Thanks to a nastily twisted ankle, I have been shackled at home these last several weeks and so have only been able to follow the hornbill shenanigans playing out in Lodhi Gardens, Delhi, vicariously. It is riveting stuff attracting birders in the capital like bees to a honeypot, as well as the press and even VIPs.
In mid-May sometime, a sharp-eyed ‘Delhibirder’ spotted an Oriental Pied Hornbill on a semul tree in Lodhi Gardens. Now, an Oriental Pied Hornbill is not the kind of bird you would expect to see amidst the ‘Khan Market’ gang of dishevelled babblers, gossipy parakeets, ruffian crows, lascivious pigeons and dadagiri mynas, in ‘Lutchen’s’ Delhi.
These enormous black-and-white hornbills with their massive yellow down-curving bills and casques usually give you the thrills in tropical rainforests, and places like Corbett as they whoosh over the canopy. So what was this one doing in Lodhi Gardens? Was it – he or she – an escapee from some misguided millionaire’s aviary in Gurugram?
What took the cake was what she was up to. The tree already had a pair of grey hornbills (shabby and small by comparison) in residence, who were raising their own family in the traditional (if patriarchal) hornbill way: the mom had sealed herself into the hollow with excreta and mud. She was sitting on her eggs and being assiduously fed by her mate (through a slit), on traditional fare, insects, berries, drupes etc. The eggs would hatch, and eventually the mom would break free – her babies would reseal the nest, and now both parents would feed the chicks round the clock.
Except that the Oriental Pied Hornbill decided that this was her responsibility and hers alone. Naturally, the biological parents objected but were no match for the belligerence of the Oriental Pied Hornbill. Battle commenced, and the Oriental Pied Hornbill was usually successful in driving away the very upset biological parents, who only managed to sneak in titbits to their brood when their massive enemy was out hunting. And then it was discovered that the Oriental Pied Hornbill had usurped another grey hornbill nest in the vicinity and was doing the same thing there.
Questions abounded: was she a tragically bereft mother compensating for something unspeakable that might have happened to her own brood? Was she a serial chick-napper? Had she evil intentions in mind: feed these chicks, and when they get out, nice and plump, feed on them? And oh yes, she fed them… She’d bring in bristling dead rats, a tattered dead babbler, eggs and other grisly completely unsuitable titbits. Her own progeny might have relished this diet, but with grey hornbills, it was rather like Donald Trump offering Modi a beef burger!
But to her credit, she also took care of hygiene: clearing out undigested rejected titbits, excreta, etc. just as the biological parents did.
Down below, Delhi birders stood vigil starting early morning, taking detailed notes of every move, photographing and videoing all the goings on, researching papers, delving deep. A change from the usual birders beat of zipping from one place to another, ticking off species.
And every day, usually there would be something new to report: Other hornbills in the park getting upset (naturally) and involved, mynas and parakeets nosily checking things out. Undeterred, the big blunderbuss Oriental Pied continued as usual: driving away the indignant, if hapless, biological parents and trying to stuff the faces of their brood with patently unsuitable fare.
This, until very recently: apparently when the Oriental Pied arrived at the greys’ residence that morning, and the coast seemed clear. No sign of the grey parents. She hopped closer. And then, from just above, both the biological parents, waiting in ambush, descended on her head like bombs. So sudden and ferocious was their attack that the Large Pied (like all bullies, I suppose) fled. The greys had reclaimed their property and progeny. This morning’s report, however, said that in the second nest that the Oriental Pied had usurped, it was ‘business as usual’. That is, the Oriental Pied would arrive with inedible meals, the greys would feed their chicks titbits when the blunderbuss was out hunting… So it goes.
The imminent emergence of the grey chicks is being awaited with bated breath. But this whole saga has revealed something I have always believed in: Often it is far more rewarding to stay in one place and observe in detail what’s going on around you. It’s amazing how often patterns of behaviour emerge, and can even make you wonder: when does instinct give way to (often crafty) intelligence?
Several years ago, there was a huge soap opera going on in my balcony between two sparrow households. The lady in one had begun making eyes at the gentleman next door. Naturally, the gentleman’s wife objected vociferously. The ladies shrilled at each other and at one stage, sat on the door frame, with the hapless gentleman between them and screamed insults over his head. He was so unnerved he flew off to the bottlebrush tree nearby, pursued by his outraged wife. The illicit ‘lover’ was so incensed she began taking apart the couple’s nest.
Then, apparently, the hoodwinked gentleman got wind of what his wife was up to. That evening, I found both the ‘gentlemen’ on the floor, trying to peck each other’s eyes out. Unfortunately, I had to leave, so I didn’t quite know the outcome except that later, there was one poor beaten-up lady looking quite sorry for herself on the bottlebrush tree.
As for the Lodhi Garden hornbills, they better look out. ‘Every breath you take/every bond you break/every step you take/they’ll be watching…!’
Oriental pied hornbill (Wikimedia Commons) 
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