Summer 1986.
Ravi Shastri lists Fleetwood Mac as one of his favourite music acts. And I wondered what Fleetwood Mac was. At 15. The name rolls off the tongue well, doesn't it. Anyway that's where I heard about Fleetwood Mac for the first time. (Actually, didn't find out what the name meant until very recently. Actually didn't quite care:))
Then, in the summer of 1986, this song at the end of a friend's compilation audio cassette. Cassettes (and LPs) were all we had then - no CDs, no computers, nothing. CERTAINLY no mp3s. So, if you got what you wanted down at the cassette shop, good....otherwise you just forget about it and wait till the cassette shop gets a hold of it. And if that didn't happen while your teeth stayed in....well.
A malnutritioned, sickly, music-starved, gawky, mawkish teenager in India...in the 80s. Add morose. Everything was a big deal (and still is :):)) Up until that point I was so straight-laced musically - only choral stuff. The only half-way decent pop music I'd heard was ABBA. But I was impressionable, willing to try stuff......and desperately wanted into what the hoopla about ROCK music was. The mawkish, folkish teenager wanted.....some more than he'd already heard.
"Wish you were here" was the perfect thing for me. It was boring, straight, unremarkable, sad-sounding and morose. It was also the only material I had, "rock"-wise. Christine McVie's voice sounded dubious to me - couldn't make out whether this was a guy or a girl!!!! I liked that :) The song also had just enough chord stuff to tickle my fancy - that second chord ("all this distance between us") was sensational because I'd never heard ANYONE do that before !!! It sounded dark, lonely, mysterious, and WONDERFUL. I absolutely LOVED the chords, I LOVED what John McVie was doing on the bass..... Then I discovered Lindsey Buckingham's guitar at the end of the song. And the piano workout. And I was hooked for life.
Lindsey Buckingham's guitar solo still rings true - a soaring rock'n'roll workout. It was the ONLY rock'n'roll I'd heard till then......and along with Christine's piano in the end, the song was etched in my memory for life.
Now, after 20-odd years......I know a lot more. I know that the song is from the Mirage album, which is surely nowhere near Fleetwood Mac's greatest. I heard Rumours in 1991, and "Wish You Were Here" became a distant memory, a lost link with my long-gone adolescence.
I'd have to say, those impressions, those memories, those indelible links - I never really lose them. And now, I wouldn't recommend "Wish You Were Here" to a teenager. But I love the song anyways. I know what life was then.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PkAarMnkeYs
There's still no reliable video.....this is one of the Mac's forgotten songs. No matter :)
Friday, December 21, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Go softly
Go softly, little child.
Go softly over the grass.
In yonder moor live they....whom ye seek.
Would ye be found?
They be all I give thee....for thine own.
None on earth but they.....be thine.
They go hard over thy tenderness.
They bleed thee.
They know not the purity of thy little heart.
They know not much else to do....
They see the grass, and the rain, and the flowers.....
But they know only the bitterness of lack.
But yet they only be thine.....they your mother, to soothe thee....
And they your father, to help thee stand.
Be their tenderness, little child.
Be their tears and fondest hope.
Be thou the bridge that spans
The weeping mother.....and the stony father.
Be their heart, that they find their hearts...... to be one
In thee.
That they find my heartbeat
In thee.
Till I meet thee here again, over the moor that bears thy name....
Till thy precious little feet return to me over the moor I made....for thee.
And I clasp thee in my eternal embrace
And thine innocent heart I bear gently with mine.... all through time.
Go softly.
Go softly over the grass.
In yonder moor live they....whom ye seek.
Would ye be found?
They be all I give thee....for thine own.
None on earth but they.....be thine.
They go hard over thy tenderness.
They bleed thee.
They know not the purity of thy little heart.
They know not much else to do....
They see the grass, and the rain, and the flowers.....
But they know only the bitterness of lack.
But yet they only be thine.....they your mother, to soothe thee....
And they your father, to help thee stand.
Be their tenderness, little child.
Be their tears and fondest hope.
Be thou the bridge that spans
The weeping mother.....and the stony father.
Be their heart, that they find their hearts...... to be one
In thee.
That they find my heartbeat
In thee.
Till I meet thee here again, over the moor that bears thy name....
Till thy precious little feet return to me over the moor I made....for thee.
And I clasp thee in my eternal embrace
And thine innocent heart I bear gently with mine.... all through time.
Go softly.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Pure Prairie
This is a place of peace and restoration.
I don't know where that comes from. And I don't wonder either. I just do what I need to do.
I don't have much. Just a small little diner in Nebraska.
Early evenings are enchanting here. Outside, in my backyard, windflowers grow. Right in the middle of this sleepy little town. The bittersweet has climbed the walls, picking its way deliberately and lovingly covering the stones with such infinite care. Low prairie wild rose bushes frame the prairie beyond.
The sun catches the green in cunning, diffused light at around half past four, and the colours in the sky meet the distant horizon in a master artist's montage of hues. Some of the green glistens like morning dew, and some just lies in dappled shade. The contrast is a brush-stroke of heaven. I have spent hours as a boy, picking my way through the green and many more as a man, feeling the sun warm the evening and the gentle wind touch my windflowers.
*********************************************************************************
Kearney comes in almost every other evening. Sits in his customary corner till about half past after dark. He never speaks unless he is spoken to. He isn't young, but he's no fogy. He's just getting a bit heavy these days. Jeans, t-shirts and a flotilla of jackets which he alternates every day.
It's always the same - the blue plate and the coffee. Sometimes black. I wonder who he goes to, does he go to an animal ? A goldfish, perhaps? Or a human being who might well pass for one !!!
He is amiable, if you can call taciturn amiable.
Today he was early. And more melancholy than usual. He also sat at the bar stool and actually asked for the usual. I studied his eyes. No emotion, just a touch of despair (that's new!!!).
He sat at the bar stool, looking at the counter.
I thought it wise to talk. Usually there are no words, but today, I spoke.
"Tough day?" Says I.
"Tough week", he says.
"Can I get some coffee?" he says. (This is already more than has ever been said between us, I think to myself.)
Wordlessly, I dish out a clean cup and a saucer and fill the cup with hot coffee. I turned to look at Emily, and she knew I was asking for the blue plate for him.
Coffee in hand, he padded off to his usual corner. There seemed to be a sense of despair, and hesitancy, in his movements. I know taciturn, I know solitary, and I know lonely, from this guy. But I hadn't known despair - not until now.
Emily had the blue plate in no time, and I, for some reason, decided to take it to him. I went further and sat down opposite him. This was already nowhere land...... and almost ANYTHING I could have said would have been nothing more than a shot in the dark here. This one had clearly drifted many a mile off shore and was out on the deep blue alone.
