Amongst all the things that spark joy in my life, bird watching is near the top of the list, along with the beauty of the ocean, savoring an authentic version of pav bhaji, homemade मटकीची उसळ, and the memories of spending long summers days with my nose buried in the pages of a fascinating book. Yet, nothing else brings forth the euphoria as spotting I spot a new bird I have never seen before does. Perhaps similar to the adrenaline rush one might get from a roller coaster, but with both feet firmly on the ground.
I remember when I first felt the heady rush, that I now firmly associate with bird watching. My school had a huge playground, fringed with enormous trees, and the Mula-Mutha river flowing at the bottom of it. The entrance to the playground was bordered with three huge steps that also served as seating during school sports events. Every morning, I would try to squeeze in a quick walk before the bell for the morning assembly. I would make my way to the playground, and stand on the large steps, scanning the trees, or staring hard at what little of the river across the field I could see. In hindsight, I perhaps looked rather silly and strange, walking around alone, just looking about. But for me, it was quite an exciting world, where I didn’t know what I would come across next. Would I spot the lapwings calling their familiar tit-tee-twee-wit, zooming across the field? Or perhaps I may spot some kites magnificently soaring over the school grounds.
I had just started really getting into the Enid Blyton books, and I imagined myself to go on an adventure every morning! One day as I stood under the trees looking over the field, I caught movement further up the tree. Glancing up nonchalantly, I was in for quite a surprise when I saw two beady black eyes peering back out of a small hollow. The school, the noisy kids, the bell going off the distance, all faded away in that moment. It was just me and the spotted owlet up the tree, staring at each other.
I stared open mouthed, and tore my gaze away just for a second to look back at all the other girls rushing away for the morning assembly, and when I looked back again there were two more small owly faces behind the first one. A family of four. And that’s when I felt it, a rush of blood to the head, heart racing fast, and my chest bursting with happiness and pride at what I had discovered. I couldn’t believe that I had seen owls in such broad daylight. I very reluctantly said goodbye and rushed away for morning assembly. ‘I will be back for you’, I promised. For the rest of the year, I made every opportunity to go see my new find. Every lunch break, and every morning I would rush down to the tree and stare at the owlet family, feeling a little bubble of happiness in my heart.
I eventually noticed the same rush of blood to the head, the same spark of joy, every time I spotted my favourite birds. Every time I heard the shrill cries of the kites soaring over the skies, or when I rushed to the balcony for a better look at the painted storks riding the thermals, so very high up in the air. Every time I spotted the diminutive spotted muniyas outside the kitchen window, or when the I heard the kingfisher’s raucous early morning, and every time I saw the family of brightly coloured green-bee eaters nose diving from the nearby Moringa tree.
I carried this spark with me to Melbourne, and I was fascinated with all the colourful bird life this city had to offer. When I first spotted a tawny frogmouth on a late-night walk, my heart pounding in my ears, and a sense of joy akin to having found buried treasure, this spark made me feel closer to home. The spark showed through the first time I spotted a cockatoo, or the first time I spotted a pair of galahs feeding in a roadside grassy patch. I couldn’t stop feeling exhilarated and amazed at how colourful all these new birds were! I was the happiest I could be when, while visiting a zoo in Tasmania, a southern rosella landed on my arm. As life continued to happen around me and send the occasional hard times my way, I found solace in the fact that at least I have this unique spark of joy within me.
Until one day I realized I didn’t anymore. I am not quite sure when, but one fine day, I stopped being fascinated about cockatoos. I spotted one in the tree outside the balcony of my first-floor apartment, and it didn’t stir up anything within. One fine day, returning home from work after a long commute, I spotted a pair of galahs on a roadside green. And for the first time, I did not feel like taking a closer look. In fact, I was as disinterested as I could be. “I am just tired today,” I had reasoned. I had finally found my first full time job in Melbourne after almost two years of job hunting, and things were finally starting to settle down. And so, I brushed the feeling aside.
The next day, I spotted the colourful flash of a rainbow lorikeet outside my bedroom window, and I did not immediately rush out to the balcony. I surprised myself when I shooed away a mynah that was resting a while on the potted plants in the balcony. Still nothing when I saw a plover on the beach, and nothing when I spotted a crimson rosella on a day trip to the Dandenong Ranges. I resigned myself to the fact that perhaps in the struggles of daily life, I had lost my interest in a thing as frivolous as birds! It was as if I had lost a magical ability. As I stopped seeking out birds, I stopped coming across them too.
I swept these feelings under the rug as life turned eventful. The next year was a ridiculously busy one, what with moving in with my boyfriend, and subsequently planning a wedding. Amidst adjusting to newly married life, having in-laws and parents come visit us in Melbourne, and travelling around with my husband, the joy I once found in birding, began to feel like a long-lost memory. Something I did when I wasn’t jaded, and not as cynical! Soon enough, I missed home a little too much and planned a long overdue trip to India after four and half long years. I had a fully packed schedule meeting friends and family, both new and old. I barely had time to spend three full days at home with my parents.
On one such busy day, I had a lucky afternoon free. I decided to take a nap, and trudged to my childhood bedroom. The home I once knew was now very different. We live in a 2-bedroom flat in Pune, in a standalone building (aka housing society). Once a close-knit bunch of neighbours, there are now only three of the original owners left in the building. When my family first moved in, my grandparents planted trees in the generous garden space surrounding the building. The once well-tended garden was now completely wild. A thick curtain of foliage faced my window, the empty plot of land next to my building now overrun with vegetation.
I squinted through the grill on my window, peering out hoping to spot a pair of red-vented bulbuls in the thick branches. As my eyes scanned the green screen, a mynah hopped away on the lower branches, a चिरक flitted through the trees, and a bird speckled with brown and white sat with its head under its wings, fluffed up in a ball against a light rain that had now started to fall. ‘Hmm, wish I saw something more interesting than that fluffed up koel’, I though as my eyes scanned past it looking away, further down the branches.
No luck. I was just about to turn away from the window when suddenly the fluffy speckled ball raised its head, and quickly swiveled it around, a full 180degree, looking straight at me with startling yellow eyes. And that was the moment the world melted away, the noise from the living room television, my tiredness, and the humidity of Pune rains, all fading away into the background.
At that moment, it was just me and the spotted owlet, eyes locked together. The owlet flared its wings and raised its head in an effort to appear more threatening. Up-and-down it bobbed, me mirroring its movement by the window bars, not taking my eyes off for even a moment. After several seconds, I tore away from the window to grab my phone for a picture, and heard pounding in my ears. I could hear my heart beat fast and loud, and an indescribable sense of joy, bursting in my chest. It was back!! I was back…the spark was back!! I had forgotten what this felt like.
For the reminder of my time in Pune, I greeted the spotted owlet every morning, as it made its way back to the tree to roost. Just like old times….
I have thought about this incident often. The spark of joy that had started with an owlet family, had been reignited with another spotted owlet, years later! Its clearer to me now, that the spark of joy within was never gone, it was always there, albeit buried under a mountain of stresses of day-to-day life. I had forgotten to be thankful for the things that made life worth living. And I was not spending enough time treasuring what truly made me unique.
Thanks to the little owlet, I learned that it never does anyone any good to let the daily grind take away all the joys of life. The daily grind will always be there…but so will the beauty around, only if one remembers to look up a tree!