Adventure
There are new kids on my block. They are rambunctious, unruly, easily distracted. They are a bunch of rascals and their mothers are having a difficult time teaching them the hard facts of life and food gathering.
Just a couple of weeks ago, the sparrow babies used to be helplessly insistent big mouths. Literally. They’d land on the balcony grill with the last remaining flutter left in their underdeveloped wings. They’d sit there for a moment, gasping for breath, feathers fluffed out. Then their beaks would open wide and a furious demand for food would ensue. Their mothers would harriedly shuttle between the feeder barely six inches away and those wide open mouths, for minute after minute. They were never satiated. The demanding cheeps would only die down when the mother flew away in exasperation. The calls would quickly turn panicky until Mom came back to escort them to their nest.
Nowadays they confidently fly to the balcony, only sometimes accompanied by the parents. They are still fluffier than the adults, though the baby plumage is slowly being shed. But they aren’t interested in eating any more. They have discovered the floor of the balcony! And the water bath! And the branches of the bougainvillea that are perfect for a game of catching cook or hide and seek. The adult birds hardly ever venture beyond the grill, the feeder and the water bath. But these youngsters are having adventures. They fly down to the floor, and hop along exploring behind empty pots and peering inside my old pickle jars. They sit on the edge of the bath, gazing into the water, trying to work up the nerve to plunge in at the deep end. They watch enviously as the older birds officiously bathe in the cool water, with much splashing and shaking of the feathers. The bougainvillea pots are their favourite playground. They peck experimentally at the leaves, hop from one branch to another and snack on the seed dropped by the clumsy parrots from the feeder. They are still timid. One sudden move from me and they retreat an masse to the badam tree. They are soon back though…there is safety in numbers, it seems. A gang of four or five always flutters in together and plays together. I imagine them making life long friendships amongst the plants in my garden.
The squirrel has won the battle of the balcony. She has undisputed (by me, at least) squatting rights to the pots directly beneath the feeder. Last week, she brought her babies along. Five little ones, tails longer than their bodies, the mark of Ram’s fingers on their backs. They too seem very careless about their nutrition. Perhaps the mother is still suckling them in their nest. Here on the balcony, they are far more interested in daring balancing acts on the grill or chasing each other over and under the pots. The water bath is proving a different sort of challenge to them. The lip of the rectangular basin is quite high. When thirst distracts them from play, they run up to the basin. Three legs are needed to hoist themselves up and over. Only one hindleg comically stays anchored to the ledge while the rest of the body dangles precariously over the water. I worry that in their enthusiasm, one of them might tumble in head first and give herself a fright. It hasn’t happened yet.
The funny thing is the young ones have not yet learned to be scared of the parrots. The parrots are bullies. They land on the grill with great fanfare, screeching a warning that frightens away the adult sparrows and squirrels too. The young ‘uns continue playing until the last possible moment. Only when it seems the parrots are going to mock dive them do they turn tail and head for safe ground.
Squirrels and sparrows grow up fast. Before long, these youngsters will be caught up in food gathering and nest building and babies of their own. The serious business of life will catch up with them and this carefree phase will never return. For now though, life is an adventure, my balcony is their playground and that water bath waits to be conquered.