"Is something the matter?" I heard myself saying. And I waited.
Nothing.
************************************************************************************
The magic hour arrived.
I call 5 the magic hour. For about a half hour, someone in heaven reaches out and touches the tip of land where my diner stands. Nobody who comes here really knows this but me. The light, allround, is nothing but soft, dappled and dewy-fresh. There is just enough of a nip on the wind to bring out a few jackets. Everything merely beautiful becomes positively enchanting.
It is a time for new beginnings, and to leave the defeat of the day behind. To think..... about starting again with hope.
Then I saw Kearney in the back yard, face to the wind and ambling slowly up and down. A planet might as well leave its orbit...... how had he managed to find this? No one's been in that backyard but me and Emily. It's easy enough to go to, just walk around back, but no one'd ever actually done that....
I walked out to him. And suddenly, we spoke.
"This is beautiful", he said. I said nothing.
He had been looking at this really incredible sight - the diffused evening sunlight, dramatically meeting the distant horizon. The prairie was as flat as they come - dappled green where the sunlight caught it. I'd seen this many times....and now, Kearney saw it. I had an insistent feeling he had caught it - even though he hadn't actually said so.
"How long have you been here near this prairie?" he asked.
"My dad started this here.... that's about all I know", says I.
"Ever walked out on the prairie?"
"Sometimes - it's as flat as Texas."
"No undulations? not even a little hilly-hill hillock"?
"No."
"Well!"
And then, silence.
"Life isn't", he says.
"Isn't what?"
"Flat as this prairie."
"Hmmm."
"It's full of gorges, canyons, sheer drops and cloudbursts".
(I decided to go mute just about here.)
"If every evening was like this one - and I could come here everyday....."
I waited.
"This is one heck of a place. Look at that prairie - it can absorb anything life can throw at it. And not show even a ripple."
"Thanks for the food and the coffee. And......this." he said, pointing to the prairie. And he smiled.
"The prairie isn't mine...you're welcome to it" I said finally, "but you can come here everyday if you like. It ain't goin' nowhere...."
"Yes it ain't. And neither am I, for awhile." He offered a hand, and I took it. "Thanks", he said.
I don't know where that comes from. And I don't wonder either. I just do what I need to do.
I don't have much. Just a small little diner in Nebraska.
Early evenings are enchanting here. Outside, in my backyard, windflowers grow. Right in the middle of this sleepy little town. The bittersweet has climbed the walls, picking its way deliberately and lovingly covering the stones with such infinite care. Low prairie wild rose bushes frame the prairie beyond.
The sun catches the green in cunning, diffused light at around half past four, and the colours in the sky meet the distant horizon in a master artist's montage of hues. Some of the green glistens like morning dew, and some just lies in dappled shade. The contrast is a brush-stroke of heaven. I have spent hours as a boy, picking my way through the green and many more as a man, feeling the sun warm the evening and the gentle wind touch my windflowers.
*********************************************************************************
Kearney comes in almost every other evening. Sits in his customary corner till about half past after dark. He never speaks unless he is spoken to. He isn't young, but he's no fogy. He's just getting a bit heavy these days. Jeans, t-shirts and a flotilla of jackets which he alternates every day.
It's always the same - the blue plate and the coffee. Sometimes black. I wonder who he goes to, does he go to an animal ? A goldfish, perhaps? Or a human being who might well pass for one !!!
He is amiable, if you can call taciturn amiable.
Today he was early. And more melancholy than usual. He also sat at the bar stool and actually asked for the usual. I studied his eyes. No emotion, just a touch of despair (that's new!!!).
He sat at the bar stool, looking at the counter.
I thought it wise to talk. Usually there are no words, but today, I spoke.
"Tough day?" Says I.
"Tough week", he says.
"Can I get some coffee?" he says. (This is already more than has ever been said between us, I think to myself.)
Wordlessly, I dish out a clean cup and a saucer and fill the cup with hot coffee. I turned to look at Emily, and she knew I was asking for the blue plate for him.
Coffee in hand, he padded off to his usual corner. There seemed to be a sense of despair, and hesitancy, in his movements. I know taciturn, I know solitary, and I know lonely, from this guy. But I hadn't known despair - not until now.
Emily had the blue plate in no time, and I, for some reason, decided to take it to him. I went further and sat down opposite him. This was already nowhere land...... and almost ANYTHING I could have said would have been nothing more than a shot in the dark here. This one had clearly drifted many a mile off shore and was out on the deep blue alone.
"Is something the matter?" I heard myself saying. And I waited.
Nothing.
************************************************************************************
The magic hour arrived.
I call 5 the magic hour. For about a half hour, someone in heaven reaches out and touches the tip of land where my diner stands. Nobody who comes here really knows this but me. The light, allround, is nothing but soft, dappled and dewy-fresh. There is just enough of a nip on the wind to bring out a few jackets. Everything merely beautiful becomes positively enchanting.
It is a time for new beginnings, and to leave the defeat of the day behind. To think..... about starting again with hope.
Then I saw Kearney in the back yard, face to the wind and ambling slowly up and down. A planet might as well leave its orbit...... how had he managed to find this? No one's been in that backyard but me and Emily. It's easy enough to go to, just walk around back, but no one'd ever actually done that....
I walked out to him. And suddenly, we spoke.
"This is beautiful", he said. I said nothing.
He had been looking at this really incredible sight - the diffused evening sunlight, dramatically meeting the distant horizon. The prairie was as flat as they come - dappled green where the sunlight caught it. I'd seen this many times....and now, Kearney saw it. I had an insistent feeling he had caught it - even though he hadn't actually said so.
"How long have you been here near this prairie?" he asked.
"My dad started this here.... that's about all I know", says I.
"Ever walked out on the prairie?"
"Sometimes - it's as flat as Texas."
"No undulations? not even a little hilly-hill hillock"?
"No."
"Well!"
And then, silence.
"Life isn't", he says.
"Isn't what?"
"Flat as this prairie."
"Hmmm."
"It's full of gorges, canyons, sheer drops and cloudbursts".
(I decided to go mute just about here.)
"If every evening was like this one - and I could come here everyday....."
I waited.
"This is one heck of a place. Look at that prairie - it can absorb anything life can throw at it. And not show even a ripple."
"Thanks for the food and the coffee. And......this." he said, pointing to the prairie. And he smiled.
"The prairie isn't mine...you're welcome to it" I said finally, "but you can come here everyday if you like. It ain't goin' nowhere...."
"Yes it ain't. And neither am I, for awhile." He offered a hand, and I took it. "Thanks", he said.
