Down in jungleland: Easy Goan Birding

But, when you’re in Goa, the beach is de rigueur, and, usually, you do not expect to see too many birds (apart from the ubiquitous black kites and crows) at midday. So, I waded casually through the clear pools left behind by the tide, towards a rocky outcrop, when, of course, a movement caught my eye. Out there, on the frontline of the rocks, were herons — the reef heron wearing its ashy-grey livery — and the pond heron — both quite unperturbed by the people and children playing close by. They were intent on fishing, their gimlet eyes hard and fast on the pools, where fish flickered and darted and crabs scuttled awkwardly sideways. If you got too close, the birds would emit an irritable squawk, unfurl their wings and hop, skip and flap to the next outcrop. I spotted a little flotilla of what I suspect were Temminck’s stints — dumpy little shorebirds in ashy brown and white with innocent eyes and relatively small beaks — winter visitors from as far away as Siberia, perhaps.

A casuarina, bending dramatically seawards on the top of a headland, caught my eye — and what’s that perched right on top of it like a lifeguard? It’s none other than a white-bellied sea eagle, a tall silver-grey and white raptor, which, unlike most raptors, wears a somewhat friendly and smiling expression on its face. It is not at all friendly to sea snakes and fish swimming near the surface, which are dive-bombed and plucked clean out of the water and consumed. They start breeding in October so it would have been interesting to follow the fortunes of this bird through the winter.

On then to Pune via an overnight stay at Mumbai, which I’ve only mentioned because of the surprise it held in store. On the way from the airport to the hotel, as we drove on to the famous Bandra-Worli Sea Link, a barn owl arises from the road just past the toll booths, and, in front of the car, with prey in its beak (couldn’t make out what). Its mushroom and beige plumage is lit brilliantly by the sodium vapour lamps. Probably, it had caught a rat, or was it looking out for road-kill? Did it perch on those mast lights, waiting for rats or bandicoots to get mashed by the traffic?

Leave a residence for a while and you can be sure you’ll have squatters. To ensure that these squatters were not blue rock doves, my sister had fitted a net across the verandah in her flat there. And while the pigeons still squabbled and had wanton sex on the roof of the awning, they kept out. But what was that peculiar football-like structure made out of broad grass leaves, attached to an indoor palm in the verandah?

“Looks like a munia’s nest,” I said incredulously. But if so, how the heck did the birds get in? I had my answer at around 6 that evening, when I heard an aggrieved squeaking, accompanied by the sound of a feathery scuffle. Mr and Mrs Scaly-breasted Munia had just got home from work, and clinging to the net’s mesh were arguing over who was going to cook dinner that evening. One of them (I don’t know which) flew off in a huff and the other squeezed his or her way inside the net’s mesh and into the nest. Their babies had obviously left home, but the couple was still using the place as a roost. But how sensible: to build a home inside what was effectively a cage, where your family was safe from the attentions of crows and other raptors!

Finally, as the plane taxis for takeoff at Pune, a black kite flies along the edge of the runway and you think, “Oh heck, there’s sure to be a bird-hit!” There is none, but the landing is grim. Outside the world is shrouded in a grimy mustard-greyish murk. You are back in the mines.