Come back, birdie

When you think of the journey they might have been through in order to get here, you might think that we really ought to have laid the red carpet out for them. Instead, we offer them poisonous, stinking waterbodies, polluted parks and woodlands — and ‘lakes’ that have all but dried up. And yet the birds keep coming, every winter, fewer in number (and species), perhaps, than in the previous year, but what can you expect?

Actually, the first migrants begin flying in as early as July and August. By now (mid-winter) of course, great skeins of waterfowl, ducks and geese, long-legged storks and cranes, salt-and-pepper waders, keen-eyed raptors and, last but not least, the gutsy tiny-tots would have flown maybe 8,000 km, over vast tracts of land through the river valleys of the Indus and Brahmaputra, followed leading lines such as river courses, mountain ranges, and the coast, and spread themselves comfortably all over the country. They touch down on familiar rivers, lakes, tanks, ponds, gardens, fields, meadows, parks and woodlands with pinpoint accuracy and precision timing, year after year. And Delhi, thanks to the Yamuna, lies on one of their major flyways into the subcontinent. Some touch down on waterbodies, woods, gardens, parks and fields in and around the Capital for a bit of rest and recreation before heading south; others stay on for the entire season.

Of the around 1,300 species of birds found in India, nearly 300 are said to be migratory, and of these about 170 are NRIs. In 2014, some 70 migratory species were recorded from the Sultanpur National Park in Haryana, which is just 1.42 sq km in extent. The park has been through its ups and downs, but one thing seems to be clear: give birds the hospitality they deserve and they will turn up unfailingly. The even smaller wetland Basai, just outside Gurgaon on the road to Sultanpur, is yet another example of how a small area — if suitable and left in peace — can attract masses of birds. Beyond Sultanpur lies the Bhindawas sanctuary, another quiet haven, even if plagued by water hyacinth.

The Yamuna was, and still is a big draw for migratory waterfowl and waders in Delhi and the Okhla bird sanctuary on the banks of the river was declared ostensibly keeping this in mind. The capricious water levels at the barrage however, have made it an unreliable destination. It must be confusing for the birds too, and it was reported that their numbers here were down last year. If there’s a good amount of water, you may see skeins of ducks — shoveller, gadwall, pintail, common teal, ruddy shelduck, and pochard (of various models), basking in the buttery winter sunshine, as well as flocks of geese — both bar-headed and greylag — lurking among the reeds or bobbing blithely in open water. Okhla unfortunately suffers from the major trauma of being cheek-by-jowl with malevolently thrumming power lines, frenetic real estate development (nudging ever closer), and of course, traffic and bridge building, which spell a dire prognosis for its future.

Do not disturb

It really is astonishing how ‘tolerant’ birds are, provided they perceive no threat: Years ago, I remember watching large flocks of pied avocets blithely scouring the river, right beneath the great clanging iron bridge at Salimgarh, even as trains thundered over it, pulling out of or into Old Delhi Railway Station nearby. But if anyone took a single step beyond their ‘comfort zone’ they were up and awa0y in a trice.

It is stupefying — also a little scary — to see how birds of so many different species can still be seen along the banks of the Yamuna or in the river proper as it makes its way glutinously through Delhi, turning your stomach in the process. You wonder at the muck all these long-legged waders, with their varying beak lengths — the sandpipers, redshanks, plovers et al, and those happily bobbing ducks — would be ingesting as they rootle happily about in the sludge and frothy guck. The sandbanks and muddy riverbank also bob and scutter with wagtails, larks and pipits, busily snapping up tiny creepy-crawlies and worms. And it’s wonderful to see how well their camouflage works: when still they vanish! On fence-posts or reeds, bluethroats and stonechats keep watch, and amongst the reed are those astonishing tiny-tot warblers, who might have come all the way from Siberia. And swallows, swifts and martins, both migratory and resident, skim low over the water or do hi-jinks in the heavens, their beaks agape, snapping up midges, mosquitoes and flies.

Water babies

One of the most popular of visiting migrants to the river has to be the huge snowy flocks of black- and brown-headed gulls that turn up when called, (‘aao-aao-aao’) scrimmaging noisily as fistfuls of namkeen (!) are thrown by passers-by. In winter, their heads are white and only start turning coffee-brown or black around February. Gulls, the world over, are one of the avian success stories, simply because they have expanded their diet to include nearly everything edible (which is why they flock to landfills). A slightly more edifying area for birding along the river, lies north of the Wazirabad barrage and at the Yamuna Biodiversity Park. Here, because apparently they prefer cleaner water, you may be fortunate to see that prince of ducks — the red-crested pochard — bobbing happily amongst his harem of dudettes.

While Okhla’s star may be falling, it appears Najafgarh jheel’s star has started to rise again. The Najafgarh drain, amongst Delhi’s most noxiously notorious, is apparently a relatively clean marshy jheel before it has the misfortune of entering Delhi proper. And migratory birds have known this for years. Usha Ganguli mentions this jheel as a wonderful birding area in her classic A Guide to the Birds of the Delhi Area, published way back in the ’70s.

The National Zoological Park near the Old Fort at one time used to host houseful crowds of pintail, shoveller and teal on its ponds and waterbodies, but in recent years just a handful turn up rather dispiritedly: it’s said the water has gone bad. Another good area being developed as a sanctuary is the Surajpur wetland near Dadri, though here alas, development plans include the introduction of something called ‘forest sport’.

Call time

Water birds apart, there are others that make these momentous journeys too: On lawns and in gardens and parks, wagtails strut like prosperous landlords, and in woodland areas, the lesser whitethroat keeps up its disapproving ‘tch-tch’ call. Other little ones include warblers (usually dun brown or grey and difficult to tell apart unless you’ve dedicated your life to them) and chiffchaffs and flycatchers. Not all birds fly down immense distances from climes abroad: the pugnacious little grey-headed canary flycatcher, which you might have met in Himalayan hill-stations in summer, flies down from the mountains, and likes quiet woodland areas usually near water. The black redstart, in formal sooty black, grey and russet, is a quiet NRI visitor to gardens and parks — though I have been seeing fewer and fewer of them every passing year.

A large number of raptors — eagles, hawks, falcons and harriers et al, follow the flocks of waterfowl, quickly dispensing with the weaklings or those tarrying awhile. A sudden commotion on a waterbody — sounding like a giant gargling — usually means that a marsh harrier has swung low and is checking out the dozing ducks, which all suddenly wake up and take off desperately.

Most of the migrants dress in casuals in this season and this sometimes makes identifying them — especially those salt-and-pepper waders and some gulls and terns — difficult. The reason is simple: the dudes have no reason to look flashy now because they’re not courting at this time and putting on finery is expensive and risky. But just wait till February, and they will start changing — some like the ruff — into outfits befitting Shakespearean dandies.

They say global warming is one reason why fewer migratory birds are being recorded every year. Well, birds migrate because conditions in their homeland become impossible as winter clamps down: the ground is covered with ice and snow, insect and plant life dies out, so there is nothing to eat. If the northern latitudes really did heat up then maybe insect and plant life would hang on, and the birds might not feel the need to risk these immense journeys. And yet, they also tell us that the impetus for migration is given not by weather, but the day-length — or photoperiodism. And that remains constant…

As for us, in Delhi and other cities that host migratory visitors from abroad, it really is quite simple. Drain a swamp, let a lake go bone dry (like Badkhal), spray your lawns with pesticides, convert woodlands into manicured, pedicured parks, and the birds will take one look and just fly on.

Ranjit Lal is an author and environmentalist

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