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

“MOM, YOU’RE JOBLESS…”

I am an incurable nature-watcher. Give me a nondescript patch of greens and I will go sniffing and snooping around. That I always find some-being or hit on some “eureka moments” is another story altogether. Why, just the other day, in my neck of the woods, I came across something that I thought happened only on “Animal Planet”. I almost stepped on blobs of cow-dung buzzing with flies and even as I skirted the roadblock, a tiny movement caught my eyes. It was a dung beetle spiriting away a perfectly round ball of trophy!

From suburbs to countryside, from birds to butterflies, from mega to mini, from long shot to short range, from telephoto to macro photography, it’s been a journey, a wild one. Over the years, my skills got honed acutely. From missing the songster in the bush to spotting it through sixth sense and from being blind to butterflies and dragonflies to picking up their presence as on radar, I have graduated in the course of “natural progression”.

One noticed butterflies when they flitted around trying to settle on some flower or the other… in short, when one followed their flight. They may well be soundless angels on wings. But having watched them for a while now, I am able to sniff out “tigers” and “pansies” at dusk, even as they quietly rest by an obscure weed, closer to ground. Even a pea-size “grass blue” (of the “Blues” family of flutterbugs) perched by a wildflower carpet at day-close draws my attention these days.  

When I excitedly told my son—my biggest admirer and critic—about this development, he dissed me with typical teenage nonchalance: “Mom, you are jobless”! Hardly the reaction I expected! A pat on the back or a “wah wah” (highest praise from him), maybe; anything but that! Come to think of it, maybe my neighbours think the same of me, too… wouldn’t they if they saw me sauntering around at 11 a.m. or 3.30 p.m. armed with a ‘bazooka’ peering into bushes, the sun peaking overhead? Very rarely these days do I race against time, running from one invented work to another imagined errand; I am content with my “jobless” status and identity.

While on the subject of diurnal butterflies and their retiring habit, I have been observing teeny-weeny ones moving like meteors in a blur only to settle down on the under-side of low leaves or grass blades, particularly at twilight. With that attribute they easily give my lens the slip. Something told me these were not butterflies, and soon I was observing their crepuscular country-cousins—the moths.

The other day, I saw an inch-long apparition that was buzzing by the flowers of a hedge, its wings a blur. It’s proboscis with which to suck nectar seemed to mimic a beak. Having seen hummingbirds in San Francisco, it appeared to me a miniature hummingbird, no less. Try as I would, even the fastest shutter speed saw me incapable of freezing the winged fauna. Moreover, it was flitting aimlessly from flower to flower not sure of which one to settle for.

With the customary Google search I could pin it down to species: Macroglossum stellatarum. In common parlance, this unusual creature was simply a hummingbird hawk-moth! It also dawned on me then that I had photographed the moth earlier while it was resting on the verandah bar when I didn't know its identity or propensity. 

Look at the serendipity. Soon thereafter, I came across a fun article (what with Pokémon on the go!), “14 bizarre animals that could totally pass as Pokémon”, where on Number 13 was, guess who! That the moth should feature among oddities and rarities of animal kingdom, in the first place, and that I should have stumbled upon it right here—in Vizag, first-hand, gave me unalloyed pleasure of a new discovery. Of course, the Pokemon-bit sobered my son a bit…at least “Mom wasn't primitive”! 

http://www.mnn.com/earth-matters/animals/blogs/14-bizarre-animals-that-could-totally-pass-as-pok-mon

The article went on to inform that the moth’s resemblance to humming bird was a result of “convergent evolution”. “In evolutionary biology, convergent evolution is the process whereby organisms not closely related, independently evolve similar traits as a result of having to adapt to similar environments or ecological niches”! This is the opposite of divergent evolution—which we are perhaps more aware of—where related species evolve with different traits. The Galapagos finches that Darwin observed and studied to arrive at his Theory of Evolution fall in the latter category.

With such miracles evolving in front of my eyes, son, I can only say: ‘I maybe “jobless”, but certainly not joyless’.

