Sex in the sanctuary

The Sultanpur National Park, a bird sanctuary near Delhi hosting over 250 species, has been closed down for the monsoons, to give birds some ‘privacy’ during the breeding season, according to the authorities. So exactly what do birds get up to at this time of the year? We take a look at a cross-section of species and their love lives. Reader discretion is advised.

Parakeets the Great Romantics

Their love-life, which commences in January, can best be described in Shakespearean terms:

(Scene: Telephone wire, tree branch or balcony railings)

Totabhai Romeo: (Perches next to Mithooben Juliet. Gives her sidelong looks and shuffles up close) May I roll mine eyes at thee and ogle thy beauteous breast and whisper sweet nothings in thy delicate ear and cosy thus closer to thee than ever?

Mithooben Juliet (simpering): By all means, my love, I will not tell Mama! But pray, why dost thou speakest thus, with thy beak full?

Totabhai Romeo: ‘Tis full of love — and pap — sweet berries masticated just for thee! But na’er as sweet as thy rolling eye and loving countenance! But hark! I must look at thee from thy other side to see if yon psittacula from there is greener! (Flutters around her and perches on her other side) Forsooth! Thou art hotter than red chilli peppers in the blistering sun from here and maketh me swoon! (Shuffles right up to her and raises a claw, as if offering a bouquet, but is holding nothing.) Alas! What became of those wine-dark roses that I filched for thee from yon olive-eyed damsel at the Moti Bagh flyover traffic lights? Did darkest dementia strike me down, or in an anguished moment did I consume them, I remember not! Oh, woe is me!

Mithooben Juliet: No matter! Stop talking so much and kiss me forsooth like they do under the bridges of yon wanton Paris!

(They French kiss passionately — but the curtain might come down before that)

The Kabutarasutra by Doves and Pigeons

This erotic manual was written by ancient rock doves for males only (which is why the species is so popular), and is followed devotedly by all rock doves today. The bottom-line is: do it — wherever, whenever, however. Touch down — it can be next to a dhaba, a playground, another dove, in the forecourt of Rashtrapati Bhavan during the guard of honour ceremony, it doesn’t matter! Fluff yourself up and start pirouetting and let it be known to one and all (in that gurgling baritone) that you’re god’s gift to every female regardless of species and she must fall at your feet.

Ducks the Ravagers

These guys are low-down mean and nasty and probably have developed their attitude towards gang and marital rape after observing us. (Most ducks are migratory but there are a handful of resident species.) What happens is truly appalling. Several hoodlum drakes will pile on top of the poor ducky in the water, squabbling, fighting and hammering her, sometimes even drowning her. Watch them at it and you think, boy, they really are only good for roasting to a crisp and dousing with orange sauce. But of course, as we’ve been repeatedly told, ‘boys will be boys’.

Till Death Do Us Part Sarus Cranes

These tall, grey, red-headed cranes are revered for their lifelong fidelity to each other, not a practice popular with most other species (including our own). It is said that if one partner dies, the other will starve itself to death in grief. But all is not what it seems and, my god! have you seen their courtship! They’ll throw their heads back, face the heavens, and trumpet their love to the world! They’ll pick up their skirts and hop, skip and jump high like Marilyn Monroe trying to control her skirt. Talk about PDA! The trouble is that it’s highly infectious and they can easily tempt you to do the same on yoga day… especially if you belong to the moral police or lunatic fringe. Not a good idea if you are wearing baggy shorts.

The Can-Can March of the Candyfloss Battalion of Flamingos

When I first saw this performance, many years ago, I couldn’t believe my eyes and should have felt very honoured instead of rolling with laughter. There, on Sultanpur jheel was a battalion of greater flamingoes (with one sergeant-major ‘lesser’ flamingo in their midst) standing up very straight and tall, marching stiffly past me, turning their heads in perfect unison — ‘Eyes right! Eyes left! Seedha dekh ! They marched past me, did a smart about turn and came back. The only thing missing was the Colonel Bogey March.

Now, flamingos wear these short pink tutus and have endless ballerina legs; dark boomerang bills and this gloriously snooty way of looking down at the world (rather like a camel). And when a battalion starts marching they perhaps bring to mind a militarised version of Swan Lake . Anyhow, stifling my laughter I saluted them smartly as they marched because, well, they were sort of also murmuring a little malevolently under their breath — and to be taken down by 50-odd commando ballerinas would be infra dig in extremis. But I did scurry home to check up on what the heck they were up to. Well, it seems they were checking each other out with a view to selecting their life partners. Both boy and girl flamingos look much the same and take part equally in this march, where they presumably assess each other for posture, marching ability, snootiness, plumage and other things that make a flamingo’s heart beat faster. Imagine what they’re murmuring while giving one another the beady eye:

‘That chick, who the heck does she think she is, flouncing like that in such a short skirt; mama would throw a hissy fit! What a floozy!’

‘That ass, who the heck does he think he is… Charles De Gaulle? Freaking banana-bill! Hey I heard that, did you call me a floozy? Wait till I tell bhaiyya — he’ll sort you out! What a jerk!’

‘Banana bill? Is that what you said? I heard you too!’

‘Good! Banana-bill, banana-bill, banana-bill! Get used to it!’

‘Oooh babe! When you say that…it turns me on!’

‘Ooh, when you look at me like that, it makes me feel like I’m the only flamingo in the world!’

Flamingos do tend to pair for life and both parents take care of the chicks. Alas, the chicks are (any flamingo mom and dad would agree) excessively independent and jump out of their mud cone nests as soon as they can and form hellion gangs with other brats. Alas, I don’t know whether any actual pairing-off took place at Sultanpur that summer, but the birds certainly didn’t nest-build or breed there, which is supposed to happen immediately after the Can-can Marching Dance.

Baya beware! Weavers the Crooks, Conmen and Charmers Inc

Weaverbirds are masterful architects and builders, but that’s not all… A flock of bachelor weavers arrives at a suitable site (usually near water) and frenetic building activity commences as the famous vase-like nests take shape woven out of grass. The charmers now await the young ladies… And all hell breaks loose when they arrive. Like hustlers, the boys flutter around, shrieking loudly, ‘4BHK! Penthouse! Central air-conditioning! Jacuzzi! Golf course view! Blah-blah-blah!’ The ladies are cool chicks and will proceed on inspection. Badly finished residences, with no washing machine or microwave get the boot and the charmer has a nervous breakdown. But if a lady finds a place she likes, she’ll settle on the special love seat (which looks like a chinstrap) beside the builder and all will be well. Or so you think. When she’s safe and snug on his eggs, the two-timer starts building another residence for a mistress. Not one, but maybe two or three, depending on his skill and stamina and charm, of course. The good wife and mistresses have no knowledge of the perfidy. Aren’t soap operas made of such things? But thankfully, there is some redress.

Amazons Ahoy! Painted Snipe

The painted snipe is a striking water-bird clad in olive green, chestnut, black and white and wears white spectacles and ‘rucksack’ straps over her shoulders. Yes, her shoulders, because it’s Madame P Snipe who wears the pants in this family. She’ll slap up other ladies to win her pale wuss of a husband, and then make him build a nest, hatch her eggs and take care of the brood. In the meanwhile she’s off to make fresh conquests — no sit-on-the-eggs mom this one.

Now you know why they don’t want you to see what’s going on!

Ranjit Lal is an author and environmentalist

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