From Wedding Bells to Birdsongs: how a family became a flock

Twelve years ago, my sister decided to rock the family unit by introducing a gentleman into our lives, and overnight, our close-knit family of four now had a fifth member, who was so similar to us that it was hard to believe he wasn’t part of our birth family. This is obviously age and experience talking, because I did not know this back then. My mind was full of reservations initially, “Will he enjoy the same things as we do?”, “Will we have fun on family vacations”, “What are his hobbies”. It was as if he was becoming more a part of my family than he was creating a new one with my sister. That’s the saali-effect, little wonder then that we have the old adage saying, “saali aadhi gharwali”.  I tried to translate that into English, but it just sounds off because English is literal most of the times, while Hindi allows you to find comfort and meaning in the feeling of words rather than understanding it verbatim.

Over the years, we developed a friendship that was initiated first by the open road and mountains. My brother-in-law, who loves to drive, and my sister, who loves the mountains now made a terrific team, one that lured me away from my understanding of a vacation—sampling food like I am on some imaginary food show—to the most scenic corners of the country. This also meant that I would spend copious amounts of time in a moving vehicle, driving towards one scenic vista after another and figuring out that Honey Singh’s Manali Trance is our road trip anthem. Amongst the very first of many such trips that the three of us siblings took with my brother-in-law was to Qila Raipur where India’s rural Olympics are held annually. And once we had seen all possible games at this fest, we spontaneously headed towards Kasauli, as if we were the ones who had scraped ourselves in the bullock cart race or wrestled in an intense kabaddi face-off. I was elated, because up until then, I had never been in the mountains, I was and probably will always be a valley and then beach girl, but I did not mind experiencing what my sister loved so much.

Looking back, that was a trip of many firsts, like discovering our love for road trips, dhabha-style food and Punjabi music. I also discovered my brother-in-law’s love for birds. He went into stealth mode at the slightest flap of wings outside the moving car or on hearing a faint bird call from faraway and it was endearing to see him put on an invisible bird-finder, way before we got to know there is an app for that. I would often marvel at how he was able to tell the difference between a Booted Eagle and a Indian Spotted Eagle flying meters above us or swiftly identify a Paradise Flycatcher blitz past the car, or hear the calls of a Rufous Woodpecker from a faraway tree all while he was maneuvering the winding roads behind the steering wheel. I was absolutely awestruck because I could barely tell the difference between a Koel and a Crow back then, having never spotted the former except hearing its loud morning songs. When he identified a bird, I would hastily look out the window with sacred intention, spot something zipping past me but it was always much quicker than my eyes could focus. I learned the art of identifying a bird in motion with years of practice by squinting your eyes comfortably to spot its salient features that help in identifying it. The background and foreground should be a blur, and I learned that you could spot birds with your naked eye without a binocular. It’s like being in an optometrist’s chair, where he keeps changing the power to help you read the alphabets. If you’ve ever been there as a child, you’ll know what I mean by trying to identify the trickiest and smallest row using the curves and dashes in the letters to get done with all the quizzing. Bird spotting is similar. It’s also a little bit like driving or riding a bike, once you learn it, you can never not know how to.

For many years, we followed this pattern like a Siberian Crane’s annual pilgrimage. We would travel together and my brother-in-law would just casually drop names left, right and centre (literally) and I would try to spot what he was seeing. But unfortunately, I could barely catch hold of the bird. On the off-chance that I did, it felt like a sweet victory. Like the time I saw a Brahminy Kite perched on an electrical wire somewhere in Haryana on the way to the mountains, or photographed a flock of Himalayan Vultures at Rohtang Pass. You could say, a few years into my sister’s marriage, I was completely locked in to this new hobby, until COVID gave it new wings, and I became an ardent backyard birdwatcher.

A solo Himalayan Vulture captured at Rohtang Pass | July, 2015

Although Himalayan Vultures prefer to be solo, but they get together to enjoy a feast together. | July, 2015