Hummingbird hawk-moth 

Trigonodes hyppasia moth

CREATING A FLUTTER

It seemed like the other day when Hudhud created a flutter. The fury of the cyclone laid waste veteran trees in its wake and took its toll on birds; the butterflies simply stood no chance. Birds made a modest comeback even before the natural ecology of Dolphin Hill limped back to life-as-usual. Summer has been unbearably harsh, but Nature’s resilience is such that scrubland and woods have rejuvenated on their own steam. Few showers of Vizag’s monsoon have helped the ‘weed’ understory flourish. Now nine months on, something else is creating a flutter. The hillside is trembling excitedly to the rhythm of butterflies once again. They have been tardy in returning, but they are back for sure.

The much-derided lantana camara – the ‘untouchable’ among plant kingdom, has come to the rescue. Sitting on the patio, I had been witness to few swallowtails, which were once the pride of this place, flitting over verge and low trees. Common Rose and Crimson Rose, particularly attracted attention as they doubled in size mating mid-air! The general buzz of these bugs was tantalizing, so this Sunday morning I decided to give in. In my part of the woods, where ‘weeds’ have been allowed to grow, I counted nearly 20 species of butterflies in as many minutes on a 50-metre trail by the fence. Armed with my new DSLR and a macro telephoto lens, I set out on a chase.

Most species give you the slip as they flit from flower to wildflower. Some like this tailless swallowtail – the Lime butterfly – that I went after, flap constantly proving elusive. Others like albatross and emigrants are difficult to pin down frolicking as they are, usually, in twos and threes. Tawny coasters and grass yellows were gliding energetically by a carpet of ‘coat button’ daisies (Tridax procumbens or ‘Ravana-heads’ of our childhood) and Crotalaria. I did arrest the slow flight of a tawny coaster and was surprised to see that it had an oily sheen to its wings. Thankfully, the common leopard and lemon pansy posed as they did surya namaskar (they love to sun-bathe with wings wide open) first thing in the morning.

The Calotropis procera or the Sodom’s apple that grows invasive by the roadside is considered an outcast, but it is another great butterfly magnet. Its bouquet of mauve flowers provides food for variety of butterflies from tigers to pansies and the waxy leaves are a great host for caterpillars.

In all that drama, there was also the side-show. There were caterpillars—that would metamorphose into butterflies, feeding on plants. Crickets leapt out of thickets making me jump. Bugs made my skin crawl. Common Indian Chameleons basked in the sun, lazily, watching me with a curious eye, wondering at my whimsy.

This is backyard biodiversity at its best. Such macro-life can thrive only in ‘hospitable’ conditions that may seem ‘inhospitable’ for us. Most of us think that landscaping, trimmed trees, and regimented rows of pruned foliage with big, bright flowers constitute ‘natural beauty’. That unwieldy grass or scrub with dried twigs is sight for sore eyes. How many of us know that the so-called ‘weeds’ are but wildflowers with medicinal and commercial value to mankind? It is this higgledy-piggledy wasteland we so despise that is the actual breeding ground for bugs, bees, butterflies and birds that constitute the web of life. It is not my contention that, therefore, we encourage indiscriminate growth of invasive weeds. Under controlled conditions, natural vegetation can be co-opted into ‘tree plantation’ and ‘greening’ schemes to help restore soil and micro-climate. Even as we create artificial oases, we must strive to preserve wild pockets.

Lemon pansies feeding on Sodom's apple shrub 

Lime Butterfly (Papilio demoleus)

Dark Glassy Tiger

Lemon pansy (Junonia lemonias)

Plain Tiger (Danaus chrysippus)

Great Eggfly (Hypolimnus bolina)

Common Leopard (Phalanta phalanta)

Common Indian Crow 

Tawny Coaster (Acraea violae)

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

POCKET BIRDING

There are long stretches when I cannot go birding early in the morning, out on field trips. But that does not prevent me from watching the backyard banyan or snatching time to search pockets in my neighbourhood—whenever, wherever. It is like what the doctor orders: when you cannot spare time for a full-fledged workout, take the stairs or stretch in the confines of your office!

A word about my neighbourhood: I stay on a hill where the tapering topography gives me a clear and unhindered vista of the bay by the foothills. My block is also wonderfully ensconced in an isolated lane giving it a fantastical world-of-my-own feel. Precisely because of the vast expanse, it is not easy to spot birds from the perch of my balcao, particularly now in the post-Hudhud (cyclone that visited us last October) phase when the tree cover and the shrubbery has whittled down.

