Small things in a poet's little corner of life

 Nesting birds are all ears and concentration. Be it parching heat, torturing cold or piercing rain, they are steadfastly manning the watch-post to first save their eggs and later the hatchlings. The risk factors are always bustling around.

An Indian robin bird couple is scowling with indignation. They have almost successfully raised a chick. It’s maybe just a week away from full flight. Till then it has to remain hidden among the tree branches while they feed it. Of course, whoever happens to come near the tree is an eye-sore to the parents. All impulsive and afire they are snarling with shrr-frr angry notes on the curry-leaf tree in the yard. It’s their tree for the moment because their just-out-of-nest tiny chick is huddled in a fork on a leafy branch.

Presently the cause of their ruminations is a squirrel that is trying to climb ‘their’ tree. Hurling their angry monologues they are flying around her, trying to distract or even give her an outright fall. When they are protecting their chicks, even the softest and mutest birds become gut-wrenching, freewheeling energy personified. I don’t think the squirrel can eat their little one. It can steal eggs of course. But her presence makes the parents all itchy with anger. Maybe it’s the same squirrel that has just moved in with her little ones a few days ago. It must be on the way to her nest on the parijat comprising the same clump of trees in the yard.

To support the underdog is an aesthetic marvel for we humans. One gets a feel of being a visionary genius. In fact, a tailorbird is already sniveling from the side of the robins. I also add to their voice, stomp my feet and throw little dry twigs to scare away the squirrel. But to the insecure parents I’m no countryside gentleman. In their innocent alertness they almost graze against my shaven head. An aerial attack I would say. I leave the field. The chick is safely hidden at its leafy perch.

For many hours I see it exactly at the same place. It’s an obedient chick following its parents’ instructions. It of course increases its survival chances. That’s the best thing to do till you don’t have your own wings to fly. It will be good for the little one to do as its parents ask it to do. Then it can set out on a flirting furlough with life one fine day. It will have many moths, even years hopefully, to spend the strength of its youth’s reserves. But till then a meek complaisance to the parental plans will be good. And that’s what it does. It safely makes to the end of a very critical day, each second important, each hour adding strength to its tiny wings. I leave it safely tucked in its place as a humid twilight sets in.

As I write this and take a break to go out on the terrace, mother nature gives me a sight to add to this write-up. The wire-tail swallow couple has their chick out as well. The family is extended now. Three of them sitting on a wire, the parents on both sides of the chick. The parents all alert and anxious and the chick full of awe and wonder on this bigger stage outside the mud nest. It has dull grey head, which will grow to chocolate brown like its parents. The wings look very mild purple. These will grow to shiny metallic blue. Its tail will grow wires like its elders. But for that the parents will have to give their all to add enough strength and skills in its wings to fly freely. Mothers are extra possessive. As I look at them from a few feet away from the perch cable, she comes chipping and takes a swift turn around my nose, giving me a warning to stay away from her child.

It’s a lovely sight to watch a fruitful nesting and the expansion of a birdie family. It’s a bit more hopeful morning. The sun partially out. Yellow little butterflies fluttering among the flowers. The trees laden with fresh, young leaves. And the family of three, having crossed a milestone, looking to successfully cross over to the other.

Unlike the robin chick, the swallow youngster has to get its training under the open skies on the wires and cables in the locality because their toes don’t allow a firm perch on the tree branches. I can just add my prayers for their cause. I can pray that the crows and the shikra (who is usually stalking the locality to fly away with any lazy bird or lizard) are busy somewhere else and won’t come here as of now.