A Walk, Remembered (Part One)
11.4.2020 | 02:00 AM
It has been a little more than fifteen days of the lockdown, and having (almost) exhausted my indoor activity ideas (mostly sleeping and eating; not to mention annoying my sister), my mind craves for the experience of a walk. It has, however, had enough fantasies about walking through the winding hilly tracks leading to Dzuleke, Nagaland, the shady dirt roads of Shanghar under tall mountainous trees, and under the hills that make up the Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary - memories that have "troubled" it ever since they were made. Instead, today, my mind craves for a walk in concrete; among people, buildings, and gardens. A concrete jungle; but a concrete jungle of a special kind - one that merges effortlessly with the natural jungle, making a unique environment. This unique environment lies, thankfully for me, around my home (to put it more accurately, I lie in this unique, beautiful environment that I call home). Am I trying to say, then, merely that I crave for a walk around the neighborhood? Well, sure - that's one way to put it. But I do not intend to do all the things that other "walkers" do when they're at the job, huffing and puffing off the footpath (where they think they're meant to be), or blabbering in rapid succession about other people and philosophical ideas. Not to say that I never do partake in these sometimes interesting activities, but for now, my mind does not wish for the zippy. No, it wishes for a walk that can hardly be called one (what is it called when you pause more than you take steps ahead?) A walk that is done less with the feet and more with the eyes (and perhaps even more so with the ears). A walk during which one can make more acquaintances than any other. A walk with the best songs, the best aesthetic, the best humour, and of course, the best kind of knowledge. This is a walk with a group of fellow beings like no other, a group of fellow beings arguably the most entertaining and gorgeous than any other. My mind craves for this kind of walk - a walk with the birds.
It has been a little more than fifteen days of the lockdown, and having (almost) exhausted my indoor activity ideas (mostly sleeping and eating; not to mention annoying my sister), my mind craves for the experience of a walk. It has, however, had enough fantasies about walking through the winding hilly tracks leading to Dzuleke, Nagaland, the shady dirt roads of Shanghar under tall mountainous trees, and under the hills that make up the Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary - memories that have "troubled" it ever since they were made. Instead, today, my mind craves for a walk in concrete; among people, buildings, and gardens. A concrete jungle; but a concrete jungle of a special kind - one that merges effortlessly with the natural jungle, making a unique environment. This unique environment lies, thankfully for me, around my home (to put it more accurately, I lie in this unique, beautiful environment that I call home). Am I trying to say, then, merely that I crave for a walk around the neighborhood? Well, sure - that's one way to put it. But I do not intend to do all the things that other "walkers" do when they're at the job, huffing and puffing off the footpath (where they think they're meant to be), or blabbering in rapid succession about other people and philosophical ideas. Not to say that I never do partake in these sometimes interesting activities, but for now, my mind does not wish for the zippy. No, it wishes for a walk that can hardly be called one (what is it called when you pause more than you take steps ahead?) A walk that is done less with the feet and more with the eyes (and perhaps even more so with the ears). A walk during which one can make more acquaintances than any other. A walk with the best songs, the best aesthetic, the best humour, and of course, the best kind of knowledge. This is a walk with a group of fellow beings like no other, a group of fellow beings arguably the most entertaining and gorgeous than any other. My mind craves for this kind of walk - a walk with the birds.
To regular bird-watchers, this special activity is known as a birdwalk. But this birdwalk, in my experience, has been as much a game, an educational experience, or even a meditation session. The delight of watching every new behaviour of a bird I share with other bird-watchers like me. This unusual activity seems odd and even comical to those not inducted to this "addiction", and understandably so. Birds often remain unseen to ignorant eyes that lack the experience and knowledge to know the signs of bird activity. The bird-watchers who do seek these birds (and find them sometimes) however, are unfortunately quite visible to everyone around them. I may not have to explain what kind of scene this may create for the non-birdwatcher - an odd creep staring with excitement at trees and vegetation (and sometimes even at other people's windows). This seemingly peculiar behaviour of the bird-watcher, however, leads (most of the time) to nothing but wonder and delight. Once the walk itself becomes a habit, the bird-watcher begins to lose them-self and pays heed only to their senses - seeing, smelling, and especially hearing. On other times, bird-watching also offers to the lost individual an opportunity to contemplate about things their mind never dared to venture close to before. Bird-watching, while mostly involving absolute sensory alertness and persistence, also can be hypnotic or meditative. As British author and bird-watcher Matt Merritt writes in his A Sky Full of Birds (which I credit for inspiring this random internal monologue), bird-watching is "as close as some of us get to being able to consider the big questions in life, to commune openly with something much larger than ourselves, without frightening the neighbours."
From losing the self to losing the senses, bird-watching beats most other experiences in terms of richness and value in time. For me, the most familiar route for this wonderful activity is the residential colony that I reside in. It is perhaps one of the only places in the city which, when seen through the bird's eye, look more green than grey and white. It was not on seeing a rare, exotic bird in a bird sanctuary that I fell in love with these feathered creatures, but rather the garden right behind my building. The crowned creature tapping in the soil for worms - Mx "Ground woodpecker" Hoopoe - was enough to make me go crazy. Like many other birdwatchers I eventually graduated from my balcony to the neighbourhood (and even to unseen neighbourhoods farther away). To be more accurate, I actually took a leap from the balcony to the wild and mysterious, initially hesitant to believe that sighting "interesting" birds in my backyard could be any more frequent than the scarce annual visits of the hoopoe. But it was curiosity - on seeing Green Bee-eaters for the first time around my house - that drove me to truly explore the little world around me. Now, stuck within the concrete walls of my home, more than a year after my first real exploration, remembering my experience is indeed a walk in the park.
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| A view of my residential colony. Perhaps one of the only places in the city which, when seen through the bird's eye, look more green than grey and white. |
From losing the self to losing the senses, bird-watching beats most other experiences in terms of richness and value in time. For me, the most familiar route for this wonderful activity is the residential colony that I reside in. It is perhaps one of the only places in the city which, when seen through the bird's eye, look more green than grey and white. It was not on seeing a rare, exotic bird in a bird sanctuary that I fell in love with these feathered creatures, but rather the garden right behind my building. The crowned creature tapping in the soil for worms - Mx "Ground woodpecker" Hoopoe - was enough to make me go crazy. Like many other birdwatchers I eventually graduated from my balcony to the neighbourhood (and even to unseen neighbourhoods farther away). To be more accurate, I actually took a leap from the balcony to the wild and mysterious, initially hesitant to believe that sighting "interesting" birds in my backyard could be any more frequent than the scarce annual visits of the hoopoe. But it was curiosity - on seeing Green Bee-eaters for the first time around my house - that drove me to truly explore the little world around me. Now, stuck within the concrete walls of my home, more than a year after my first real exploration, remembering my experience is indeed a walk in the park.
This is Part One of a series of posts dedicated to birds and the experience of knowing them. To read Part Two, click here: A Walk, Remembered (Part Two)
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