Three blocks sit in my lane and at the last the road curves in a U-turn; there is a children’s park nearby, a patch of neglected woods and overgrown scrub beyond the fence. The other day, saddled with excessive work, I had to forgo my customary evening walk and could step out for a quick stroll only at dusk. Just as I crossed the blocks and turned the corner, I saw a nightjar squatting in the middle of the road right under the noses of the noisy children at the park. I could barely make out its form in the fading light until it took off. It sallied and swooped down to the same spot again and again with a chuk-chuk call.

Nightjars are funny creatures… unlike most other bird species they will not turn tail at the slightest human presence. They stay put mid-road, sometimes at the peril of being crushed under wheels, and take you by surprise if you get too close unawares, before taking off.

I moved closer without unsettling this one and sat on the parapet watching its sorties, mesmerized. It was a magical moment stolen from a mundane existence. Few days later, I set out on the same trail around the same time hoping to see the Grey Nightjar (Caprimulgus indicus)—or was it an Indian Nightjar (Caprimulgus asiaticus)—once again.  Birds, you see, are creatures of habit and routine. Imagine my excitement at spotting not one but two nightjars. A few more rounds and I was rewarded by a huge apparition of a Eurasian Eagle Owl (Bubo bubo) atop a lamp post. Hoo-hooing softly, it peered down at me wide-eyed and for a moment our gaze locked. In that instant, it took wings, and ever so lightly, disappeared into the descending darkness. Birding like this without the encumbrances of binoculars, cameras, guidebooks etc. is ‘pure pleasure’. 

After sundown a new world was coming alive. Nocturnal birds were blinking sleep off their eyes, stretching their wings and embracing the dark. It made me wonder what orgies play out when we are safely tucked in and fast asleep in the dead of the night. Nightlife such as porcupines, foxes, civets, even leopards—who knows—must be lording it over! An aside: In the savannas, tourists on safari have to be strictly inside the safe havens of the resort by 6 pm. Unless you go on a night safari, there is no way of knowing what happens in the pitch black yonder. But once in a while a streak of lightning lights up a zebra herd huddled in the open plains, or a hyena cackles close by or worse, a lion strays outside your room or a hippo by your tent! It is a sneak peek into an alternate world.

Female Blue Rock Thrush 

Some days back, in the morning the park had another visitor, literally and figuratively. Perched on the fence wall was a dull brown heavily streaked bird, a lifer for me. Going by its stance and general appearance, it seemed to me to be a female Blue Rock Thrush (Monticola solitarius). Its unmistakably blue counterpart was nowhere to be seen. This is a winter migrant from Europe and national bird of Malta, I learn. Also present was a pipit, not sure which sub-species (need to cross-check with my expert birder friends). Just a small patch of neighbourhood slightly off the beaten track had thrown up extraordinary and innumerable possibilities.

Similarly, the banyan in the backyard is a transit point for koels, treepies, orioles, besides being home to a pair of Spotted Owlets (Athene brama). From my bedroom window, unbeknown to them, I can pry into their ‘bedroom’ and watch them snuggle up to each other—grooming and kissing.

Who says you need an earmarked birding hotspot or dense woods to indulge in birdwatching! The smallest of space—a tree (banyan flush with figs, mango in bloom or silk cotton bursting with cotton pods), a playground, a modest water body, roadside wasteland, pockets of deadwood and debris (like that generated after the cyclone and still lying about), and of course, a house garden – all can be fertile birding sites, no less. In fact, more neglected the pocket the richer it is likely to be in birdlife.  

One of my most unusual birding experience was at the Tiger Hill (War Graves) Cemetery in Coonoor, Nilgiris in South India. The cemetery entrance was a charming, compact stone building with an arched doorway and lancet windows housing the graves of WWII soldiers. Weeping cypresses and firs towered over the dwarf facade and dry leaves littered the ground providing a haven for lower life. Nilgiri verditer flycatchers could be seen weaving in and out of the gravestones that also served as props for other avifauna. With not a soul around, the place seemed dead, and yet, with plenty of birds, so alive, that it was a surreal experience just to be standing there!

