A Walk, Remembered (Part Two)

This is Part Two of a series of posts dedicated to birds and the experience of knowing them. To read Part One, click here: A Walk, Remembered (Part One)

It always begins with the drongos. These notorious creatures beckon me with their forked tails and acrobatics, drawing my attention almost as soon as I leave my house early in the morning. Known for their notorious tactics to ward off crows and other predators from their nests, drongos are one of my favourite group of birds. Perched on a smaller tree next to the Black Drongo's abode, a male Oriental Magpie-Robin fiercely competes with other songbirds around (and his own kind) with its loud and lovely song. Magpie-robins have a long list of songs to their credit, and often fool me into thinking that a new bird is in my vicinity by singing a never-heard-before tune (by my inexperienced ears). To my right lies a broad patch of untouched wilderness - shrubs, trees, and creepers - harbouring a wide variety of colourful beings, from the Purple Sunbird to the Tickell's Blue Flycatcher. These birds are hardly visible here, however, but often heard. Mentally dancing to the peculiar euphony of my first few acquaintances, I walk ahead only to be distracted in my rhythm by the authoritative song of the Red-whiskered Bulbul. I freeze next to the long vines of creepers extending toward (and almost engulfing) the footpath, and out comes the talkative bulbul, now slightly startled and perhaps annoyed at my sneaky trick.

A common sight: Black Kite

Leaving behind the bulbul's rant, I turn right and walk along the road that leads to my school. Along the way, I meet a startled squirrel which had just hopped out of the wilderness, a curious crow that I believe had caught me staring staring at the bulbul (and has been following me since), and a Common Myna busy eating the berries of an unidentifiable tree. I walk along the gated boundaries of my school, suddenly feeling nostalgic and reminiscing about the good old days. My lovely daydream is interrupted by the shrill call of a Black Kite perched on a tree above me, and my eyes fall on a silhouetted flock of birds perched on trees at a distance. I walk toward the short span of wilderness without moving my glance for a second. As I walk closer, the silhouettes turn colourful and I smile knowingly. This is my old friend, the Indian Golden Oriole, and his family (apologies for the anthropomorphism)! I spend five minutes staring at them in wonder, listening to their screeching chatter, and recollecting fond memories of being fascinated by them as a little kid (the blog's name makes more sense now, perhaps). A pair of Coppersmith Barbets join them on the same tree, settling on a lower branch and conversing in metronomic 'boop's. Still smiling, I walk ahead through a winding road surrounded on both sides by untouched vegetation. Here I meet the secretive Greater Coucal, and a White-breasted Kingfisher barely visible through the thick undergrowth. I stop suddenly as I hear a distinctive yet familiar call from inside the bushes on my right. I freeze, waiting for movement. Within seconds, a small but lively Ashy Prinia emerges from the shrubs, now eyeing me with suspicion. I remain still until it loses interest in me, and after a long awesome look, I walk on.

White-breasted Kingfisher, the King of Kingfishers

I walk along a large athletic field, watching the Cattle Egrets and Red-Wattled Lapwings feasting on organisms displaced on the ground by the sprinkling water. Before I know it, I find myself standing in one of my favourite places in the colony. Ahead, I see a long winding road with very thick wilderness on one side, and buildings and gardens on the other. On my left, among the trees and shrubs, I see a couple of gravestones placed in an abandoned cemetery. Walking past an old abandoned scooter, I scan the canopy for movement. I spot a streamlined figure at the very top of a tall, leafless tree and walk further away to get a better look from a different angle (much to the puzzlement of joggers who curiously try to follow my glance as they pass). I gasp in surprise as I identify the plumage; with grey wings and striped light-brown chest, I find myself gaping at a beautiful Shikra. Derived from the Persian word Shikara, the bird gets its name from the skilled hunters of the forests, I remember. I am overjoyed; it is my first sighting of a Shikra in the colony!

