(WILD)LIFE IN THE CITY

I was quite unaware of creatures around me as a kid. Except for crows, sparrows and pigeons or dogs and cats (okay, puppies and kittens), nothing quite registered. There was the occasional howl when a tiny green worm crawled out when shelling peas. Or when a cockroach decided to go flying like a helicopter, perhaps wanting a better view but terrifying the rest of us. (I’m sure the amount of screaming they’ve endured over the years have turned cockroaches decidedly deaf!)

So, when I read Gerald Durrell’s My Family and Other Animals it was as though between one blink and the next, I was seeing a whole new world. Besides being a hilarious adventure about the naturalist’s childhood, the book got me interested in all creatures great and small. The worms and insects that had me leaping mile-high, now had me fascinated. The way their tiny legs pumped up and down pebbles, their vibrant colours… I was hooked.

If I could not spend hours like a young Durrell observing these tiny creatures, I could be amused. By the way an earthworm went on and on, till it hit a wall. Only to decide, ‘okay, time to let my tail become my head.’:P From the ground, my gaze travelled up. I started searching for a rustle in the branches to take a closer look. This is when I discovered a variety of creatures living, fluttering, hopping and chattering merrily high above my head. The scolding, chittering squirrels, the noisy parakeets and mynahs, the sweet bulbuls and the soaring black kites.

I was delighted to trace the melodious calls I heard early in the morning to one of the most aggressive birds I’ve come across—the white-spotted fantail flycatchers. I often find pairs chasing and irritating crows and cats. Creatures many times their size but who dare enter territory they consider theirs.

On my walks, I have tracked down the whistling calls of a drongo and cuckoos cooing themselves hoarse. I have spotted the pretty green bee-eaters, magpie-robins and purple-rumped sunbirds. Then there are the cute coppersmith barbets, the vibrant kingfishers, the majestic coucals, entire parties of chestnut-tailed starlings and even the winter-visiting golden orioles.

A visit to a nearby waterbody is always a sure bet on sighting cattle egrets, cormorants and if one is lucky, flamingoes. (In fact, a white-breasted waterhen came visiting my building compound during the pandemic lockdown, perhaps wondering—where have all the humans gone?)

There are times when I wish that a visiting bird, unknown to me, would do me the courtesy of introducing itself. It would be nice if my eyes could zoom in to see the bird properly (early morning light where birds are backlit up above is frustrating). It would also be nice, if there were a pop-up bubble over the bird announcing its name. There used to be a stargazer app like that. Point your phone camera to the celestial body and its mysteries were unveiled. Anyway, I digress.

One unexpected sighting happened because the bird in concern literally tapped me on the head. I had just entered my building, around 7 or 8 in the evening, when I felt the tap. Irritated, because I thought I had been shat on by a crow or a pigeon with loose motions, I glared. I stopped stunned. It was a barn owl, all white. It went gliding over my head, once, twice, then a third time, till it decided to settle over a window to watch me. I was only too willing to be watched and watch back in return. But the owl must not have found me interesting enough for it soon glided away leaving me to sigh in pure wonder.

P.S.: I’ve since found resources ranging from a simple Google or YouTube search to the fantastic Merlin Bird ID app by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, to expand my knowledge of birds that come visiting.

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