Without any doubt, apart from it being an acquired interest, I attribute the exponential rise in my love for birdwatching to the excruciating amount of time I had at hand during the pandemic days, despite having a full-time work-from-home job and teaching gigs. The confinement of human beings also led to frenzied birding activities in and around my mother’s home in Rajasthan, and led to brilliant new species of birds colonizing one manicured tree after the other in this peaceful gated community. The first time I heard a White-throated Kingfisher in the area, I was shocked and somehow couldn’t believe my ears. To be doubly sure before I reported it to my family, I watched dozens of YouTube videos to corroborate my findings. But the high-shrill whistles kept increasing in intensity and frequency, until I found myself patiently stationed under the Indian Siris tree outside my home every evening around dusk, when the sound was mostly heard. For the first few days, the Kingfisher was hiding in plain sight. The tiny silhouette of the bird, against the dramatic branches of this indigenous tree against the darkening sky made it very tough to spot it, but patience is a virtue that keeps on giving in the birding universe, especially for amateurs like me. One fine summer evening, I saw it fly past from one branch to the other and my jaw dropped. How could such a tiny creature with so many vivid colours on its body, be so elegant and swift at the same time. I was ecstatic. I had finally seen a hard-to-spot bird in the middle of the desert with no major waterbody surrounding us, except a river that had turned into a nallah. This was perhaps my first major success at solo birdwatching—hearing a bird, waiting patiently to spot it and then catching a glimpse of it at first and then photographing it. Every evening, I would then taste the sweet nectar of my patience as I adjusted my eyes to find it’s tiny silhouette against the tree’s branches. Like identifying the alphabets, one first manages to spot the shape of the bird, then other details such as the beak, neck and feet, and then the bird as a whole, a sum of its distinct parts. As I shared hazy pictures and videos of my discovery on the family WhatsApp group, it became an involuntary “spot the bird” puzzle for the usual suspects, my sister and brother-in-law, while the others namely my mother and brother were silent spectators, not yet sharing my birding enthusiasm.

As the months passed and we slowly started drifting away from complete social isolation to a flexible, part-time one, I was now able to listen to various bird calls and would run in different directions at odd times of the day, trying to spot and identify them. Like the Greater Coucal or Bhardwaj bird would appear whenever it felt like, the Kingfishers were present during dusk and dawn, and a Shikra would also periodically come bathe in the water bath my mother had planted for the birds. Everywhere I looked, I could now see birds. And this lured me into investing in books and spending hours watching bird videos, or reading blogs about birds in Rajasthan, hoping that I would be lucky to see new ones on my evening walks. Two books that quickly became a favourite were Birds of India by Bikram Garewal and others, which is an exhaustive list of all the birds found in India from Kashmir to Andaman & Nicobar Islands and Rajasthan to the farthest corner of Manipur. The book is well chronicled and has information that one can quickly assimilate in a state of urgently trying to recognize a new bird’s sight or sound. The other book is Crazy for Birds by Misha Maynerick Blaise, completely different in its form and purpose. As an illustrated flip through, it draws you into the world of birds with its exotic and colourful illustrations while the copy makes you feel like an exotic bird yourself. The results started showing up on my evening walks when I was able to identify a Black Drongo at first, and then a Greenish Warbler and a family of Jungle Babblers, and the most graceful Purple Sunbirds that had been visiting our garden forever, until one day, I hit the jackpot. Nestled in a tree along my evening walk was a colony of about forty Asian Koels, both male and female and I just stood under that tree unable to move, completely in awe of these frantic but evasive birds. I even counted them, just to be sure that I don’t overestimate their intimate huddle. Obviously, photos and videos were shared on a daily basis and bird spotting had now become an activity of its own on the family group.

The Asian Koel conglomerate in Jodhpur | Jan, 2023

A Shikra enjoying bath-time outside my bedroom | Jan, 2023

Time flew by, and from videos of Peacocks at Marine Drive, to the humdrum of everyday life in Mumbai’s traffic, I had shifted base back to the urban jungle. I missed the birds back home, but I was ready for hustling, hoping I would go to Sanjay Gandhi National Park on weekends to fill that gap. But once you discover birding, it doesn’t only remain a timed or weekend activity, it takes control of your life in a systemic way. So, whether you’re walking on barely-there pavements in suburban Mumbai, you’re tuned in to hearing the incessant calls of the Koel. Or you’re sipping chai near the Shri Thirunelli temple in Wayanad, when you serendipitously spot half a dozen Great Indian Hornbills. Or your idea of a fun activity on vacation is to sign your group up for a nature walk with a naturalist who shows you four distinct Woodpeckers—the Common Flameback Woodpecker, Greater Flameback Woodpecker, Black-rumped Flameback Woodpecker, and Rufous Woodpecker in the comforts of your eco-resort. This was after being woken up at 5 am by dozens of Malabar Grey Hornbills outside your hut. Once you learn to spot the birds, the birds will come find you. And find me, they did. Thankfully, not in a Hitchcockian way though.