************************************************************************************
We never spoke again, though Kearney came almost everyday after that. He hasn't been in the yard again either.
He seems a new man. He smiles. He brings friends. He hasn't changed the blue plate or the coffee, but I know peace when I see it.
I thought about that conversation many times after that. Kearney had said very little, and I even less. But there had been balm. Something had healed - for Kearney. I never thought once about asking him exactly about what that conversation had been; I thought the wiser of it. But he had known.
Sometimes all it takes is a cup of coffee and a sunset....and some flat green. I wouldn't change the view in my backyard for anything under these heavens.
The prairie is still untouched. "I saw miles and miles of Texas......all those stars up in the sky.....I saw miles and miles of Texas.....gonna stay here till I die." Nothing different about Nebraska there!
My diner is all I have. And the people who come. I'd like to think they come - not just for the food. I'd like to think they come for some really life-giving food. I try to do what I can. I don't believe too much in words, or in food; I believe the place matters more than anything. There certainly is something tremendously healing about places that don't change, that you can always go to no matter what.
The next time you're out on the prairie..... come in. I'll be here, but come and see the prairie, and the sky - see where they meet.
No situation's a complete comedy, but we can always try :)
Why do I love "sitcoms"?
Perhaps because I fully understand that this a pain-fraught world.
I've known a good deal of pain in this short existence; it matters little whether it is my own or whether I merely share that of others. It's enough to merely know it, in many, many cases. Our world is not perfect.
Most 'sitcoms' find the precious gold in some really irredeemable dross - the situations of our lives. It's not too much to say that most of us have failed - at little things or big ones, in small (hopefully undetectable and inexpensive:)) ways or big, at most times or at all. Failure and tragedy are much more our experience than fleeting happiness and any real joy.
Most of us deal with failures remarkably similarly - we mourn, we weep, we brood.....then, some of us stop crying, move, and build again.....but almost always, we do come back to laugh at the past. In one sense, a sitcom accomplishes all this in 30 minutes, a mainlining dose of stress-busting at the very least, if you will, and a healing balm minus the pain, at the very best.
Sitcoms find a way to frame our fallenness in supportive, sometimes ultimately therapeutic ways. They provide a safe, secure cocoon from where we wounded folk can look out at life, if only for a while, and rest, laugh, learn and then step out again. For when we laugh at a sitcom, we laugh at ourselves - at our thorn in the flesh. We feel that life isn't so serious a thing after all; we can still laugh, and we can hold life with lighter reins.
This certainly is the case with the few (and I've only seen very, very few) sitcoms I have spent time watching.
In Full House, the debilitating, crippling sense of despair hangs heavily over the first four or five episodes - mom's dead, dad's too busy, grandma's going away and there's nothing to look forward to. But enter uncle Jesse and Joey, and we can still laugh, we can help each other along. We can live on now. And this one ran for eight seasons and seems to be one of the most revived of all sitcoms.
In The Hogan Family, with three boys to raise, each new day brings a terrifying new thing to deal with. But, like the song goes, "We get closer through happiness and tears, and in our hearts we share the laughter and the sadness - a special kind of madness, together through the years..."
In what is probably one of the best remembered sitcoms, M.A.S.H., the spectre of war is all but spirited away by lovingly chronicling ordinary life in the safety of the camp, with almost always very, very funny results :)
In Frasier, so what if I'm fat, balding and lonely, and so what if my dad just moved in with me....there's so much to see and live! No one finds love on the show, but everyone laughs a lot..... this one never fails to make me laugh.
In Everybody Loves Raymond, we have a not-too-bright man who cannot always articulate too well, with a wife who doesn't always understand, and a family that's worse at that, all under one roof most of the time. But the laughs keep coming - on and on and on. A lot of the laughs come from the situation itself.
In Cheers, the song says it all - "Breaking away from all your worries sure would help a lot......wouldn't you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you come..."
In Three's Company, it seems as if the best years of our lives are actually those in adversity - without a place to stay, or with only a couple of girls as roommates, always behind on the money, always in trouble with the landlord.
And in one of my very best of them all, Kate and Allie - a show about losers and their lives - the victories and smiles are few and far between but when they come they are larger-than-life, far beyond the sum of their parts.
In one of the most endearing of them all, an English housekeeper steps into the lives of an ordinary American family, to listen, help, laugh with and grow with - Mr. Belvedere. Wesley heals.... a lot. Children can do so much.
So kick off your shoes, relax, and laugh - life isn't the no-way-out Catch-22 that haunts your dreams and steals your joy - look, many others are where you are. Or worse....... Life is for the laughs, the moments, the people, not the failures or the fallenness.
Sometime I will talk about how I came across each of these shows and how they healed me in so many ways........
Perhaps because I fully understand that this a pain-fraught world.
I've known a good deal of pain in this short existence; it matters little whether it is my own or whether I merely share that of others. It's enough to merely know it, in many, many cases. Our world is not perfect.
Most 'sitcoms' find the precious gold in some really irredeemable dross - the situations of our lives. It's not too much to say that most of us have failed - at little things or big ones, in small (hopefully undetectable and inexpensive:)) ways or big, at most times or at all. Failure and tragedy are much more our experience than fleeting happiness and any real joy.
Most of us deal with failures remarkably similarly - we mourn, we weep, we brood.....then, some of us stop crying, move, and build again.....but almost always, we do come back to laugh at the past. In one sense, a sitcom accomplishes all this in 30 minutes, a mainlining dose of stress-busting at the very least, if you will, and a healing balm minus the pain, at the very best.
Sitcoms find a way to frame our fallenness in supportive, sometimes ultimately therapeutic ways. They provide a safe, secure cocoon from where we wounded folk can look out at life, if only for a while, and rest, laugh, learn and then step out again. For when we laugh at a sitcom, we laugh at ourselves - at our thorn in the flesh. We feel that life isn't so serious a thing after all; we can still laugh, and we can hold life with lighter reins.
This certainly is the case with the few (and I've only seen very, very few) sitcoms I have spent time watching.
In Full House, the debilitating, crippling sense of despair hangs heavily over the first four or five episodes - mom's dead, dad's too busy, grandma's going away and there's nothing to look forward to. But enter uncle Jesse and Joey, and we can still laugh, we can help each other along. We can live on now. And this one ran for eight seasons and seems to be one of the most revived of all sitcoms.
In The Hogan Family, with three boys to raise, each new day brings a terrifying new thing to deal with. But, like the song goes, "We get closer through happiness and tears, and in our hearts we share the laughter and the sadness - a special kind of madness, together through the years..."
