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The view from an Old Delhi rooftop on Independence Day. (Express Photo: Abhinav Saha)
Sitting in the basement of his brother’s Wazirpur home, Nadeem Shehzad, 39, receives a call. Someone has found a bird bleeding on the road. “Bring it in,” says Nadeem, giving the man on the phone directions to his Wildlife Rescue “bird hospital” — a one-room setup in the basement. In the tiny space, there is a table with a few ointments, clear liquid, surgical scissors dipped in antiseptic and scalpel. Twenty minutes later, a man rushes in, box in hand. There are two black kites in it. “I found one more on the way,” he says.
Nadeem picks one up. Hardly conscious, the bird has its beak open and is too weak to resist the grip on its claws. From its left wing, blood is dripping from a deep V-shaped cut. “It must have been a Chinese manjha, given how deep the cut is,” says Nadeem, who manufactures and sells soap dispensers, and has been rescuing wild, carnivorous birds since the early 2000s. “We should wait for our veterinarian, J P Pandey, because there has been a lot of blood loss. If we give the wrong dose of anaesthesia, it could die,” he adds.
He isn’t a qualified veterinarian but Nadeem’s work began after he realised that simply bandaging the birds hurt by kite strings did not help much. It required suturing tendons, muscles and skin together. “Otherwise, the wounds would heal but the birds would be flightless,” says Mohammed Saud, his brother.
Last year, the Delhi government had banned glass- or metal-coated strings, popularly called Chinese manjha. In July, NGT banned sale of synthetic strings, saying the strings are known to cut deep into flesh.
“The ban has not helped at all,” says Nadeem, putting the bird safely aside in a box close to seven others he received since morning. “When you fly a kite, the tension in the string, be it Chinese or Indian manjha or even the cotton ones, is so strong that when a bird runs into it, it is like banging into a wall… Banned manjhas are not sold in the open market. But there are many streets that still sell them.”
The brothers begin working on another bird they received in the morning. Meticulously guiding the suturing needle, Saud tugs at ruptured tendons and attaches them together. He then works on the muscle and skin, finally bandaging the wing. On the roof, a partially enclosed cage holds nearly 25 birds, majority of them black kites. There are also a few Egyptian vultures and a booted eagle. It is here that they recuperate. After a few days, Nadeem inspects their wounds and returns them to the enclosure. “They are free to fly away when they are ready,” he says.
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