FALL OF THE SPARROW

Sparrows are unforgettable companions of my girlhood days. I can still see clearly a flock of hundreds – in suburban Mumbai -­ roosting on umbar (ficus racemosa) and feeding by the roadside next to a kirana store, their numbers competing with the tightly-lodged figs on the tree. Their sociable nature, non-stop natter and light footprint was an affirmation of life. As children, when death and sorrow did not touch us, the sparrows stood for all that was well with the world. They were not just a living presence, but a strong metaphor for life in our yesteryear. Long after they had disappeared from the firmament, they remained in our consciousness as Salim Ali’s biographical motif and through GaDiMa’s Marathi song. Ga Di Madgulkar, the Marathi literary icon wrote of mother’s love and concern for her brood through a haunting composition that was set to music by another musical icon, Sudhir Phadke. It went like this: Ya chimanyanno, parat phira ghara kade apulya, teenhi sanja jahalya…” (Come,  ‘little sparrows’, turn around towards your home now, the sun has set and darkness is descending…) Often as we stood in the balcony at dusk on summer holidays, or stood gazing at the rains that had us confined at home, Aai would hum this song, the memory of which still tugs at my heartstrings. In my mind, the fall of the sparrow (its decline) is unshakeably linked to the sense of foreboding the song evoked. 

I don’t remember when they started fading away. The crows of childhood persisted; in fact, have exploded in numbers and the pigeons have invaded urban crannies like pests. In more than two decades of birding, I have come across the common house sparrow sparingly. The Passer domesticus has come to be a dying breed. 

In all these years of itinerant life, I have been on a personal mission to lure them back in my individual capacity. On World Sparrow Day, five years ago, I bought the Nature Forever Society’s bird-feeder - designed exclusively to attract sparrows - from a naturalist-friend in Visakhapatnam. There were few sparrows in the naval neighbourhood at the foothill, though hardly any in my locality of Dolphin Hill. The feeder had to be the first step in the reversal of the dismal trend we were seeing, but I had no joy.

When I came to Mumbai, a year ago, I was thrilled to see a smattering of sparrows in the back gullies of buildings. The feeder - filled with foxtail millet - dangling in the balcony, overlooking the golf greens, drew a blank. I thought maybe the feeder was too exotic for the sparrows to fathom, so I left a trail of seeds on the railing. Instead of the desired outcome, I had to contest with curious crows and pesky pigeons. For a while, I tried shooing them away, but I could see it wasn’t working. I left seeds outside the window where I had a better chance at guarding them even as I tapped away on the laptop.

It took a year for the first inquisitive sparrow to appear. While the crows had plenty other distractions, the pigeons still refused to let go. As a result, the sparrows quickly backed off. (Could these be one of the reasons why sparrows might have retreated from urban spaces, in the first place?) The population boom of corvids, mynas and rock pigeons leave them little chance or space.

I had to look for solutions to keep sundry other intrusions at bay. I started laying the millet on the window sill inside the house. It was a perfect niche facing South−airy with sunlight streaming in−and the inside ledge, a safe and exclusive feeding ground. The diamond grill was just the right size to let the sparrows in and sieve the “predators” out even as it served as a perch.

For a month now, a pair has been visiting the niche, daily. With exuberant cheep-cheep, the couple promptly get down to their job of pecking and nibbling at seeds by spitting out the husk. It does not bother me that they leave the husks behind littering the dining area. Satiated, they swing on the TV cable that runs outside the window, a picture of happiness. It is interesting how this cock and hen have monopolised the spot. By now, they know that the spread is laid out for them, exclusively. I replenish the millet several times during the day; just in case I forget, they are there to remind me with their persistent tweets. First thing in the morning and at the end of the day before sunset the duo pop in to gobble up their repast, and several times in between to check if they are still welcome.

House Sparrows make a comeback in my house

At the pink hour, I fling open the doors and windows out of habit, but sometimes I am late. One such morning, I was surprised to see the pair already inside the house, flitting about. They had gotten inside through a hole in the window net. It is an endearing sight then to see these innocent little beings hopping around my living room - by the bookshelf, on the arm rest, under the table... Now that the food problem has been tackled, I am hoping they find my space comfortable enough to set up home. Of course, I have the onerous task of ensuring their safety considering the ceiling fan is spinning on and away.

One morning, I heard an urgent, high-pitched chitter that was unusual. I wondered if the ever-peaceful pair was fighting. A fight had ensued alright, but not between the male and female, but two cock sparrows. Two black throats were lunging at each other mid-air. It was evident that another male had chanced upon the loot. I had been wondering all along how and why other sparrows had not found the stash yet. The new male was chased away and the “rightful owners'” territory protected from takeover, for the time being. Much as I have come to “adopt” the pair as “pets”, I would like more of them to join the chorus.

NOTE: The Title of this blog is obviously derived from Dr. Salim Ali's autobiography (The Fall of A Sparrow) but the meaning is different from that of the ornithologist's. In his book, it was the fall of a sparrow from its nest in his childhood home that piqued his interest in birds. Here, it implies the decline of the sparrow as a species.  

ALL PHOTOGRAPHS IN THIS BLOG ARE THE AUTHOR'S ORIGINAL WORK / COPYRIGHT

Twenty Years of Birdwatching

                                   

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!