THE FIRST FLIGHT

It was the summer vacations. The best part of the year, as  I make the yearly trip home with my kids in tow. When I called up my parents from the airport, they told me that this time there was a wonderful surprise waiting for me. I frowned and wondered what that could be. I love surprises. The good ones, of course! The boarding followed by a journey with the twins diverted me from the guessing game and finally there we were paying the cab driver at the gate. My kids were itching to get out and run, after being confined to a single seat and I just wanted to hand them over to my parents and get some long awaited rest.

As we stepped inside, my mother smiled, “Any guesses?”

‘Too exhausted to even try!”

She beckoned me to follow her to the balcony.  “Wait here for a while. I’ll get you some water.”

There must have been some reason. I stood there with the glass in my hand gazing out to the favourite scenes I had grown up with. The green pond with the geese cackling in it and the trees that bordered it. I thanked God for the little somethings that never changed. And then suddenly from the pakur tree flew a red vented bulbul and sat on the grill. I was standing right in front! That must be some brave little bird. It had some dried grass between its beaks. My eyes widened and the bird hopped to the far end of the balcony and busied itself in the construction.

It was a messy little nest with plastic shreds dangling at the bottom. The bird was trying hard to knit the grass between the twigs. Sure enough, its mate I spotted was siting amidst the foliage.

“I think it’s their first venture and they are late.” Maa said.

“Sure they are” I agreed. “The eggs should have hatched by now.”

I was ecstatic. And avid lover of avifauna I shivered with joy at the prospect of showing my children the very process of nesting and if I was lucky of hatching of the fledglings. It was an amazing surprise indeed.

The birds took about 2 days to complete their rickety nest and the mother settled in like a queen. She would now leave the nest very infrequently. I was dying to get a view of the eggs inside, but I knew that was unethical. I had tried to introduce my children to the birds, but in their excitement they had banged against the French window so hard, that the poor mother had to fly off leaving the nest unattended.

I observed her doting mate bringing her food at regular intervals. I introduced him as ‘Papa Bulbul’ to my little ones and the one in the nest as ‘Mamma Bulbul’. This seemed to create some interest in them. About 5 days later in the absence of Mamma Bulbul I could discern some movement in the nest. There was some scope to pry as the nest was amateur- built and had some slits in the side. I got my binocular. Sure enough there were the little pink hatchlings, nothing but skin and bones, shivering. The Mamma was back. I left the balcony and stepped into the living room but kept a watch for the Mamma to leave. But Mamma too had detected the intruder. And henceforth every time she flew away, she left a very vigilant Papa at the nest site.

It was about five more days before we could see the little fledglings’ heads bobbing out from the sides of the nest. My daughter happily declared that there were ‘Three baby bulbuls.’ Their excited grandfather agreed. Papa Bulbul used to bring little insects and feed it to the Mamma, who in turn would masticate it and finally stuff it down the throats of her ever hungry little kids. I was having a tough time managing two, and this one had three hungry mouths..always wide open.

My kiddos too had started to experience the joy of climbing up grills of the windows. Their little heads bumping against the pelmets of the curtains. As we became more vigilant after them, I observed that the parents now took turns in foraging for food. The frequency too, had increased. The chicks were obviously bigger now. The thin blue films on the eyes were gone and there were soft down-feathers that gave them a fluffy brownish look. Their voices too, were now very much audible. It acted as an alarm for my kids and whenever they could hear the ‘cheep cheep’s they would rush to the balcony and climb up the grill to have a look at Papa Bulbul feeding the Babies. It was on one such day when I joined my litter that the Mamma who was sitting in the tree right in front flew down swiftly right at my face. I shrieked and backed away. Quickly gathering up my two I went inside, quite shocked. This behaviour of the protective parents intensified. They would not allow us to enter the balcony during the feeding time. My mother was not allowed to put her grandchildren’s wet clothes out to dry. My father was not allowed to enjoy a smoke, in the lap of nature. However, the most stunning fact was that only my twins were allowed not only to venture into the balcony but also to climb up the grills. They loved to have their food with the Baby Bulbuls, so I seemed to be pardoned when accompanied by my tiny little bodyguards. Over two weeks had passed. The hatchlings were distinctly older and bigger now. The flight feathers had developed and they seemed to sometimes spill out of the nest. Once a little chick got its foot stuck in the big slit from where I used to spy on their growth. It wrestled quite a bit and then slipped back inside.

The parents were now in frenzy. They would leave every five minutes to feed the hungry mouths that were unforgiving in their demands. They would provide a very balanced diet. After two or three helpings of insects, there would be a fruit snack. Some round red or green fruit would be pecked open and given to the chicks. The only common interest that both our babies had was the love for berry. The corner of the carnish under our balcony had become a beautiful splatter of violet.

Only a week remaining of our vacations, I was feeding my two in the morning as they stood holding the grill when I spotted Papa Bulbul sitting at a distance. It hopped away to the end of the branch and made a short flight to the next tree where it sat half concealed by the leaves. It took flight. Within a couple of seconds I could see a torpedo coming straight for me. It whizzed past so close that its wings hit my face. I ran inside. I knew my children were safe. It was the ‘tall one’ they were after. And then wonder of wonders, my son gave out a shrill cry an fell off the grill. The Papa Bulbul was systematically targeting all the Homo sapiens and eliminating them one by one. My daughter too was terrified, being betrayed thus. Henceforth for the next two days we could not even think of opening the French window. The parents seemed to have gone berserk. They would not even allow us to stand on the other side of the glass. They would keep on coming and hitting the window. We retreated.

Three days before our scheduled return, I was standing at the balcony in a disturbed frame of mind, thinking about my aunt, who the doctor had pronounced as critically ill. It was a good ten minutes before I realized that I had not been attacked by any torpedo or missile. The tree in front bore no signs of the parents. Seized with panic I glanced at the nest. There was an unusual amount of movement and the birds were calling out continuously. I kept looking..once at the nest and then would scan the tree. One of the chicks had come out and was sitting right at the edge of the nest. It kept stooping forward and regaining its grip. I looked at it nervously cursing the fact that I had no right to intervene with nature, and praying to God that the little brat doesn’t slip and fall off in the absence of its parents. And then from the corner of my eye could detect a movement in the tree. The parents revealed themselves, beautiful and brown against the fresh leaves. The morning sun shining brightly on their breasts. A flutter and the little one flapped its wings clumsily and took flight. It somehow reached the tree where it was received by its parents. They flew off. Ohh what joy!!

Within two minutes the next one had repeated the same process and flew off to the next apartment’s  balcony and then took the long flight to where its family was.  I could simply cry or go mad with happiness. I called my father, but he said, he would rather keep the kids busy and let the birds make their maiden flights undisturbed. I ran to get my camera, praying that I can at least capture the last one’s moment of history. But this one turned out to be the timid one. Too scared to take that decisive plunge, it kept on climbing to the rim and going back. Finally it gave up and settled within the secure comforts of the nest. Yet the emptiness of the home must have been maddening to it, and for about half an hour it just continued its deafening ‘cheep cheep’s intermittently falling silent. The parents and the siblings were visible but they had stopped responding. Finally the nervous one came to the rim, looked bashfully about, and then took the plunge. And soon it, too, disappeared within the trembling leaves.

Camera in hand I looked at where the happy family had disappeared. The nest left a painful emptiness behind. A new life had started and our participation, wanted or unwanted, had come to an end. The joy was thankfully manifold. I came in and released my father from his babysitting duties. I embraced my little ones tightly. I had flown my nest and one day they would too.

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Before we returned I had seen the family a couple of times. They seemed happy frolicking around.