When I first read the premise of Joshua Mathew’s “The Last White Hunter” the immediate thought I had was this – I had walked the same streets as Donald Anderson. I couldn’t believe that such a person existed in Bangalore, and that I had probably walked past his house without ever knowing anything about him. Propelled by these thoughts, I plunged into the book with renewed interest.
“The Last White Hunter” talks about the life and times of Donald Anderson, popularly known as Don, the son of Kenneth Anderson, a renowned hunter, wildlife enthusiast, and writer. But his father’s fame does not appear to have followed Don, who lived out his last years in penury.
The book begins with Don introducing himself to the reader as the “last of the white hunters for whom the forests of India have provided unimaginable adventure and excitement.” And how! As I progressed into the book, I found myself immersed in a world that was so completely different from what I have known despite living in Bangalore right from the very first chapter, which describes Don’s childhood. I relished reading about Bangalore in the 1930’s from the unique perspective of a Scottish family who had integrated themselves completely into the Indian culture.
Shikar was not an alien word as it is now during Don’s time. The presence of guns and rifles was commonplace during Don’s childhood. He was handed his first air gun when he was just six years old, which enabled him to sharpen his hunting instincts. By the time Don reached his teens, he was already handling real guns and going hunting with his father into the jungle. Not too long after he started going on solo trips and made his first kill.
From there, we go on to learn how Don grows into a seasoned marksman on one side and a respected manager at Binny’s where he used to work when he was not hunting. There are multiple entertaining anecdotes that gives us glimpses into Don’s personality, his relationships, and, of course, his hunting prowess.
Through this collection of memories we piece together a world that is so far removed from what any of us know today. One that involved spending entire days at a stretch in the wild, mingling with tribespeople, and coming face to face with tigers and panthers. We learn of a time when licenses were required to ride bicycles, and when Bangalore was just a town whose outer edges were covered in lush forests filled with wildlife.
At the centre of it all is the towering figure of Don Anderson. His distinctive voice, which is evocatively brought out by Joshua Mathew, reveals a person who has swagger, is highly confident, given to a bit of self-indulgent boasting, and knows he is good-looking and is proud of it. A person whose pulse raced at the prospect of adding to his count of women and animals equally. There are times when the hunting begins to really benumb you, and you wonder what exactly Don got from killing poor, mute animals, a thought that he does ponder about as he got older. Don led a life as wild as the jungles he spent his time in but during his later years he looks back with regret.
“I have lived a decadent, selfish life, taking and doing what I wanted. It may sound as if I am gloating, but I am merely putting on record the way I lived my life – the rules I made for myself, the absolute lack of respect or concern I had for any other living creature other than myself.”
This is a freewheeling memoir, a tale with no holds barred, a raw look at oneself warts and all. I immensely enjoyed reading about this chequered personality who I would not have known about if not for this book. Having said that, I do wish the book had been edited and organized better. While we meander through Don’s free flowing conversational voice it’s sometimes easy to get lost in extremely long chapters. There are many repetitions, as well, which if avoided could have made the book a much shorter and tightly packed read.
Nevertheless, it’s well worth going on this bohemian joyride with Don, who was as close to the earth as one could get both in his personality and interests.
“Imagine not being able to walk on grass or smell the wet earth after the rain. Imagine not being able to hear a ripe mango fall or the last drops of rain trickling into a puddle. I would rather die than live a day knowing that I could never experience those things again.”
We, of today’s world, can unfortunately not just imagine but are mostly living without all those experiences. I can also see Don’s sneering face and his voice telling me, “you are not living then but just existing.” And that’s how Don will continue to live in your mind long after you have read the book.