In what is probably one of the best remembered sitcoms, M.A.S.H., the spectre of war is all but spirited away by lovingly chronicling ordinary life in the safety of the camp, with almost always very, very funny results :)
In Frasier, so what if I'm fat, balding and lonely, and so what if my dad just moved in with me....there's so much to see and live! No one finds love on the show, but everyone laughs a lot..... this one never fails to make me laugh.
In Everybody Loves Raymond, we have a not-too-bright man who cannot always articulate too well, with a wife who doesn't always understand, and a family that's worse at that, all under one roof most of the time. But the laughs keep coming - on and on and on. A lot of the laughs come from the situation itself.
In Cheers, the song says it all - "Breaking away from all your worries sure would help a lot......wouldn't you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you come..."
In Three's Company, it seems as if the best years of our lives are actually those in adversity - without a place to stay, or with only a couple of girls as roommates, always behind on the money, always in trouble with the landlord.
And in one of my very best of them all, Kate and Allie - a show about losers and their lives - the victories and smiles are few and far between but when they come they are larger-than-life, far beyond the sum of their parts.
In one of the most endearing of them all, an English housekeeper steps into the lives of an ordinary American family, to listen, help, laugh with and grow with - Mr. Belvedere. Wesley heals.... a lot. Children can do so much.So kick off your shoes, relax, and laugh - life isn't the no-way-out Catch-22 that haunts your dreams and steals your joy - look, many others are where you are. Or worse....... Life is for the laughs, the moments, the people, not the failures or the fallenness.
Sometime I will talk about how I came across each of these shows and how they healed me in so many ways........
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Today's Special......Steak Sandwiches, Mash and A Pot of Coffee
I am thankful for the anonymity in here.
Time and space.....to watch ordinary people. Life. To think, ponder, wonder....... come to decisions rather than be forced upon them.
Over a cheap cup of overheated coffee and some really greasy food.
Today's colour is warm, mellow, dewy-eyed evening filled with many remembrances. The mood is upbeat..... time is on my side. Memories warm me. It's possible to live again.....
She sits alone, looking out the window. Long black hair. Young but not callow. I'll manage, take a few years but I'll manage. A weak but determined half-smile. The smoke from her coffee coils up, framing her lovely face with the mystery and the taint of hard experience.
My steak sandwich is cold. The bread is a bit soggy. The mash is a bit oily. The chips are also old. They'll do ...... no one here but me anyway. Nowhere to go either - it's early evening turning magically into night, and out there, the evening is a romantic one. Will I meet someone tonight?
"She's probably somebody's only light, gonna shine tonight....."
The sun sets dramatically, framed magically through the glass pane of my window. Soft lights dot the street. Teenagers in easy clothes and jeans revel in new, unbridled mirth - there are also those older, lost, failed, seeking some corner they can call their own and let their lives down gently.
Her eyes meet mine, for a few nano-moments in time. "Somebody's Baby" plays. There is no emotion in either her gaze or mine ..... we both know that we aren't going to chat. And yet, I wonder..... how did you get here? I can read the loneliness in your eyes. We don't need words, for deeper chords have been struck.
I resume reading John le Carre and she sips coffee. I glance at the street from time to time. I care a fig about time passing. All around me, so much happens. Cheap, ordinary deals are struck for a few hundred bucks. A couple of young boys mess about with their food. Families partake of ordinary, greasy meals, some swearing at their kids to sit still and eat.
She sips coffee, filling in some blanks somewhere in her life ...... and constructing pictures of what she now wants. Her eyes betray nothing. She isn't "Somebody's Baby" after all.
I read John le Carre.
Outside, night envelops all.
Time to head home now.......
Time and space.....to watch ordinary people. Life. To think, ponder, wonder....... come to decisions rather than be forced upon them.
Over a cheap cup of overheated coffee and some really greasy food.
Today's colour is warm, mellow, dewy-eyed evening filled with many remembrances. The mood is upbeat..... time is on my side. Memories warm me. It's possible to live again.....
She sits alone, looking out the window. Long black hair. Young but not callow. I'll manage, take a few years but I'll manage. A weak but determined half-smile. The smoke from her coffee coils up, framing her lovely face with the mystery and the taint of hard experience.
My steak sandwich is cold. The bread is a bit soggy. The mash is a bit oily. The chips are also old. They'll do ...... no one here but me anyway. Nowhere to go either - it's early evening turning magically into night, and out there, the evening is a romantic one. Will I meet someone tonight?
"She's probably somebody's only light, gonna shine tonight....."
The sun sets dramatically, framed magically through the glass pane of my window. Soft lights dot the street. Teenagers in easy clothes and jeans revel in new, unbridled mirth - there are also those older, lost, failed, seeking some corner they can call their own and let their lives down gently.Her eyes meet mine, for a few nano-moments in time. "Somebody's Baby" plays. There is no emotion in either her gaze or mine ..... we both know that we aren't going to chat. And yet, I wonder..... how did you get here? I can read the loneliness in your eyes. We don't need words, for deeper chords have been struck.
I resume reading John le Carre and she sips coffee. I glance at the street from time to time. I care a fig about time passing. All around me, so much happens. Cheap, ordinary deals are struck for a few hundred bucks. A couple of young boys mess about with their food. Families partake of ordinary, greasy meals, some swearing at their kids to sit still and eat.
She sips coffee, filling in some blanks somewhere in her life ...... and constructing pictures of what she now wants. Her eyes betray nothing. She isn't "Somebody's Baby" after all.
I read John le Carre.
Outside, night envelops all.
Time to head home now.......
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Birdielog - August - September 2007
I know what you must be thinking - these birdie logs used to be daily, then they changed to weekly, then bi-monthly and now once every two months!
I guess I have no excuse to make - time is a premium commodity in this day and age.
To offset the situation, I decided to construct another list over and above the Cold Reading roster - a list of birds that CAN be found within Bangalore's crowded streets, if we look for them. These birdies are not as intrusive as those on the Cold Reading list, but their presence is every bit as real. The only difference is that whereas those on the Cold Reading list are easily evident without effort, these birds have to be sought out and treasured if sighted. Some of them are rarer than others but the list is predictable, as you can well tell from the lists I've been putting out from my sightings. So here goes, from the smallest to the tallest:
I guess I have no excuse to make - time is a premium commodity in this day and age.
To offset the situation, I decided to construct another list over and above the Cold Reading roster - a list of birds that CAN be found within Bangalore's crowded streets, if we look for them. These birdies are not as intrusive as those on the Cold Reading list, but their presence is every bit as real. The only difference is that whereas those on the Cold Reading list are easily evident without effort, these birds have to be sought out and treasured if sighted. Some of them are rarer than others but the list is predictable, as you can well tell from the lists I've been putting out from my sightings. So here goes, from the smallest to the tallest:
- Tickell's Flowerpecker
- Purple-Rumped Sunbird
- Greenish Leaf-Warbler (winter)
- Oriental White-Eye
- Booted Warbler (winter)
- Common Tailorbird
- Great Tit
- Blyth's Reed Warbler (winter)
- House Swift
- House Sparrow (you need to know where to go to look for these - there aren't too many areas left that still have these.)
