When
I came to my current abode of three months – on Dolphin Hill in Visakhapatnam –
the green hills seemed devoid of avian wealth. All I was witness to was a
countryside trembling with countless butterflies. Swallowtails – as big as the
smallest humming birds - suffused the lantana verge; but no birds! Of course,
there were the garrulous mynas and the rowdy crows of the garden variety. Then,
one fine day, parties of screechy parakeets announced themselves. From the
eyrie of my balcao, I almost missed the
drab Roller perched on a pole until it took to the skies in resplendent blue - a
la Cinderella. Soon, I was toting up bee-eaters, pigeons, drongos, and
babblers, wondering where indeed were they hiding earlier. In the hills, unlike
in the plains, spotting birds is a tough game. The tiered topography doesn’t
help, nor do the cloudy climes that often play spoilsport.
In
the sepulchral silence of NDA (National Defence Academy, Khadakvasla, near Pune)
woods - my first armchair birding destination - no trill or tweet went
unnoticed; in fact, with no other distraction it commanded attention. Following
the sound trail, many times I would be led on wild goose chase, literally, before
I finally confronted the ‘ventriloquist’ bird. And thus began a journey into
the bird world. Soon, identifying a bird by its whistle or song, sally or stance
became child’s play. To my trained gaze, then, birds stood out stark with the
foliage and flora melding into the background!
Twenty
years back when I first saw - or saw the first - Oriole in the sylvan environs of
the NDA, it seemed to me a golden bird out of a fairy land. After years of
living in treeless urban-dump, it was the first time I had encountered
wildwood. But as years passed and the noob bird-gawker in me became a seasoned
birdwatcher, the golden orioles became more visible, more plentiful, like the
‘Rose’ of Saint Exupery’s "Little Prince".
In
Goa’s Mandovi Periphery, the Orioles were so commonplace that I would see them
every day, everywhere. Golden Orioles may not be as “common” as the crows or sparrows, but they are “common” enough to make it to the list of most common
birds of India. Come to think of it: sparrows aren’t “common” anymore, are they?
A
Bangalore-based ornithologist recently compiled a list of “50 Most Common Birds of India” on a social networking website to which a dear friend commented:
“These are most common birds…I would have thought most of them are uncommon.”
This comment is precious not because it is innocent and an inadvertent admission
of ignorance but because it is perspicacious. Even many birdwatchers would not have dreamt up that exotic-sounding
bird species such as Zitting Cisticola or Rufous Treepie could figure in the
‘commoner’ category’. So what’s behind this conundrum?
After
two decades of birdwatching, it still took me nearly a month or more to start
spotting birds and realize what a haven Dolphin Hill was! This just illustrates how we presuppose
- subconsciously perhaps - that birds should be seen readily and obviously to make
their presence felt!
A
year back, I made a Powerpoint presentation on ‘Backyard Biodiversity’ for the
denizens of Mandovi where I talked extensively on birds. A friend, fledgling
into birding, asked me: “Where do birds go at night”? Another real riddle! My
answer was the counter-question: “Where do they go during the day? Why don’t we
see them even in broad daylight?” For a common man not into active birdwatching,
spotting birds is an elusive proposition. For one, not all bird species are
gregarious or noisy; many are solitary and silent and unless out in the open or
on telegraph poles or in the garden, they easily merge into the elements of the
ecological habitat. Camouflage is their ace cheating card. If we miss the avian action in the light of
the day what is to be said of the night?
You
see birds when you seek them and when you start seeking them, you start seeing
them! On one of my evening walks in Mandovi, as the day drew to dusk and the
birds fell silent, I resigned myself to a close of yet another birding binge. Suddenly,
as though by a sixth sense, my attention was drawn to a faraway tree by the
flank. An ethereal, magical moment gripped me. In the twilight, silhouetted against a tree top was a flock of peafowls settling in for the night. In the stillness of the
woods, it was a rare communion we shared that day.
In Dolphin Hill, the other day, as I was walking with a friend engrossed in conversation, well past sunset, I really do not know what made me turn to the distant fence. Sitting bolt upright, absolutely still, the size of a monkey, was a Great Horned Owl! The joy of such serendipity is supreme. That then is the beauty of birding. After a while, you don’t look for them, the birds look out for you!
In Dolphin Hill, the other day, as I was walking with a friend engrossed in conversation, well past sunset, I really do not know what made me turn to the distant fence. Sitting bolt upright, absolutely still, the size of a monkey, was a Great Horned Owl! The joy of such serendipity is supreme. That then is the beauty of birding. After a while, you don’t look for them, the birds look out for you!
