birds at home

TeaBulbul looked at me strangely with the slightest tilt of his head. “Why pat your nose here,” she asked. If I could enlist the help of the buzz-speak version of Duolingo, I would certainly have answered, “Why, this is my independent villa. So shouldn’t I be aware of the upstairs activities in the work area of ​​this secluded room?”

It seemed that he was weighing the situation and, noticing that I had not really come close enough to the battle, looked on the other side indifferently. As for me, well, I breathed a sigh of relief and quietly exited the scene.

Last year, around the same time in the same work area, an enterprising bulbul pair discovered the ideal location for their nest, away from noise and potential predators. He collected some stray twigs and leaves on a wide round iron peg, which was drilled on the wall to draw a line of clothes. The clothing line was abandoned for a variety of reasons. Gradually, the neat pile of twigs grew in size to form the rough shape of the nest. Before long, I became aware of the parenting abilities of my avian friends.

I absolutely loved animals, but I was always wary of pets. I found it scary that someone could stand close to a cow to caress it and couldn’t understand why one would allow oneself to be licked all over the face by a pet dog. What if they went rogue for a second, leaving their bosses at the doctor with a deep wound or broken bones? I’m begging my fellow friends to stay away from zoonotic viruses and tick-infested fur. I wish I was lucky there! On the contrary, it was made completely clear that they would prefer to be in the company of their pet rather than a middle-aged female.

I definitely loved my new guests. But I was sure of my fear of being attacked by the fragile pair. There was some sort of mutual agreement. During the day when the birds went out in search of food, I would sometimes drop a small cup of water, a banana or some random cereal on a steel plate on the washing machine placed just below the nest. They didn’t seem particularly happy with my offerings. But I smiled proudly that on a few occasions I had to clean up a ripped banana, which had been splashed with water. Of course, they could not expect their hosts to go hunting for insects. Firstly, I had not given them my hospitality. They had come inside. So all I could do was be gentle with them. The bananas and grains were an added bonus for them not pecking or making a mess.

As the days passed, I could hear a little scream coming from the nest. Twice a week, when the washing machine rumbled in the evenings, I heard a squeal from the nest. I forced and then, the machine only operated during day time, when Bulbul used to go hunting for prey. When they returned in the evening, they had a comfortable and quiet family time for themselves. At night, I’d secretly open the door to the work area ever so lightly and turn on the lights momentarily to see the two birds sleeping on the clothing line. I had never seen birds sleeping before and it became a night pastime.

And as soon as the special bonds between species, which had hitherto been a curse to me, began to cast their spell on me, they simply vanished leaving me with tears in my eyes. To my surprise, a week later, I saw a young bird with a tiny weeny tail, chirping exactly like my former tenant. And of course, a bulbul was chirping backwards sitting on a branch a few meters away. Ahh! My friend was finally back and had come to introduce me to more of his kids. This was followed by a few offerings which were graciously rejected. Then, they disappeared again, never to return. A year passed, but I could not bring myself to pull down the nest that had dried up by now.

Just when I thought I would never see my avian guests again, the bulbuls returned with a vengeance, attacking the same nest. The nest seemed to be a perennial leash for their fraternity. It was a deja vu moment. This buzzing couple was not very receptive to my progress and, as mentioned earlier, one of them politely told me that the nest was, and always will be, an asset like theirs to settle at will.

Unfortunately, circumstances forced me to switch on the washing machine for the last time in the evening. As I crawled to open the door of the machine to remove the washed clothes, a sleepy nightmarish whispered, circling over my head and screaming. I hurried back and started cleaning the clothes the very next day. As if on signal, they disappeared that night. Oh dear, I knew I screwed it up again. I cursed myself as I eagerly waited for my guests to give me one last chance at redemption. I lost my sleep contemplating the fate of uncooked eggs, because of my own stupidity. Miraculously, the birds came back after a day, which eased my guilt.

This time, I want to leave them alone and let them have their way, I better realize they’d prefer a juicy worm to a juicy banana any day.

mayasudha@gmail.com