Birdwatching over the Decades

Mist laden mornings, with a wispy ethereal drape over every place which otherwise would have looked so common. Stately trees lining black asphalted roads, leading out to a mystical nowhere, on a white canvas that only nature could have painted. That was the Bangalore I grew up in: that was the Bangalore I lived in as a schoolboy.

Those were very much the pre-internet days when people used to visit and borrow books (not just novels) from libraries. And one browsed through the racks to pick up things which were interesting to read; for it was indeed browsing and not just querying that people did. It was that habit of picking books (and magazines) to read from the racks and also those to be sorted and put back in, which led me into birdwatching.

The British Library (then the British Council Library) had a children’s section which had many books on wildlife and birds which seemed to have kindled my interest. The interest turned to hobby and the hobby turned to a vocation later. When I started out birdwatching and got in touch with the only birdwatching group then, which went by the name of  the Birdwatchers’ Field Club of Bangalore, I was perhaps the youngest in the lot. The closest was perhaps half a decade or more older than me. Which also meant that, compared to others, my mobility was also restricted. Lalbagh, therefore, was a favourite haunt for birdwatching, since it was easily accessible and also held a fair number of species and populations of birds. And it was then that the mist in the mornings, especially in winter became very relevant.

Winter was the time when the migratory birds from the northern latitudes would be here, and apart from the birds which came to gardens, the water birds which visited the Lalbagh lake were of special interest. One would, in those days, not only get the usual resident species, but also the migratory Garganey ducks in good numbers and the occasional sandpiper there. If one went too early to the lake, say before eight thirty or nine in the morning, the visibility would be so poor that it made more sense to go there once the sun had risen. One of course took it just for granted then. Little did I know that Bangalore (and even Lalbagh) would become the ugly ogre that it has become now. Without any mist at all!

Lalbagh in those days (at least during the time of the day I visited it: after the morning walkers had left) would be desolate compared to the people one sees these days. I remember a small incident which happened when I was in high school. There I was, standing on the lake embankment staring into the canopy of one of the trees, when I saw a man and a woman (not a couple to me then, no!) walk up to me and ask whether I was ‘a botanist, a zoologist, or what?’. I happily told them that I was neither, and that I was a birdwatcher. A few years back, when I was entering Lalbagh with my binoculars, I noticed an old lady with a young boy (obviously a grandson) coming out. As I crossed them, I heard the young fellow tell the lady that I was a birdwatcher. That’s the awareness change that one comes across in Bangalore today. And that awareness is in no small measure to the media, and the syllabus!

Over these three and a half decades that I have been interested in birds, not just the awareness but also the learning about birds has increased substantially amongst the people. No longer has birdwatching become a cliché, but is recognised as a stepping stone to more serious pursuits, like the study of ecology, and research. Every year, more and more youngsters from here are getting into research in the fields of ecology and the environment. And it is rising. The internet has literally brought the world closer, and made us all great travellers in the virtual world, like the birds have been in the real world always. And birdwatching continues to provide the measured adventure like it did in the past, albeit with much more travelling to get out of the city!