My bird sanctuary.

                                                      

Rufous treepie 

Grey Indian Hornbill

The Sunbird

For twelve years I lived with a bird sanctuary at my doorstep. Just stepping out to see my kids off to school would open my eyes and mind to the startling variety of avian visitors that I had believed existed only in glossy bird books or exclusive bird sanctuaries.

 Even as scratchy brooms and honking vehicles start to break the morning silence in Bangalore, I close my eyes and the gates of the sanctuary open:

Winters in Jaipur were especially welcome. Our breaths smoked up in the misty morning while hungry eyes scoured the neighbourhood trees. The reward was the sighting of a charmer up the Neem or Mango tree. Armed with a bird book and a pair of binoculars I taught myself the names and habits of these visitors.

Sparrows nested everywhere. Our AC outdoor unit was always tenanted by a sparrow family. A Ganesha idol above the main door was repeatedly surrounded by nesting material and we had to doggedly thwart the resolute Sparrow mother who believed it was the best place for a home.

The Sparrows mostly spent  busy days feeding the chicks or teaching them to fly, finding grass for the nests, or squatting comically on the sand and shuffling about to make small shallow craters. The Ashoka tree at the end of our road was a short green umbrella. Walking under the tree at sundown was a magical experience. A thousand tiny bells tinkled urgently - the tired chatty Sparrows were settling in for the night. (Sadly I have only seen a single Sparrow skittering across the shiny floors of the Bangalore airport. He could have a small family nesting somewhere nearby, but still looks as lonely and rare as a man on the Moon.)

Every winter they descended, shrieking and swooping like trapeze artistes, in an explosion of colour and energy. The Plum Headed Parakeets that came to feed on the grain scattered on compound walls left me breathless. They were the clowns –the males with their red faces and the females with blue grey faces .They would quickly vanish in a cacophony of squawks after their splendid performance. Their larger cousins, the Rose Ringed Parakeets spent a lot of their time noisily on the defunct mobile tower in front of our house. But when they flew into my garden, they ate the grain warily, always watchful with beady red eyes, cocking their heads thoughtfully to one side. A pandemonium of parrots once attacked a huge eagle on the tower - a green broom angrily sweeping the sky!

Summer or winter, the Laughing Doves and Rock Pigeons cooed soothingly. Their untidy nests made of twigs and pebbles belied their neat appearance. They calmly rebuilt another nest every time the sand storm brought it down – but in the same precarious way. They loved sitting on the stationary ceiling fans enjoying a slow merry-go-round their sudden perching brought about .We watched two Laughing Dove chicks grow up in a twiggy home. With the parents absent from the small nest the siblings tried to fly, sadly only one made it, the other falling to his death.

Another frequent visitor was the stylish Brahminy Starling. His black hair was straight and silky and sat like a small cap on his head. His yellow beak picked busily at insects on our lawn.  His cousins, the Mynas joined him in the never ending hunt for grubs.

The Purple Sunbirds with their wives loved to bathe on the plantain leaves. They flew around excitedly as water from the hose drummed the broad leaves. Sliding on the wet leaves fluttering their bright wet wings they bathed joyously. Hopping on flowers, lightly sucking nectar with their pointed beaks, their glossy wings caught the sun. Surprisingly the home they wove was an untidy nest hanging on the clothes line .Made of waste thread (having politely declined the use of coloured embroidery thread that I left around for them to beautify their home); it housed a few small eggs. Our very careless maid hung clothes on the line against my strict instructions and jostled the pretty eggs out. And my ardent hopes of photographing the sunbird family came smashing down too.

Joining us during our morning cuppa was the Tailor bird. He hopped weightlessly on the Tulsi plant proudly showing off his rust coloured crown. In the evenings I spied him with his wife, hidden among the Jasmine bushes as I watered the garden. The clever couple fashioned their home with leaves but kept it hidden from my sight.

The Red Vented Bulbuls and black Robins were always perched on the bushes and small trees around our garden. Being used to humans they often let me move closer  –but stayed out of reach. Confident and chirpy they filled the garden with their musical notes.

The Hoopoe paid a visit sometimes looking like a warlord with his fan shaped crest and black and white zebra like markings on the back pecking seriously the at lawn for some ill- fated insect.