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul
- Oriental Magpie-Robin (conspicuous only in breeding season February/March to June/July, otherwise rare, heard rather than seen)
- Grey-Headed Starling (winter)
- Rosy Starling (winter)
- Black Drongo
- Eurasian Golden Oriole (not always migratory in all areas but only evident in winter)
- White-Breasted Kingfisher
- Spotted Dove
- Spotted Owlet
- Shikra ( a bit rare)
- Barn Owl
- Brahminy Kite
I'll still record these as and when I can, but they can be assumed to be present, unless I do report not having seen them for FAR TOO LONG, or they are UNUSUALLY ABSENT.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Birdielog - June 2007 (latter)
These days, it seems, there is not much to report from our avian friends. It's too early for our winter denizens to have arrived, and breeding season is all but over for quite a few of our residents.
Still, I do see many of our friends - sometimes in the unlikeliest of circumstances, and it is a joy each time.
The Rose-Ringed Parakeet situation has improved dramatically - their cries rent the air as often as they used to. But that short interlude where they seemed out-of-sight and out-of-listen was truly scary.
Well, here's the listing for the latter half of June and pretty much the first half of July.
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
Still, I do see many of our friends - sometimes in the unlikeliest of circumstances, and it is a joy each time.
The Rose-Ringed Parakeet situation has improved dramatically - their cries rent the air as often as they used to. But that short interlude where they seemed out-of-sight and out-of-listen was truly scary.
Well, here's the listing for the latter half of June and pretty much the first half of July.
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
- Brahminy Kite
- Spotted Dove
- Oriental Magpie-Robin (since I have seen the nest, I think I will continue to be blessed with sightings all the year through and not just at breeding time)
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul
- Great Tit
- House Swift
- Common Tailorbird
- Purple-Rumped Sunbird
- Oriental White-Eye
- Tickell's Flowerpecker
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Two minutes in a five-setter.....
Yesterday evening Roger Federer played one past Rafael Nadal and exulted for precisely a second or two. After that, he collapsed on the ground, a sobbing, quivering mass of emotion, completely undone by the moment. And what a moment it was!
It was a historic moment at Wimbledon.
Earlier, in the fifth set, we saw what must have been the biggest, most brilliantly iridiscent moment of Wimbledon 2007. Indeed it must have been the most brilliant moment in the last five years at Wimbledon.
Federer led 3-2 in the fifth. Up until then, Nadal had played like a well-oiled, supremely conditioned machine. He gave no chances, his shot-making was like a taut piano string struck by a perfect hammer. Federer.....well, he had lead in his feet. Moved like an elephant, couldn't control Nadal's faster shots, and stood rooted to the spot like a nail in a wall as Nadal's winners whistled past. There was no brilliance.
Suddenly it was over in a jiff. Nadal was down 15-40 on that sixth game. Federer started sharpening his corners and no one really knew what was on his mind......then, suddenly, in a sublime moment of absolute genius, he had the electrically fast Nadal stranded. The court was open, only just. Nadal could have reached there......but he had to have anticipated Federer's on-the-line winner.
He didn't.
That moment sealed his fate. Wimbledon 2007 was out of his hands. "You can kiss that baby goodbye...."
Federer knew it - the break in his pocket, he exulted. It was a moment of brilliance that no other tennis player around today could have conceived, let alone executed. The timing was divine, in more ways than one. It was the perfect moment, picked by a perfect tennis player of supernatural talent, executed so beautifully that it was instant art. At that moment, all of Nadal's years of clinical efficiency, his careful plotting, his waiting, his give-no-chance shot-making, even his French Open victory, were erased with the finality of an artist's divine brush-stroke.
All those ominous pundits and shrill advocates of hard-work-over mere-talent and clinical-efficiency-over-divine-touch, were silenced forever by one moment of art on a tennis court.
Federer didn't play the tennis of his life throughout that final yesterday - but he played all of it in that one moment. And Nadal....well, he proved so much yesterday - all against his favour. He proved that you can't beat Federer by winning six games on each set for four sets - you still need to win the fifth too. He proved that you can THINK a lot about beating Federer and execute all your ideas - but you wouldn't be able to meet that one moment of precision. He proved irrefutably and for all time, the difference between a really good, even exceptional tennis player, and the tennis player who actually doubles as a supreme artist on court. He proved that you can do everything right and learn your lessons and 'max your paper', but you will not have a clue, let alone an answer, to a divinely inspired moment.
We all appreciated what Nadal was doing - he made all the right moves. We ordinary spectators could understand his play - opening the court, sharpening the pace, shooting down winners with amazing efficiency, not giving an inch. No one could understand Federer yesterday - no one could guess at what the man was thinking. His mind, to us all, was an enigma. And suddenly, the artist in the tennis player blossomed and filled that one moment with inspired art. And we all knew the difference.
After that moment, it was over. The two players went back to finish the five-setter but not to decide the winner. The winner was the one who produced that moment. If you had any doubts about whether Nadal knew he had already been beaten....you just had to see his face. The winners kept coming, but the man had lost the war while winning the battles.
Nadal had no answers - he is never going to know whether it was his error or just Federer's magic wand. He is never going to be able to understand what happened in that moment - it will haunt him for years to come.
But we are the ones who watched it, and we know - we know that an artist held centrestage for precisely one or two minutes yesterday. And we ask no questions - for we see the picture now.
It was a historic moment at Wimbledon.
Earlier, in the fifth set, we saw what must have been the biggest, most brilliantly iridiscent moment of Wimbledon 2007. Indeed it must have been the most brilliant moment in the last five years at Wimbledon.
Federer led 3-2 in the fifth. Up until then, Nadal had played like a well-oiled, supremely conditioned machine. He gave no chances, his shot-making was like a taut piano string struck by a perfect hammer. Federer.....well, he had lead in his feet. Moved like an elephant, couldn't control Nadal's faster shots, and stood rooted to the spot like a nail in a wall as Nadal's winners whistled past. There was no brilliance.
Suddenly it was over in a jiff. Nadal was down 15-40 on that sixth game. Federer started sharpening his corners and no one really knew what was on his mind......then, suddenly, in a sublime moment of absolute genius, he had the electrically fast Nadal stranded. The court was open, only just. Nadal could have reached there......but he had to have anticipated Federer's on-the-line winner.
