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Journalism of Courage
Most sensible birds, you would think, would abhor and shun living in Indian cities. Who needs the noise, traffic and polluting fumes, the weird emanations from cellphone towers, the fertiliser-laced food and (human) neighbours who are almost wholly unaware of your presence, let alone know your name? And yet, for the lazy birder, there can be no better place to sit and do a bit of birding than our cities. In Pune, for a few days recently, all I did was sit in the balcony of a second-floor flat in Koregaon Park (a leafy colony, with many huge banyan trees) and met a whole lot of birds, who happily continued living their own lives in full public view.
Sure, it was a bit unnerving to be awoken at 6 am every morning by the sinister whooping of the coucal or crow-pheasant: that hulking black-and-russet fellow, who lives on a diet of baby birds, lizards and suchlike delicacies, instead of a dulcet flute concert by a magpie-robin (more an evening singer here, I noticed). But he was quite a distance away and not right outside the window. The balcony, which seemed more like a machan, looked neem and sal trees in the eye, and while it was difficult to winkle out the birds from the thick foliage, the birds made as much noise as Indian holidaymakers do at hill stations (to show everyone that they have arrived and have SUVs).
It was obviously a very traumatic time for crows who had brought up koels as their own: the latter were now large enough to leave home, but still wanted to be spoon-fed by parents who were just beginning to get a wee bit suspicious. A bedraggled-looking female koel, now starting to show her true barred plumage, threw a right royal tantrum as her harassed parent wondered whether to stuff her face or not. Somewhere nearby, a white-throated kingfisher regularly let out its ringing ‘kill-lill-lill!’ territorial call, which was surprising considering it ought to have been done nesting by now. Kingfishers nest in cavities and holes drilled in sand-banks and need to have their babies out before the rains set in and turn the sand into liquid mud. As dusk fell, the spotted owlets suddenly got querulously vocal, chittering loudly to each other. Now, too, the night herons that patrolled the nallah running just beyond the boundary wall would qwarrk hoarsely at one another and flap around in their bat-like manner — snazzy in grey, blue-black and white and with staring ruby eyes. The pond heron, or paddy bird, too, would play its “now you see me, now you don’t!” game as it furled and unfurled its wings along the banks. High above, a red-wattled lapwing repeated its accusing “did-ye-do-it?” call as it circled about, keeping a watch on the entire area.
Grey hornbills would materialise and pose statuesquely on the top of a dead tree — and look like an extension of the branch they perched on. Sometimes, you needed to hear them call to convince yourself that they were actually there and that you were not just staring at dead branches. They are a shabby, dull grey and really look antediluvian — like escapees from Jurassic Park, perhaps.
The birds with the loudest voices, of course, had to be the littlest: the tailor-birds and plain-prinias and ashy-prinias that belted it out (“towit-towit-towit” from the tailorbirds, who I assume were on ‘Towitter’, too!) at electioneering volume, while remaining well hidden amongst the leaves. Occasionally, one would pop its head above the leaves, shout in your face and whirr off busily.
Much softer and sweeter were the jingling white-eyes, those solemn goggle-eyed, little yellow birds, who, I think, must outnumber sparrows now. Darting and dodging at reckless speed between the three or four tower blocks were fast-back winged house swifts in smoky brown, as deft and daring as the local two-wheeler riders.
Certainly, the most unwelcome were the blue rock doves — those city-slobs that have virtually monopolised every city: here, mercifully, kept outside the balcony by nylon netting. They would, however, thump onto the awning’s roof and proceed with their orgies-cum-fights on top of your head, so to speak. I read recently that they are supposed to be monogamous and really can’t get my head around that, considering the way they behave! Birds always toss up the odd googly!
Perhaps, the best — and most promising — sighting was that of the pair of scaly-breasted munias, which seemed to be checking out the plants in the verandah as a possible nesting site. Small birds such as sunbirds and even bulbuls often take advantage of netting. They are small enough to get through the mesh and will nest in indoor plants, safe from the predations of crows and cats, which can’t get to them or their babies. You just need to keep an eye out and be careful while watering the plants.
A walk at Joggers’ Park yielded a fantail flycatcher. Deep in the shade, it whistled us up and then bowed and prettily fanned open its tail and pirouetted daintily before vanishing into the gloom. And, at the airport departure lounge, yet another googly! Why do sparrows (which have almost forsaken big cities) love airport lounges? I’ve seen them in so many: Jaipur, Mumbai, Delhi, Dehradun, Bangalore and Pune. Here, there was a group of about four or five. They would land on the gleaming smooth floor and hilariously skid to a halt before getting busy picking up morsels.
The most disconcerting sighting, however, had to be the one from the plane’s window: a peacock running frantically alongside the taxiway. Having one of those sucked into the engine of a jet revving for take-off does not bear thinking about: I mean, for a birder to be taken out by the national bird! Infra dig, or, the most honourable birding send-off you can be accorded? Subject for a big fight!
