What do birds want

There's a whole mafiosi of birds that specialise in making birders get at each other’s throats and start a war if possible

A purple rumped sunbird in breeding plumage. (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

After decades of watching birds, I have come to the firm conclusion that what a bird wants – and it can be of any species – is simple: To drive birders or birdwatchers if you prefer – nuts. It doesn’t matter if you are a newbie or a veteran: they have no respect for youth or experience. As Salim Ali once mentioned, the reaction of most ‘normal’ people to birders was to put their forefingers to their temples and rotate it slowly…

In pursuit of this endeavor, birds go about it in different ways. Firstly, of course, they will play hard to get – flitting about in the foliage – eyeing you with glee – as you focus your brand-new binoculars on a fluttering leaf. Of course, they’ll whistle you up first – there you are enjoying a cup of tea – and you’ll suddenly hear a seductive call. Just yesterday morning, I heard the paradise flycatcher call somewhere in the garden here in Goa – not its seductive mellifluous call – but a harsh ‘chrr’ which sent me running to the balcony, almost spilling my tea. There’s a pool here and I know that these birds like a quick dip or two. But did it show itself? Not a chance! They’ll pull this kind of stunt just as you get busy with something else, rather in the manner of children ringing your doorbell and running away.

It can be nerve-wracking especially for eager-beaver newbies, particularly when they are in the company of ‘experienced’ veterans. ‘Where, where?’

Story continues below this ad

‘There, can’t you see? On that branch!’ Of course, there are about a hundred branches around, so which one? ‘There, near that leaf!’ Excuse me – there are about a thousand fluttering leaves to choose from! Experienced birders need not get too smug at this point. If there are more than one around, you can be sure an argument will break out.

Scaly breasted munia or spotted munia. (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

‘Six-whiskered bulbul’ one will declaim decisively.

‘What? Are you nuts? It’s a four-whiskered bulbul! Can’t you count?’

‘How do you know? It might have shaved off two whiskers this morning!’

Story continues below this ad

In fact, there is a whole mafiosi of birds which specialise in making birders get at each other’s throats, and, in fact, start a war if possible: they are called warblers and most are clad in khaki, brown, biscuit, beige, olive green or any intermediate shade often with white markings – like wing stripes and eyebrows – which again are usually indistinct and blurry. Sensible people call them ‘little brown jobs’ and leave it at that. Kattar birders are ready to commit murder if their identification is challenged. ‘Abbe, can’t you see the second thingamajig pinion on its primaries is 2.54 cm long? Not 2.64 cm long like you are saying.’ Yeah, right, like you have a pair of calipers or a tape measure at hand to take the measurements and the bird is going to let you, as if being measured for a suit.

Bird books and websites alas, which ought to help you here are as bad. Yesterday, I spotted a flock of small dumpy little plovers on the beach and was wondering exactly who they were. They are small beige-brown, grey birds with white eyebrows, very solemn in demeanor. Well, for my main suspect, the little sand plover, one of the helpful identification hints given was to check if the ‘bill length was equal to the distance between base of bill to centre of eye’. And that if the ‘feet do indeed protrude beyond tail tip, but not significantly.’ Yeah sure, easy-peasy, but hey, do define ‘significant’ first!

Many species get their cheap thrills by hiding in plain sight. Larks will saunter about on the grass and stubble or tussocks completely invisible until they erupt into the sky to sing. Yellow-footed green pigeons will duck (by the flock-full) into the pepuls and wheeze and laugh at you as you try to winkle them out, scoffing the drupes all the while. Hah! Point a stick at the tree like a gun and they’ll explode en masse, except now you’ll have indignant morally-correct birders beating you up for having disturbed the poor things, or preventing them from feeding, which if they didn’t, they might just drop out of the trees from hunger! Amazingly, even the peacock can pull off the disappearing trick uncannily as it slinks away into the jungle and vanishes in a trice.

One way of identifying a bird (especially those nefarious warblers) is by their calls. But here you’ll first have to obtain recordings of their calls, and mug those up like you were appearing for you Board exams. Or if you are very lucky actually hear one while it calls or sings. Be warned: no two recordings of the same bird will match. I suppose like us, they have different voices. I’ve been listening to a pair of what I suspect are scops owls calling from the trees, at dawn each morning, though when I listened to the numerous recordings of the birds, well, I’m not sure the ball tracking was on target.

Story continues below this ad

Then, of course, there are those ustads, like the drongo who are total scamsters. They’ll pretend to be what they are not by mimicking the calls of other birds. You go peering desperately for a shikra in the trees, ignoring the sleek, boot-polish black drongo nearby, who is eyeing you with a wicked glint in its eye. And then, there are those, like the common hawk-cuckoo (ironically mimicking a shikra but only in appearance), who on sizzling summer mornings will, from the cool depths of shade, eye you pityingly tramping about in the sun and call out ‘brain-fever, brain-fever, brain-fever.’

And that is exactly what a bird wants!