After getting a good look at the regal bird, I walk on, eager to reach another favourite spot before the sun gets too high up in the sky. On my way, I watch a pair of Magpie Robins flitting about over the bushes and the undergrowth. A troop of Bonnet Macaques take a break from their canopy party to observe me from afar. Little Purple-rumped Sunbirds suck nectar from pretty flowers in the garden to my right. Forgetting myself for a moment, I realise that this gorgeous scene is completely devoid of humans for a while. Suddenly, I feel like an unpleasant intruder - more than I usually do. I continue to walk ahead, losing my internal feelings somewhere in the external scene.

I am jolted out of my daze when I see an unusual bird perching on a tree standing right in the middle of the road, at a small roundabout. I hear pleasing music - a birdsong very new to me - and I am flabbergasted to realise that the bird I see before me is in fact a female Indian Paradise-Flycatcher. I blink in utter disbelief, while being careful not to startle the bird. Cautious to be standing in the middle of the road, I continue to observe the bird as it continues to sing. Looking at the stunning bird, I can't help but wonder if a pretty male is flitting around with its gorgeous tail nearby. Watching the bird fly away towards the nearby hills, I walk ahead, passing a football field, towards my second favourite spot - the little lake. The lake has always been a part of my stories at home, but it was much later when I grasped its true beauty - when I saw the birds. The lake is home to a small and shy family of Spot-billed Ducks. People and children visit the lake and try to feed the ducks with bread and chapati, but the ducks only swim away into the unseen edges. A number of brooding Black-crested Night Herons also call the lake home, usually perched silently on branches extending over the lake at the edges. I enjoy secretly spying on the ones closest to the gated boundary. White-breasted Waterhens here are heard more often than seen, and a pair of Common Kingfishers make an appearance once in a blue moon, kissing the surface water and flying back and forth jovially.

But the most exciting sight at the lake occurs in the winters, when a flock of Northern Shovelers decide to call the lake their safe haven for the season. The bird, widespread in Europe and North America during the breeding season, migrates to Africa and the Indian Subcontinent in the winter. Members of the little flock that visits our lake swim and feed at the other end, appearing much smaller than they really are. The Northern Shovelers often have face-offs with the resident Lesser Whistling Ducks (in my head) which reside on the westernmost end of the lake, until the latter fly away at dusk chattering in unison.

The supposed "face-off" between three male Northern Shovelers (left) and a flock of Lesser Whistling Ducks

To end my delightful birdwalk, I settle down a few metres ahead of the lake in an area where little human activity occurs at most times. Another favourite spot in the colony, the dense wilderness in this area hides a number of unseen birds and animals. Here, I stand quietly and wait for movement. Not even five seconds pass when I hear the rustling of leaves from the shrubs on my right. A pair of Indian Robins - male and female - immersed in deep conversation, fail to see me (at least, that's what I think). Never pausing their chatter, they fly away from me, following the neglected road. I smile and close my eyes, enjoying the gentle breeze and the lack of human sounds. Just as I open my eyes, I am startled by a flash of bright orange zooming past my vision. I follow its direction, and with a little bit of searching, I almost gasp out loud at the sight of an Orange-headed Thrush. The bird is one of the most colourful and unusual ones found in my colony. I feel like dancing in excitement for having seen one at home. But just as I think I cannot handle any more excitement, I am distracted by the sound of flapping wings, and far ahead on the road I see a clueless Spotted Dove, walking aimlessly, but with caution.

Walking home, I look back at my exciting birdwalk; I recall all the birds that I could see and hear, and think in wonder about their fascinating behaviours and relationships. Birds are truly marvellous creatures with amazing capabilities, grounding your anthropocentric mind in an instant. I find it quite curious and funny that birds can make humans realise that their sense of importance and superiority in the animal kingdom is deeply flawed and exaggerated - much more powerfully than other large mammals can (at least for me). Just one birdwalk with genuine interest can open your eyes to the impossible things that birds achieve day after day, without (unlike a certain species) creating fairy tales about their own superiority (unless, of course, that's what they're all actually singing about). Back at home, I settle down beside the window to rest, and a pair of Spotted Owlets perched on a nearby tree stare directly at me, as if to say, "Well done, little human."