the biosphere or the atmosphere or the hydrosphere: the various spheres that work together to make this amazing planet? Where does life end and mineral begin?

Avid plant conservationists that we are, we know our total dependance on every aspect of the lithosphere. If we take the wise help of rocks, then plants truly flourish. River stones, pebbles, laterite nodules, soap stones, gneiss shards, and the things we do with them, drystone walls, stairways on a hillslope, rocky banks and slopes, and even sculpture: these are all niches for the amazing plants of this region, and every stone surface sooner or later is home to plant species.


Above, a liverwort hugging the end of a laterite block, most likely feeding on the debris from the alga (black in this picture).

Stones lead to soil formation, and this is done partly with the help of lichens, alga, bacteria, and fungi as well as the work of wind and water and sun. Pedogenesis is the scientific word for this.

Lichens for instance, release tiny amounts of carbon which becomes acidic with the rain, and then breaks down the rock surface into small particles, which then collect in little pockets. 

When I look at bare rock, or what looks like bare rock, I think of lichen pastures, fungal fields and grazing grounds for bacteria.

Plants require minerals as much as they need sunlight, and the process of soil formation is partly one of breaking the rock down to tiny tiny pieces, and then further to molecules that can be taken up by various creatures.

At the Sanctuary it is possible to observe how: different stones lead to different lichens, which then lead to various liverworts and mosses, and sooner or later to specific  ferns, or grasses, or various herbs like the rhynchoglossums in the first picture in this post, or the tectaria fern just below…., 


…..Or how liverworts, can make a home for mosses which can then make a home for Impatiens seedlings, and also for ladybugs….


….or how lichens make a home for the commeline on the lips of the old man (and the tortoise) sculpture  below.


Had you noticed the hawkmoth by his nose in the earlier photo? Go back up and check it out! In this little inset, lichen, moss, various seedlings are a perfect perch for the moth.


Below, a sunny moment in the monsoon, and the plants on the rockwall to the courtyard of the library display their luminous glory, a self propagated tree fern, begonias, ferns, liverworts and more.


More walls, laterite walls. And stairways. Retaining walls to the courtyards are important plant habitats. Below a mix of exotic and native species on the library courtyard wall.


Stairways are favourite perches for selaginellas, rhynchoglossums and henckelias. Below:  the main stairway going up to the community kitchen, used by 40 humans and 7 dogs several times a day! Wilbur poses by the ferns to give us a sense of scale.

Despite all this daily traffic it’s clear that plants get first attention!


Below, a  Monstera in rocky relief, makes a great place for Impatiens acaulis in the monsoon. This is at the public entrance to the Sanctuary.


Finally, here is an old stone quarry, in a place that had been completely clearfelled, by previous owners. We used the hollowed out space, extended it a little and built up the sides a bit more with a drystone wall, and made a pond in the middle. This is a diverse habitat now for many species of ferns, notably Cyathea crinita, an endangered tree fern native to these mountains.


By no means is this an excuse to dig up rocks for human or other purposes. However, if you are working with species, then rocks become indispensable aids in conservation. And while we wonder about whether or not to bring in stones for plant conservation, let us remember that more mountains are being hollowed out for the decorative facades of shopping malls, than the few used by plant conservationists.

Funky Skunky Aroids!


 Arisaema tuberculatum

Who does not admire cobra lilies, the elephants’ foot yam, the voodoo lilies or the deadhorse arum, or the world’s largest inflorescence, the titan arum? These monocots, of the family Araceae (aroids for short) are showy, smelly, and large (oh! the world’s smallest flower, the Wolffia also belongs to this group)!

At GBS, the genera AmorphophallusArisaema, Typhonium, and Anaphyllum,  are in full floral display in the months of May to July.

Rising up from tubers that stay dormant through the dry months, these intriguing plants make their presence known all over the wet forests of the Western Ghats during the height of the monsoon.


 A. tuberculatum

There’s been quite some taxonomic confusion with these tuberous monocots, partly because their flowers are tiny, and hidden inside the hood (a modified leaf called a spathe), and partly because the leaf stalks and the flower stalks may not be out at the same time. The flowers are arranged along a candle or spike-like structure called a spadix. 


 Arisaema neglectum

In Malayalam language they are generically referred to as the kattu chena (meaning forest tuber) after the domesticated chena, Amorphophallus paeonifolium (the elephants’ foot yam),  a staple food throughout the tropics.


A. tortuosum

These floral displays, are actually composite flowers, or inflorescences. The hood like structure is a leaf, and not a petal at all. The elongated structure within is the actual inflorescence, called the spadix, with tiny female flowers scattered all along it. Some species have both male and female flowers on the same candle (monoecious), while others are dioecious.


Amorphophallus sp. from north India

A characteristic feature of this group is the smelliness of their flowers, often resembling rotten meat, to attract flies and beetles to pollinate them. Many species are thermogenic, that is, they produce heat in their flowers, that helps to spread the smell further afield, and also attracts insects.


Above is a picture of an Anthurium spadix with flies foraging on the tiny flowers. Anthuriums, Philodendrons, Monsteras, Remusatias, Rhaphidophoras, Dieffenbachias, Colocasias, Alocasias, Agalonemas and Pothos are also members of the Araceae, a vast family of over 3000 species in 100 or more genera, largely distributed in tropical moist forests. Many species are growing in the Sanctuary: the exotics in visitors’ display areas, and the natives in outdoor habitats!