My birding joys continued back into my new home in suburban Mumbai. Outside my mid-floor apartment are three massive trees intertwined for eternity at eye level for me, and are home to a variety of birds. The trees look so gorgeous and are a blessing in a city like Mumbai—which was half the reason for taking up the house, because looking out is always a joy. But it was not until December last year that I truly understood the magic it could be to live in the middle of an urban jungle because it gives me a birds-eye-view of so many creatures that come visiting the trees over different seasons. Yes! Mumbai has seasons. If you follow the birds and the leaves, you are more likely to notice them. The last month of the year is the month when I am the least stimulated but most overwhelmed. Somehow, I suddenly feel responsible for the year that has passed and have a pressing need to justify every single decision I took as I start planning for the next year, but off-late I have realised my new year begins with spring (more on that some other time). But this time, I tried to do things differently. I embraced the stillness of December in Mumbai, and decided against escaping it. Which is when I took to the tree outside, as if I was a bird myself.

I would wake up before the sun came out, mostly because the birds started chirping very early on. And so, I too became habitual of perching myself on the window sill, sitting in stillness to observe them. My morning routine has more steps than my skincare, and it is my meditation to prepare for the day that is to come. And between all the micro activities that comprise this routine, I would try to identify a bird call or song, and as I had learned—I would quickly use the internet or flip through my books to identify the bird of the day. That is how I identified a pair of Golden Orioles—who came visiting the first time in November last year, when incidentally my mother was also visiting. It was the magic hour—the one hour before sunset when everything looks more majestic thanks to a spectacle created by the sun. As the warm glow of the sunlight hit the majestic yellow coats of these pretty birds, it acquired a glistening luminosity. Neither of us had seen an Oriole before, so it was definitely surreal. This one was easy to identify but that’s not always the case, because birds are discreet my nature, for various obvious reasons.

A solo Golden Oriole hopping around | Mar, 2025

A beautiful Goan morning, floating on the river Moira, Goa | Dec, 2024

In December, I took a short solo trip to Goa and got acquainted with Mr. Varun Talwar from Fishtail Creek with whom I went on an early morning birding adventure on the river Moira. In between telling us which way to crane our necks, and lock our eyes, I saw him using an app—and that is how I got acquainted with this really helpful comrade, the Merlin Bird app. Since then, identifying birds has become easier, and thanks to its assistance I have identified 25 different bird species between December last year and February this year, all in one location—right outside my window in Mumbai. I want to say the number 25 out loud once again, because before cutting a tree, we really don’t consider how many different birds alone have a home in it, let alone other insects and organisms that thrive in the ecosystem that is a tree. As the country united in agitation against the felling of the Kancha Gachibowli forest area earlier this month, I took solace in the moments I sat in stillness, waiting patiently to spot a bird that was hidden in plain sight. And despite the world falling apart, one geographical region after another, I had probably tasted inner peace. Those birds did not know, but watching them gave me the power to motor through the dull and lonely, the mediocre and boring parts of my day. Their special appearance outside my window sill made me feel like Giselle from Enchanted—a role that Amy Adams really brought to life. I hear a sequel is in the works, fingers crossed for that.

A Greater Adjutant Stork on River Moira, Goa | Dec, 2024

As seasonal depression turned into spring, life came a full circle for me when I started sharing my findings on the app with my brother-in-law and sister, who were quick to download and use it. Together, we logged in our findings on the Great Backyard Bird Count (GBBC) 2025 in India—an annual and probably the largest citizen-driven initiative. One can use the Merlin app to identify the birds and then log them on the eBird app. This helps track and generate a census on bird species with the help of amateur and serious birders across the country, and just like that, something that started as a simple hobby by observing a family member, had now made me a part of a movement.

Two Asian Koels outside my bedroom window. They have been the loudest in Spring/ Summer | Mar, 2025

Close-up of an Asian Koel taken by my sister when she was visiting Mumbai | Mar, 2025

The Games We Play - spot the Coppersmith Barbet | Feb, 2025

But there was more in store to surprise me, and something magical happened when I woke up one morning. My brother and mother had initiated an entire conversation on trying to identify a bird that had been visiting their garden quite regularly now. With newly installed CCTV cameras to capture the miscreants creating unwarranted situations around our house, it was a pleasant surprise that the two were trying to ID birds using it. Screenshots and videos were shared at rapid speed until the bird was identified as a Greater Coucal or commonly known as the Bharadwaj bird in India and is seen as a harbinger of good luck and auspiciousness. I’d like to believe it is, because with it’s spotting, the most reclusive of the birding participants were now converted into enthusiasts, or rather the joy of birding had finally rubbed off on them! We are now a family of happy birders. All thanks to my sister’s decision to get married to a man who loved birds.

An image I am very proud to have created: "A vulture flying above India" | Jul, 2015