**************************

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

A RESIDENT PAIR OF SPOTTED OWLETS IN THE BACKYARD 

MUSINGS ON COASTAL CLEANUP

September 20, 2014 - International Coastal Cleanup Day at RK BEACH, VIZAG

Today, early morning, I went for ‘coastal cleanup’ to Vizag’s most famous landmark, the RK Beach. To be honest, I can’t say I jumped out of the bed thinking: “yaay, coastal cleanup”. It wasn’t like getting up at rooster call, trilling: “yaay, birding time”.  I grumbled, I groaned and groped for an excuse but I knew I would go.

The third Saturday of September got designated as International Coastal Cleanup Day somewhere sometime as these days are wont to and Indian Navy being the custodian of seas saw it as its bounden duty to jump into the fray. A brief official function was organised Navy style to ‘inaugurate’ the event after which the fraternity began picking garbage in earnest.

So there we were—men, women and school children, with black gash bags and gloves in tow, picking up coconut shells, flip flops (wonder why footwear constitutes one of the largest recognisable waste components after bottles and polythene bags), rotten vegetables that the hawkers must have left behind and other riff raff. You can’t discriminate dirt; it is largely the same everywhere—rotten food, paper, polythene, etc., but there was one major difference here. The venue was one of the most scenic ‘dumpyards’ I must have picked garbage at (not that I go picking garbage at public places)! Few naval ships dotted the horizon even as stray fishing boats plied closer to shore. There was much churning in the seas due to yesterday’s downpour and the sound of the waves proved a great aural accompaniment.

Within no time, the gash bags had swollen up and the beach looked unusually clean. There was the ‘photo op’ formality to be dispensed off—for the benefit of the media—which was done by the top brass with élan. Sceptics may have their doubts about such 'tokenisms' or may be derisive about the publicity, but at the end of the day, such symbolic gestures do go some way in raising awareness and the bar in changing mindsets. 

As a woman, as a lady of the house, I have put my fingers in dirt on countless occasions earlier, but I cannot say that I 'enjoyed' the experience then or that I did it now. I can’t even say that I felt happy doing this kind of ‘public service’. Au contraire, cleaning someone else’s muck is not my thing. I will soonest tell off an offender who thoughtlessly tosses a banana peel or a cigarette butt onto the streets, but would think twice before wallowing in filth. I believe in Gandhiji’s philosophy, but I am no Mahatma! If I were to be politically correct, I would say, “I was glad that I went and cleaned up the beach”. But hell no, I was not glad. I was angry. Angry—that as Indians we do not have the basic civic sense not to litter in the first place. That we cannot move ten feet to chuck garbage in trash cans and would rather fling dirt as though it were fair game. Angry—that we are not revolted by filth in our streets and neighbourhood, in our cities and country. ...That we accept it as a natural part of our landscape – stench and all.  

Here’s a thought: Why is it that men openly urinate in public? Is it really because we do not have public toilets? Think again. If that was the case we would have women doing it too. No, the answer is that men are simply not ‘toilet trained’!

Similarly, Indian public is not ‘trash trained’. High time it was. I, for one, am elated that for the first time we have a Prime Minister who is determined to turn that.  

On Uprooting and Relocating

VIZAG VIGNETTES

The airplane hovers over

Cranes, conveyor belts, cooling towers

Jetties and docks, flames and fumes

Welding sparks and city lights

The industrial gaze of Vizag

gears up to gobble me

*****

Black and white.. and red

Coal and sulphur... and iron ore
open-air stacks of fine dust

like giant heaps of rangoli

bedeck sidewalks

Toxi-city

*****

Polythene bags and frazzled fabric

Clog the roadside nullah

Barfed by thousand factories

Blackened slurry and slush; in it

wading unsullied, a snowy egret

*****

Harried existence

Uprooted, struggling to drop anchor

Waves wake up on shores, gently

Unhurried, unnoticed

*****

The houses I have lived in

Have made home in my psyche

And I, in turn,

Have lent them my Identity

*****

I buckle under the burden

Of the baggage of our itinerant lives

My pace slackened I lumber to a grinding halt

For the moment, I am content

To watch dolefully, as the world races by

*****


Often, lights fade out

And fans die on us

Mother of pearl moon

Beams on the patio -

Bay breeze fans sweet dreams

*****

Trawling language zones

from Kiswahili to Konkani

we  now sashay into
Rainbow Sagarika RJ's
Telugu desam

*****

Gongura and Thottakura

fiery Andhra chilli
Greens from hawkers' market

titillate the palate
and lure me to local flavours

*****

No buses, no autos, no school

Bandhs and blockades

Protests and price rise

Between Samaikyandhra and Seemandhra

The T-word threatens …

to disrupt “normalcy”, indefinitely

Unsafe streets

*****

Political collusion and Pollution 

incites disquiet...