He didn't.
That moment sealed his fate. Wimbledon 2007 was out of his hands. "You can kiss that baby goodbye...."
Federer knew it - the break in his pocket, he exulted. It was a moment of brilliance that no other tennis player around today could have conceived, let alone executed. The timing was divine, in more ways than one. It was the perfect moment, picked by a perfect tennis player of supernatural talent, executed so beautifully that it was instant art. At that moment, all of Nadal's years of clinical efficiency, his careful plotting, his waiting, his give-no-chance shot-making, even his French Open victory, were erased with the finality of an artist's divine brush-stroke.
All those ominous pundits and shrill advocates of hard-work-over mere-talent and clinical-efficiency-over-divine-touch, were silenced forever by one moment of art on a tennis court.
Federer didn't play the tennis of his life throughout that final yesterday - but he played all of it in that one moment. And Nadal....well, he proved so much yesterday - all against his favour. He proved that you can't beat Federer by winning six games on each set for four sets - you still need to win the fifth too. He proved that you can THINK a lot about beating Federer and execute all your ideas - but you wouldn't be able to meet that one moment of precision. He proved irrefutably and for all time, the difference between a really good, even exceptional tennis player, and the tennis player who actually doubles as a supreme artist on court. He proved that you can do everything right and learn your lessons and 'max your paper', but you will not have a clue, let alone an answer, to a divinely inspired moment.
We all appreciated what Nadal was doing - he made all the right moves. We ordinary spectators could understand his play - opening the court, sharpening the pace, shooting down winners with amazing efficiency, not giving an inch. No one could understand Federer yesterday - no one could guess at what the man was thinking. His mind, to us all, was an enigma. And suddenly, the artist in the tennis player blossomed and filled that one moment with inspired art. And we all knew the difference.
After that moment, it was over. The two players went back to finish the five-setter but not to decide the winner. The winner was the one who produced that moment. If you had any doubts about whether Nadal knew he had already been beaten....you just had to see his face. The winners kept coming, but the man had lost the war while winning the battles.
Nadal had no answers - he is never going to know whether it was his error or just Federer's magic wand. He is never going to be able to understand what happened in that moment - it will haunt him for years to come.
But we are the ones who watched it, and we know - we know that an artist held centrestage for precisely one or two minutes yesterday. And we ask no questions - for we see the picture now.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Birdielog - June 2007
Hmmm. Some interesting sights.
The roster:
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
The roster:
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
- Brahminy Kite
- Barn Owl (in Langford Town, a huge one, in daylight at about 6 P.M, squatting on a car top. Scared me a bit.)
- White-Breasted Kingfisher (seems to pass through Richmond Town quite regularly)
- Spotted Owlet (my scariest sighting ever. On a parapet wall on my walk back, late evening. The same evening I spotted the Barn Owl. I looked up, and there he was, staring at me. I had to walk away from him because it was so startling and I was not sure what he would do!)
- Spotted Dove (where would I be without these lovely, lovely birds!!!)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin (the breeding season is almost over....so these beauties will vanish into the shrubbery and skulk till next February:(:( - No more sweet songs, only a plaintive 'sweeee')
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul
- Great Tit
- House Swift (a dedicated couple always flying about in Richmond Town)
- Common Tailorbird
- Small Sunbird
- Oriental White-Eye
- There was also a small little raptor soaring high with the Black Kites in Richmond Town. This one was so white and pure, but definitely did not seem like a Tern or a Gull. My guess is, the Shikra. Cannot be sure yet, though.
- Large Pied Wagtail (a couple by the pool, quite unafraid)
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul (totally fearless and common)
- Spotted Munia or Scaly-Breasted Munia (first time I ever saw one)
- Purple-Rumped Sunbird
- House Swift
- Tickell's Flowerpecker (a wonderful close-up)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Eternal joy and wretched happiness
It's an unreal world.
We are internal people mercilessly shoved around by external expedients. Not ourselves, but what we are, in most cases, forced to be, in one sense or another. It would be right to say that, for most of our lives, we react rather than respond. And we tire of reacting, so when there is nothing to react to, we are too exhausted to respond.
Inside of us, a gentle river flows. A rivulet, if you will.... a brook. It is eternal.
Much as the happenstances of our lives force us to think that this life, these few years, are all there is ever going to be, we find no peace in believing that this is, in fact, true. We find ourselves drawn to thinking about what we leave behind, how people would remember us when we are gone. We'd rather that our lives "lived" forever, in the people we leave behind. This sometimes brings a liberating exhilaration; we live "in hope".
We are mortal, with an overpowering sense of eternity trapped inside our frail being.
Someone put it like this - "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." (Ecclesiastes 3:11)
Never was eternity trapped within such a frail, fragile, tottering receptacle - our lives. The thought of being eternal staggers us so much that we close ourselves to it; it's too big, too incomprehensible, too awesome. But those incurable, deep, deep longings never leave us....... How can we be merely mortal, we wonder, when our deepest longings are things the finest earthly joys cannot even reach, let alone satisfy?
That river, that brook inside.......it flows on through us, out of us, to connect with those after us, and from there on to all of humanity, for all of time. For, verily, will not people remember us long after we've gone? fondly, some, even achingly with longing, and some with thankfulness that we are gone, because of the terror we brought...... And we want to be remembered.
But for now, the moments of our lives are mundane, rote, some of us cruelly restricted, others too free to find any meaning, most of us just plain nondescript and featureless, with bleak, hopeless tomorrows, never able to see our sorrows and grief in perspective, much less our brief and feeble happiness. In our ordinary moments, all thoughts of eternity, which had seemed so overpowering in our reflective and insightful moments, seem unreal and not worth our effort.
And in between these two kinds of moments, we endlessly flit all through our lives, fickle and wretched, not able to grasp and hold either moment, much less believe. And we chase the wind magnificently while letting the moments slip through our fingers. "We live as if we would never die, and die as if we'd never lived", as someone put it so truly.
Where can we find something that time, seasons, circumstances, life itself, cannot rob from us? Where can we find this thing and carry it with us forever? How can we not die but live for ever?
Thank God.....He found a way.
We are internal people mercilessly shoved around by external expedients. Not ourselves, but what we are, in most cases, forced to be, in one sense or another. It would be right to say that, for most of our lives, we react rather than respond. And we tire of reacting, so when there is nothing to react to, we are too exhausted to respond.
Inside of us, a gentle river flows. A rivulet, if you will.... a brook. It is eternal.
