When I was seven,
And climbing trees,
I stepped into a hive of bees.
Badly stung and mad with pain,
I danced the hip-hop in the rain.
Hip-hop, I’m a nature boy,
Mother Nature’s pride and joy!
When I was twelve,
Still climbing trees,
I fell instead—
And landed on my head.
Feeling lighter,
I thought I might become a writer.
Hip-hop, dancing in the rain,
A nature-writer I became!
With Nature being my natural bent,
At twenty I took out my tent,
And spent the night beside a Nadi,
Wearing only vest and chuddee.
At crack of dawn I woke to find
A crocodile was close behind,
And smiling broadly!
In times of crisis at my best,
I did not trouble to get dressed,
But fled towards the Gulf of Kutch,
With fond salaams to muggermuch!
Mother Nature once again
Found me dancing on the plain,
Nanga-panga in the rain!
Growing older, even bolder,
Took a winding mountain trail,
Up a hill and down a dale,
All to see a mountain-quail.
The quail was extinct, long expired,
I was limping, very tired,
Thought I saw a comfy cot
In the corner of a hut.
Feeling grateful, I sank down
Upon a blanket soft as down.
Blanket rose up all at once,
Gave a shudder, then a pounce.
Stumbling in the darkness there,
I’d disturbed a big brown bear!
I did not stop to say goodnight,
But fled into the open night.
Hip-hop in the rain,
Dancing to that old refrain.
Growing old, I thought it safer
In my tryst with Mother Nature,
To grow flowers—
Roses, dahlias,
Poppies, sweet peas, rare azaleas,
Candy tuft and tiny tansies,
Violets sweet and naughty pansies…
A lovely garden I’d constructed,
Birds and bees were soon inducted.
Bees! Did I say bees?
They were buzzing all around me—
Angry, diving down upon me;
For where their hive had been suspended,
By accident it lay upended!
Dear Reader, if you must
In Nature put your trust,
Stay away from swarms of bees
And strange crocs lurking under trees,
Or else, like me, you’ll dance with pain
While doing the hip-hop in the rain.
Credit: Ruskin Bond
And climbing trees,
I stepped into a hive of bees.
Badly stung and mad with pain,
I danced the hip-hop in the rain.
Hip-hop, I’m a nature boy,
Mother Nature’s pride and joy!
When I was twelve,
Still climbing trees,
I fell instead—
And landed on my head.
Feeling lighter,
I thought I might become a writer.
Hip-hop, dancing in the rain,
A nature-writer I became!
With Nature being my natural bent,
At twenty I took out my tent,
And spent the night beside a Nadi,
Wearing only vest and chuddee.
At crack of dawn I woke to find
A crocodile was close behind,
And smiling broadly!
In times of crisis at my best,
I did not trouble to get dressed,
But fled towards the Gulf of Kutch,
With fond salaams to muggermuch!
Mother Nature once again
Found me dancing on the plain,
Nanga-panga in the rain!
Growing older, even bolder,
Took a winding mountain trail,
Up a hill and down a dale,
All to see a mountain-quail.
The quail was extinct, long expired,
I was limping, very tired,
Thought I saw a comfy cot
In the corner of a hut.
Feeling grateful, I sank down
Upon a blanket soft as down.
Blanket rose up all at once,
Gave a shudder, then a pounce.
Stumbling in the darkness there,
I’d disturbed a big brown bear!
I did not stop to say goodnight,
But fled into the open night.
Hip-hop in the rain,
Dancing to that old refrain.
Growing old, I thought it safer
In my tryst with Mother Nature,
To grow flowers—
Roses, dahlias,
Poppies, sweet peas, rare azaleas,
Candy tuft and tiny tansies,
Violets sweet and naughty pansies…
A lovely garden I’d constructed,
Birds and bees were soon inducted.
Bees! Did I say bees?
They were buzzing all around me—
Angry, diving down upon me;
For where their hive had been suspended,
By accident it lay upended!
Dear Reader, if you must
In Nature put your trust,
Stay away from swarms of bees
And strange crocs lurking under trees,
Or else, like me, you’ll dance with pain
While doing the hip-hop in the rain.
Credit: Ruskin Bond
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