Above: Lagenandra meeboldii,  a native of the Western Ghat forests, found all along  streams in medium and upper elevations.


Here Sruti stands next to an Amorphophallus inflorescence. 

The floral stalks can grow in a matter of a few days, and they can last for a a couple of weeks. For the rest of the season only the leaves are visible.

At the Sanctuary, Suma has successfully propagated more than 4 dozen species of Arisaema and Amorphophallus, and several other genera too.


 A. murrayii in garden habitat

Conservation of plant species requires successful outplanting trials, so that plants are happy in communities outdoors. While nurseries with potted plants are necessary, far more important is a habitat. Above, this Arisaema is growing amongst grass, in an area that once had tea bushes only. 


Here is another habitat, with trees, climbers, ferns, several herbaceous plants, and two Arisaemas, one with leaves only, and one with the hood only.

Above Anaphyllum wightii growing outdoors in a gardened habitat, resembling evergreen forest.

As this post goes live, the flower heads have become fruit heads. Below the fleshy fruit of an Arisaema in a nursery area. The fruit does not last long, germination occurs very soon after they fall to the leaf litter.


Below, the long long spadix of the Anthurium tankervillae.

Note: Anthuriums are a neo-tropical group, most at home in the Amazon, and the Mata Atlantica forests of Brazil.


And there is another way to reproduce! Below, a bulbil forms on the axis of Amorphophallus leaves, which will fall off to grow into a new plant. This is asexual reproduction.


The Araceae have been cultivated and conserved at the Sanctuary since the very early days. They are such a classic tropical group, and so varied in how they grow. Visitors (human as well as dipteran) are usually attracted to them! 

A Walking Leaf

One day, just before the big rains started, Biju was up a tree pruning some weak branches, to prevent them from falling on the library in a stormy moment. While he worked, a Walking Leaf insect fell down along with some small branches. Here it is, on a bed of lace ferns. 


Most likely, this is Phylliium giganteum. If you’re reading this post and know better, please leave the correct name below!

We watched it for a little while, and then I took it to an Anthurium.


It walked around, swaying in that leaf-swaying way that is so typical of this group,  and then settled on a neighbouring Maranta.


These extraordinary leaf mimics are not exactly rare, but nor are they commonly seen, most likely just missed due to their fabulous mimicry. They belong to the Phylliidae, the family of leaf insects, in the order Phasmatodea which includes stick insects, which we see a lot more of at the Sanctuary. 

Some 30 species of leaf insects have been named so far. They are found throughout the tropics.

Of course, there are many different leaf mimicking insects, we’ve seen several among praying mantises, grasshoppers, crickets and bugs.

This is a male, the wings give his sex away. Females do not have wings. 

Sandy’s amazing photo of a leaf insect from some years ago is making its rounds on the internet, thanks to Shyamal, our friend and collaborator in education, and entomologist extraordinaire and fervent Wikipedia editor! Here it is.

Protect, Restore and Rehabilitate

Here are some more examples of areas at GBS under some form of protection, restoration or rehabilitation. 

This area below has been in our care for forty years. Prior to that it had been selectively felled. We have not undertaken any landwork in this area other than laying a trail, and occasionally removing fallen trees.


Below is an area that also had been selectively felled 40 years ago. Since then we have planted a number of species belonging to these mountains but not necessarily to this land, such as tree ferns, bamboo, various strobilanthes species and a host of herbaceous plants including epiphytes.


Beautiful Burdens


It’s that time of year again, when plants are transferred to more protected places in anticipation of the monsoon. Some simply cannot withstand the heavy rains and get battered if left outdoors. I bumped into Jessy with the staghorn ferns (Platyceriums) as she carried them to a greenhouse. Any one of these mounted individuals can weigh many kilos and requires careful remounting periodically. 

Potted and mounted plants are a lot more work than ones growing in communities, in little niches, in habitats. Our work as gardeners is a constant process of weaning, following intense periods of care. Outplanted plants are a lot less work than these mounted ones, or potted individuals.

Staghorns are not native to these mountains. Why do we grow them? A part of the Sanctuary is a botanic garden featuring plants from around the world, plants that we (utterly subjectively!) find beautiful, or unusual or fascinating. The plants, ranging from Philodendrons, to Palms and Bromeliads, Nepenthes,  Begonias, Aristolochias, Ferns, Cycads and Peperomias and many other groups, are displayed in such a way as to facilitate lessons in biodiversity, ecology, evolution and taxonomy. Since the Sanctuary is visited by a lot of local people, and a lot of students groups from northern Kerala, it’s also a chance to explore plants from other parts of the world, and also to introduce the idea that plants are not just backdrops for animals, but  are active beings, doing all kinds of things to keep themselves and the world going.  Staghorns, for instance, are epiphytic ferns that trap falling leaves from the canopy, to make their own compost! There is a local equivalent in these mountains,  Drynaria quercifolia, or the oakleaf fern, very common on trees along roadsides.

Staghorn ferns are popular as tropical hothouse plants in temperate countries, and in India, mostly grown by horticulture aficionados in humid places.

The forest grows

From ginger plantation to young secondary growth in 20 years. Note the lanky lantana in the foreground. This will eventually be shaded out. Sandy’s stone work is to the bottom right, a feature of the trail around the Sanctuary land, a trail frequented by elephants, jungle fowl, boar, sambhar deer, martens, civets, macaques and lots of others.