Notwithstanding - 

On Dolphin Hill

I get my eye-piece of the pristine bay

And I am good to go

*****


On Dolphin Hill

You don’t count butterflies

You only feel them

flutter your heart!

*****

Uprooted from Goa

Washed ashore Visakhapatnam

Mandovi Hill to Dolphin Hill

From West coast to East coast

The journey comes a circle

Begins all over again

*****

Summer mis-en-scene

The ber has lost its lustiness

yielded 
to taut, tart

aubergine jamun plum

****

The fruity aroma of cashew

smothers

woody scent of saptaparni

a heady cocktail

****

The bare bombax

sheds

blood red blooms and rosy starlings

silk cotton erupts

****

the cashew apple

steals

the roseate glow

of homebound sun

****

copperpod corsage

captures

sunbeams and sunbirds

showers molten gold

****

in the still afternoon air

nothing moves

the dry, fallen leaves rustle

to wind of cobra

****

the koel insists on cooing

wooing

till my heart melts

in the heat of Indian summer

Naturally Resourceful Nation SINGAPORE

Supertree Grove at Gardens by the Bay

Singapore is one big Universal Studio with several theme parks. This thought occurred to me, not on the better known Sentosa Island, but at the island city’s latest tourist draw, Gardens by the Bay. The flower domes (propagating flora of Mediterranean region), cloud forests (montane rainforests) and state-of-the-art ‘supertree’ groves at Gardens by the Bay are a great education and recreation, for locals, particularly the young, and tourists, alright. In that, they are studio recreation of earth’s diverse and niche ecological habitats which betray gianormous effort and technological skill sets that have gone into its development. In the absence of its very own natural resources, Singapore has been resourceful enough to bring Equatorial Africa and Australian outback centrestage in its citizenry’s consciousness. 

This attitude manifests itself, particularly, in the country’s desire to showcase world flora and fauna at every available space and opportunity. Therefore, public spaces are landscaped to just the right degree and uniform shade of green. The boulevard trees, many of them consciously native, are trained to behave like the everyday vehicular traffic that sticks to earmarked lanes and regulations. The roads are flanked by majestic heritage (those hundred or more years old) trees such as rain tree and mahogany but, like our host remarked, if they do decide to spread their tentacles a bit tawdry, they are promptly pruned to size.

The famed Botanic Gardens, the original avataar of the overriding theme of  “Garden city”, are the cultural legacy of the British with their penchant for manicured green spaces. They were envisaged early on in the initial town plan by Sir Stamford Raffles, the ‘founder’ of Singapore. So while they do host indigenous dipterocarps of the primary rainforests, the gardens are actually a tribute to world tropical diversity. The same goes with the breathtakingly beautiful National Orchid Garden which boasts of nearly thousand species of tropical orchids. Like much else Singaporean, technology and innovation is deployed here too, to create new hybrids. It is therefore, apt, that the national flower of Singapore is a hybrid - Vanda Miss Joaquim, eponymously named after its creator. Of course, the world-renowned orchid garden is still a rich repository of wild orchids, the last vestiges of the lowland rainforests that the island was once covered in. 

Singapore was once a tropical island rainforest, but the urban sprawl saw it diminish greatly. Today, only a small pocket lies preserved in the Bukit Timah Nature Reserve, which unfortunately, I did not get to see. To meet the demands of the increasing population, urban Singapore has had to reclaim nearly 200 sq. kms of land from sea. On the one hand, Singaporeans seem to be spending little time on procreation and the “precious jewels” (the natural resource of children) are becoming scarce. The state has to woo and incentivise couples to bear more children. On the other hand, the government has opened its borders to immigrants. That, in turn, has led to disgruntlement among the settlers and the new generation who feel that migrants dilute the fabric of Singapore society. Today, Singapore has one of the highest population densities in the world! To accommodate its people the Housing Development Board (HDB) develops high rises at dizzying speed as housing is a national priority. This has seen verticalization of, not only buildings, as one might expect, but even horticultural farms!