Much as the happenstances of our lives force us to think that this life, these few years, are all there is ever going to be, we find no peace in believing that this is, in fact, true. We find ourselves drawn to thinking about what we leave behind, how people would remember us when we are gone. We'd rather that our lives "lived" forever, in the people we leave behind. This sometimes brings a liberating exhilaration; we live "in hope".
We are mortal, with an overpowering sense of eternity trapped inside our frail being.
Someone put it like this - "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." (Ecclesiastes 3:11)
Never was eternity trapped within such a frail, fragile, tottering receptacle - our lives. The thought of being eternal staggers us so much that we close ourselves to it; it's too big, too incomprehensible, too awesome. But those incurable, deep, deep longings never leave us....... How can we be merely mortal, we wonder, when our deepest longings are things the finest earthly joys cannot even reach, let alone satisfy?
That river, that brook inside.......it flows on through us, out of us, to connect with those after us, and from there on to all of humanity, for all of time. For, verily, will not people remember us long after we've gone? fondly, some, even achingly with longing, and some with thankfulness that we are gone, because of the terror we brought...... And we want to be remembered.
But for now, the moments of our lives are mundane, rote, some of us cruelly restricted, others too free to find any meaning, most of us just plain nondescript and featureless, with bleak, hopeless tomorrows, never able to see our sorrows and grief in perspective, much less our brief and feeble happiness. In our ordinary moments, all thoughts of eternity, which had seemed so overpowering in our reflective and insightful moments, seem unreal and not worth our effort.
And in between these two kinds of moments, we endlessly flit all through our lives, fickle and wretched, not able to grasp and hold either moment, much less believe. And we chase the wind magnificently while letting the moments slip through our fingers. "We live as if we would never die, and die as if we'd never lived", as someone put it so truly.
Where can we find something that time, seasons, circumstances, life itself, cannot rob from us? Where can we find this thing and carry it with us forever? How can we not die but live for ever?
Thank God.....He found a way.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Birdielog - May2007
Just a quick entry to make sure I haven't missed out on May completely.
Range : Richmond Town, Richmond Park
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
Range : Richmond Town, Richmond Park
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
- Brahminy Kite
- Spotted Dove
- White-Breasted Kingfisher
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul
- Great Tit
- House Swift
- House Sparrow (not in Richmond Town)
- Common Tailorbird
- Purple-Rumped Sunbird
- Small Sunbird
- Tickell's Flowerpecker
- Oriental White-Eye
Friday, May 11, 2007
A land of the soul, not of mere earth
Long before I read The Black Island, I remember being fascinated with England.
In school we had a geography text-book written by a certain Goh Cheng Leong (Certificate and Physical Geography?). I remember a picture of the English countryside in it -rolling country, green grass with beautiful trees. Picture-perfect, it seemed, in a way, but that isn't the phrase at all. I don't know, seeing what I have seen of England, that picture-perfect has anything at all to do with the place.
The next thing I remember is a photograph of Crummock Water at one of its edges - it seemed like no one had ever been there, but nature seemed to say something to me - it wasn't the grandness of the Canadian Rockies or the heavenly abode of Kilimanjaro. But it was calmness, homeliness, earthiness and yet some mystery. I am struck, even now, with the feeling of deep-seated emotions that stir my soul, that seem to say, "It's a simple, beautiful world.....and yet, there's more to know all the time; but stay......let each moment be. There will be other days and other places, but this, here, is where you need to be. So Just Be Here Now. Look at the water's edge. Look at the ancient ripples on the lake. Look up into those eternal mountains. This is where you need to be at this moment."
Then there was Nessie, all inextricably tied up with the lore and the dim tales of Scotland's ethereal beauty - it was almost legend, not real. I must say here that whatever I had heard about Scotland, there was nothing that could have prepared me for what I actually saw. It is now an eternal truth for me - that the land has this uncanny, almost unearthly way of not just stirring but totally arresting the soul so deeply that the mere forms of rocks, water and trees are just the beginning. It is a land of the soul - not of the earth.
I thought Loch Ness was the most terrible of places on earth - what if, alone at the water's edge with a storm brewing, Nessie jumped out at me, black with foreboding, against that almost white expanse of water!!! I would have died. All the dark omens haunting my fragile thoughts would then crystallise in one terrible moment of sheer horror!! I thought, is all of Scotland Loch Ness? No, I was to learn - it isn't all Loch Ness. It's Eilean Donan, and Glenfinnan, and Cairn Gorm and Skye and Torridon, not to speak of Glencoe and Loch Lomond and the Orkneys and Mull.....and it never ends.
Then there were cloudy days, and there was one unforgettable, grey December morning in 1987 - looking across the church compound. It was carpeted with falling leaves, and the light was not sure.....it looked like how I would like my soul to look if someone could see inside.
In The Black Island, there is the magical sequence at the cliffs where Tintin is almost thrown off them....then there is the fog, those beautiful glens and almost unreal mountains that seem to be easy to climb but yet remain shrouded in impenetrable mystery.....
There was also that cellar in The Secret of The Unicorn, so bubbling with mystery and ancient lore at every step but which seemed to tug my heart-strings.....go there!!!! It's a land you will never leave ........
England had me, the impressionable child, by the deepest of soul-strings ..... after all these years, now, sometimes I think the land knows me more than I know myself. Sounds unreal? Yes....till you've been there, you're not going to know what I'm talking about.
Let me tell you about it.
I've never actually travelled to England. It's all in my imagination and what I have seen in photographs, read in books, seen on film.... But let's let our imagination run absolutely wild.
One day when I get there, I don't think I will leave.
In school we had a geography text-book written by a certain Goh Cheng Leong (Certificate and Physical Geography?). I remember a picture of the English countryside in it -rolling country, green grass with beautiful trees. Picture-perfect, it seemed, in a way, but that isn't the phrase at all. I don't know, seeing what I have seen of England, that picture-perfect has anything at all to do with the place.
The next thing I remember is a photograph of Crummock Water at one of its edges - it seemed like no one had ever been there, but nature seemed to say something to me - it wasn't the grandness of the Canadian Rockies or the heavenly abode of Kilimanjaro. But it was calmness, homeliness, earthiness and yet some mystery. I am struck, even now, with the feeling of deep-seated emotions that stir my soul, that seem to say, "It's a simple, beautiful world.....and yet, there's more to know all the time; but stay......let each moment be. There will be other days and other places, but this, here, is where you need to be. So Just Be Here Now. Look at the water's edge. Look at the ancient ripples on the lake. Look up into those eternal mountains. This is where you need to be at this moment."
