Songbird
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Lately, there is a wonderful beginning to my day. At around 5.45 a.m., when the sun is edging over the hills of Alibag, an Oriental magpie robin sits on a gulmohar branch outside my bedroom window and begins to sing. The melody is sweet and the sound rich, like Kishore Kumar in fine form. It is fluid honey and gold, the notes tripping over each other in their rush to be heard. He sings his full song. There is a pause as if everything is holding its breath. My dreams fade away. Then he is drowned out by a chorus of harsh mockery. The parrots have woken up. So have the crows and kites. None of them are musically inclined. Much like modern Mumbaikars, they seem to believe that noise equals celebration. The higher the decibels, the happier we must be. Their screeches and hoots are as good an alarm as any and so my day begins.
I hear him again sporadically through the day. If the water bath is particularly pleasing, he may deign to give me an encore perched on my balcony. But mostly it is the chirps of the sparrows and the distant hammer of the coppersmith barbet that provide the soundtrack to midday.
Later, as the sun sets through the trees, the last rays shining straight into my living room, he flutters down on the same perch and serenades a farewell to the day. Sometimes, his dying notes are shrouded in quickly falling darkness. It is a beautiful song he has composed this year. From the single questioning note in late February to this polished masterpiece in May, he has outdone himself. I think the song may have helped him father many babies.
I will miss him when he falls silent in the monsoon. He has become a dear friend and his return early next year is always a welcome sign of the coming spring.