In my 10-day sojourn in Singapore I saw crows, mynas, pigeons and orioles on my regular jaunts, but not much else, despite the verdure. I thought Jurong Bird Park would educate me on the local avifauna but I should have known better by now. JBP, too, is a cauldron of different bird species of the world, from turacos to toucans. The highly popular High Flyers’ show featuring macaws and cockatoos of the Amazon rainforest, though spectacular, left me feeling a bit low. The birds were shitting time and again, nervous as they obviously were performing in front of a mass of humanity. I shuddered to think what rigour  they had to undergo and over what workday they had to rehearse such a precise and synchronized show. At the other show, King of the Skies, which featured predatory birds – hawks and vultures – I could see the leash on the birds’ feet! The exhibits were even more depressing though the enclosures were squeaky clean and the birds well-fed. The ‘World of Darkness’ enclosure of owls proudly claimed: “Enter the darkness of night, in broad daylight…” Imagine seeing the owls in dim light in broad daylight; owls are nocturnal but they do not stay in darkness whole day long. The scarlet ibis (looked like flamingoes to me!) looked sadly out of place on the faux wetlands at the Park. But, it also set me thinking. Were these minority specimens not any different from the migrants that came to Singapore from erstwhile Malaya, or India or China? Migrants, who got uprooted from their native land and were transplanted into an alien culture and habitat due to unforseen circumstances? And who over a period of time, over generations, got naturalized to a new foreign identity, like the Peranakans, perhaps? They are no different from migrants of yesterday who become today’s card-carrying citizens imbuing the city-state with entrepreneurial energy and can-do attitude!

Back to pavilion after the show as the free-spirit myna (above right) looks on

 After these encounters with nature, I was glad I did not go to the Singapore zoo and night safari. It would be an understatement to say that after my safari in Kenya’s Maasai Mara, this would have been a come down. For a country that has little wildlife, such attempts to procure and display wildlife, may be commendable, but also puerile. 

Having done the tourist circuit, I am glad we went off the beaten track, to visit the Marina Barrage, as it took me closer into the psyche of a nation that is environmentally conscious and concerned. I truly admired the chutzpah of the nation that imports 50% of its water requirement from neighbouring Malaysia, its ambition to achieve self-sufficiency in water supply in the coming years. For some reason, Singapore does not have a sustainable groundwater table, so currently its water needs are satisfied by desalination plants, apart from water imported from Malaysia as per two bilateral accords. The Public Utility Board, the national water agency, is not hedging its stakes entirely on its neighbour and has built several reservoirs and water catchment areas for harvesting rainwater. Marina Barrage, the latest reservoir doesn’t just collect rainwater but also prevents flooding by separating seawater from freshwater. This project is not just a staid state project operating behind-the-scenes, it is an engineering marvel that is being peddled as prime recreation club. Even from where we stand we can see youngsters flying kites from the green roof terrace of the Barrage complex. Children play in water and families get together for sailing and other water sports over weekends, we are told. When they do so, they also visit the Sustainable Gallery which is a “sensory extravaganza” to educate public on importance of water cycle and water recycling.

Green roof-top terrace of Marina Barrage overlooking Singapore skyline

What is particularly commendable about PUB’s efforts is that they realize the importance of self-reliance when it comes to generating this precious resource, especially in the light of history of strife with its neighbour from which Singapore separated to form an independent nation. And they make every drop count. Thus, recycling used water and treating it for reuse for industrial and even, household purposes, is also top on the agenda. Recycled water, currently meets 30% of Singapore’s water needs. The PUB product NEWater is high-grade bottled ‘treated waste water’ which surpasses WHO requirements for drinking water. The PUB has designed and developed an ambitious programme for generating water resource and is co-opting NGOs to spread awareness and take the message across its people. Today, Singapore is recognized as a model city for good water management and is global hydro-hub (which means it has domain expertise in water management and is in a position to share it with or help water-stressed countries). PUB won the 2007 Stockholm Industry Water Award “for their holistic approach to water resources management which made water use sustainable for different sectors of society in a unique and challenging urban island environment.”

Singapore is singularly wanting in natural resources as illustrated above but that hasn’t hampered or hindered its progress in any way. In fact, precisely for that reason, today, it values them more and is conscious of environmental housekeeping. The nation, by nature, is resourceful enough to tide over the shortfall and create plenty.