The sparrows and the Cyclone
The cyclone passed by the city a few minutes ago. It is expected to make landfall further up west tomorrow. It seemed full of itself – a brash, hearty, moisture laden rescue operation from the summer heat.
The sparrows seem stunned. Just this morning, it was a hot, humid day – they chirped enquiringly at the empty water bath and quarreled over the last of the grain in the feeder. Both were promptly replenished. Much bathing and feeding and gossiping ensued. Now they sit, huddled under the eaves of the balcony, fluffing out their wet feathers, bereft of their chirps and cheeps. The rain and wind caught them by surprise. It knocked over the bath and set the feeder swaying crazily until they could no longer hold on. We had no April showers this year so this was the first rain some of them have experienced. The fledglings especially seem overwhelmed with this sheet of water that fell from the sky. I imagine them wondering, “Water from the sky? I thought it came out of the garden hose.” Our city birds have never seen flowing, running water…like our city kids who think milk comes from a bottle or chicken legs come out of a packet, do the young sparrowlings also think that water comes out of leaking taps and hose pipes? Now here is the monsoon, full of surprises and a few shocks. I can see the sparrows from my bedroom window. They sit, their heads tucked protectively into their breasts, not quite trusting the suddenly weak and cool sunlight that filters through the clouds. All it took was a pre monsoon squall to turn that roaring bully of the last few months into a meek and self effacing star.
The trees of course are preening after a good washing. The dusty, dirty badams have disappeared, replaced by a glossy green canopy of platter sized leaves. The gulmohars seem brighter against the dull sky. The wind has set the peepals rattling and rustling. Here it comes now through my windows, dancing with the curtains, smelling of the ocean. The sparrows are reviving. They are starting to chirp quietly. I fear there will be another squall shortly. But perhaps it will not shock them too much. They are hardy little birds, prone to good spirits. They will adapt quickly to the mystery of the vanished sun and the water falling from the sky. See, they are already cheering up a lone windblown magpie robin seeking refuge in their midst.