Sometimes a flock of untidy Babblers would descend on the desert cooler. Restlessly hopping, fluttering in groups sometimes called the ‘seven sisters’, they would glower at us with unexplained anger and hurry away chuckling all the time. 

All through the summer and into the monsoon, the soulful cries of the Asian Koel couple would voice our longing for a respite from the summer heat. Perched on the high branches of the mango tree across the road, the spotted wife and her devoted resplendent black husband (both with very red eyes)kept up their joint appeal for the rain. Obviously too busy in this noble pursuit, they are said to high jack a crow’s nest to bring up their young ones.

 A cuckoo too, but who respectably built his own nest, the Greater Coucal was a very welcome friend. Very handsome in black and brown, he hopped around eating the grain left on the compound walls and flew away gracefully.

The Green Bee Eaters preferred the electric cables and would sit with a helpless wriggly worm in their beaks .Their prominent central tail feathers extended stiffly, bobbing now and then even as they daintily breakfasted in the warmth of the winter sun.

Somehow the Rufous Treepie preferred our neighbour’s pomegranate tree and grains. I watched enviously across the compound wall .He made a lovely picture with his sooty head and crow like beak, chestnut brown body with white patches and  a  long black tipped tail .Years later I saw a number of them in the Sariska National Park, swooping down to snatch nuts from the extended hands of the visitors.

Winters also welcomed the Coppersmith Barbets with such clownish faces as my binoculars revealed. Green bodied with crimson foreheads and breasts they looked like naughty children playing with mother’s make up kit.

Slowly my family was getting used to a crazy mother who kept rushing out suddenly in the mornings gaping unashamedly at the sight of a bird. Just setting out to work one winter morning my husband called me urgently to the gate, “Look, some fat parrots up there”.  I focused my binoculars to find instead ,plump green pigeons with yellow feet sitting contentedly on the mango tree. I never spotted them again though. Standing there in my nightdress looking up at the trees every morning I must have looked quite a sight. Sometimes people passing by would squint up at the trees and walk away wondering if I had nothing better to do every morning than fuss with birds.

There were other birds too that I spotted just once, making me eager for more sightings. A Golden Oriole with his black kohl lined eyes once sat on the Neem tree. His yellow handsome body relaxed, he stayed a long time basking in the morning sunshine.

Cleaning rice late one winter morning, I looked up into the bushy Amla tree outside. I smiled back at the studious face of a small Oriental White eye. He looked as if he was contemplating me with his white rimmed spectacles. He too fell into my list of one time sightings.

The Grey Indian Hornbill sat on the neem tree one fine winter morning. His large beak with the prominent casque set him apart from his feathered friends. My respect for this gentleman shot up when my bird book revealed how he cared for his wife. While she sits on her eggs waiting for them to hatch in a nesting hole, he cements the hole with mud. Then he diligently brings her fruit and small animals passing it to her through a small aperture in the mud wall.

The hawk-like Shikra was very unpopular. I guessed his presence when my garden would suddenly come alive with the incessant cries of Sparrows, Bulbuls, Mynas, Doves and Pigeons, all flying about angrily. He would sit silently and resolutely even with the raucous disapproval around him. With his small fierce looking beak and steady gaze he was looking for a kill. Most of the times he would just fly away defeated in the face of such vocal opposition.

The glossy black Drongo with his long forked tail sat on transmission lines during the summer months. His forked tail tip reminded me of the proud black moustaches many Rajasthani men wore.

A turquoise blue blur in the sky would change into a White-throated Kingfisher perched high on tree tops or again on transmission lines. He was smart with his white ‘shirt front’ and chocolate brown body. His beak looked too long and heavy for his small build.

The Red- Wattled Lapwing lived in the park with his family. But sometimes he flew up on the terrace taking us to task like a worried defence lawyer with his ‘did-he-do-it, did-he-do-it’ call.

One evening, a little Grey Francolin walked up from nowhere and began to pace up and down the lawn. He was quiet and seemed worried .He slipped out from under the gate suddenly, never to be seen again. We hoped the stray dog outside had not made a meal of him.

That’s the last memory I carried away with me. It was difficult bidding sad goodbyes to my feathered friends .Now I’m afraid my bird watching skills are getting rusty in Bangalore. But I’m lucky I have my personal bird sanctuary to escape into tucked away in my brain. You were my welcome guest today.