Poor Scrawny! Now that he was alone, his parents would have a hard time flying back and forth, feeding all three offspring. The logic of nature is that only the strong survive: if Scrawny was too weak to leave the nest he’d have to be abandoned. I no longer wanted to risk taking close-ups of the nest in case my presence caused trauma to the lonely little creature, so I did my best to zoom in from afar. The result was one blurred and indistinct portrait of a tiny nestling, hardly bigger than an animated peanut, gazing wistfully out at the world from his windtossed home. I was so sure he wouldnot make it through the night that I posted the picture along with a tearful requiem, at my blog. But the next morning, there he was, alive and squeaking peevishly. His parents, tireless with devotion, were ferrying food to all three babies.
Every day brought new adventures. Monday, Scrawny fell out of the nest. We picked him up and put him back in (whereupon he leapt right out again, in shock). Tuesday, his siblings returned and all three baby birds cuddled close within the bamboo.Wednesday, the siblings flew to the front garden and Scrawny followed, fluttering and falteringall the way. Thursday, all three were cuddling close again, but in the front garden.
We lost sight of them thereafter.
What a relief! No worries now, till babybird season comes around next year.
This piece appeared in the first sample issue of Delhi City Limits.