Then there was Nessie, all inextricably tied up with the lore and the dim tales of Scotland's ethereal beauty - it was almost legend, not real. I must say here that whatever I had heard about Scotland, there was nothing that could have prepared me for what I actually saw. It is now an eternal truth for me - that the land has this uncanny, almost unearthly way of not just stirring but totally arresting the soul so deeply that the mere forms of rocks, water and trees are just the beginning. It is a land of the soul - not of the earth.
I thought Loch Ness was the most terrible of places on earth - what if, alone at the water's edge with a storm brewing, Nessie jumped out at me, black with foreboding, against that almost white expanse of water!!! I would have died. All the dark omens haunting my fragile thoughts would then crystallise in one terrible moment of sheer horror!! I thought, is all of Scotland Loch Ness? No, I was to learn - it isn't all Loch Ness. It's Eilean Donan, and Glenfinnan, and Cairn Gorm and Skye and Torridon, not to speak of Glencoe and Loch Lomond and the Orkneys and Mull.....and it never ends.
Then there were cloudy days, and there was one unforgettable, grey December morning in 1987 - looking across the church compound. It was carpeted with falling leaves, and the light was not sure.....it looked like how I would like my soul to look if someone could see inside.
In The Black Island, there is the magical sequence at the cliffs where Tintin is almost thrown off them....then there is the fog, those beautiful glens and almost unreal mountains that seem to be easy to climb but yet remain shrouded in impenetrable mystery.....
There was also that cellar in The Secret of The Unicorn, so bubbling with mystery and ancient lore at every step but which seemed to tug my heart-strings.....go there!!!! It's a land you will never leave ........
England had me, the impressionable child, by the deepest of soul-strings ..... after all these years, now, sometimes I think the land knows me more than I know myself. Sounds unreal? Yes....till you've been there, you're not going to know what I'm talking about.
Let me tell you about it.
I've never actually travelled to England. It's all in my imagination and what I have seen in photographs, read in books, seen on film.... But let's let our imagination run absolutely wild.
One day when I get there, I don't think I will leave.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Birdielog - Apr2007(2)
Am not able to make daily entries. So much for those - hmmmm :(
Meanwhile, today's roster includes two or three interesting birds:
1.) A couple of House Swifts, flying really high up in the Richmond Town area. I remember when I would watch birds as a child, there were so many of these within the heart of town. You never saw them perched anywhere, but always flying real high up. Numbers seem to have dwindled considerably.
2.) What I suspected to be a White-Breasted Kingfisher, flying high up right in the heart of the Richmond Town area. Two things about this - one, these birds look confusingly like mynas in flight, unless you can get close enough to see the colours; two, I heard a call like an extremely musical Black Kite, and then saw this beauty. Will confirm this in a day or two if this beauty returns to Richmond Town :)
3.) Tickell's Flowerpecker. This diminutive beauty is very difficult to actually see, because there is a call very confusingly like a sunbird's call. To say that this bird is far more heard than seen would be about 200% accurate :)
From my normal bird habitat, nothing much to report except for the fact that the Orioles, Warblers and Starlings have certainly left and gone up North.
Other than this, I need to record my birdlog for my Kerala trip this weekend. The range would be Kottayam - Tiruvalla, and in particular Vembanad Lake. I present the sightings in no specific order, and leave the reader to his own conclusions:
Meanwhile, today's roster includes two or three interesting birds:
1.) A couple of House Swifts, flying really high up in the Richmond Town area. I remember when I would watch birds as a child, there were so many of these within the heart of town. You never saw them perched anywhere, but always flying real high up. Numbers seem to have dwindled considerably.
2.) What I suspected to be a White-Breasted Kingfisher, flying high up right in the heart of the Richmond Town area. Two things about this - one, these birds look confusingly like mynas in flight, unless you can get close enough to see the colours; two, I heard a call like an extremely musical Black Kite, and then saw this beauty. Will confirm this in a day or two if this beauty returns to Richmond Town :)
3.) Tickell's Flowerpecker. This diminutive beauty is very difficult to actually see, because there is a call very confusingly like a sunbird's call. To say that this bird is far more heard than seen would be about 200% accurate :)
From my normal bird habitat, nothing much to report except for the fact that the Orioles, Warblers and Starlings have certainly left and gone up North.
Other than this, I need to record my birdlog for my Kerala trip this weekend. The range would be Kottayam - Tiruvalla, and in particular Vembanad Lake. I present the sightings in no specific order, and leave the reader to his own conclusions:
- Many, many, many Black Drongos. Extremely numerous.
- Lots of Cormorants, both Great and Little :)
- Quite a few Herons, Terns, Egrets and Ducks - will provide a clearer idea in the next few days if possible
- Greater Coucal (first time I ever saw one)
- White-Breasted Kingfisher (numerous)
- Common Kingfisher (first time I ever saw one)
- Lesser Pied Kingfisher (first time I ever saw one)
- Black-Shouldered Flameback? (one of the Flamebacks, anyway)
- Black-Headed Oriole (first time I ever saw one)
- Red-Vented Bulbul (first time I ever saw one)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
Also did see:
- Lots of what I presumed to be Weaver nests on the coconut trees bordering Vembanad Lake. There were some little birds chirping about, too far away for accurate identification. Probably one of the Weavers.
- Some House Sparrows in one of the railway stations. I record this sighting because they keep getting rarer. Hmmmmm..........:):)
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Birdielog - 042007(1)
Just a quick entry to record some sightings over the past few weeks, since I have not been able to make daily entries of late.
These sightings are not confined to the Richmond Town area.
"The Cold Reading "
Sighted for sure:
These sightings are not confined to the Richmond Town area.
"The Cold Reading "
Sighted for sure:
- Brahminy Kite
- Spotted Owlet
- Spotted Dove
- Black Drongo
- White-Breasted Kingfisher (Cubbon Park)
- Eurasian Golden Oriole (probably have gone North by now, haven't seen any in the last two weeks)
- Rosy Starling (went North this week)
- Grey-Headed Starling (went North this week)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul (DaCosta Square, off Hutchins Road)
- Booted Warbler
- Asian Brown Flycatcher (the find of the last two weeks - in Richmond Town!)
- Common Tailorbird
- Great Tit
- House Sparrow (I consider myself lucky indeed!!! These will not go under the Cold Reading, sadly)
- Oriental White-Eye
- Purple-Rumped Sunbird
- Tickell's Flowerpecker (DaCosta Square, off Hutchins Road)
The Asian Brown Flycatcher had been suspected for a few months, ever since I found a bird with grey-black-brown wings and the distinctive huge eyes. The flight was typical flycatcher and the perch too, with the tail pressed down rather than held up (like some warblers). However I was hesitant because I could not get a close look. The first summer showers last week brought out this beauty, and I got a close view. Would like to hear the bird, too....but seems to be silent.
Till later.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Birds in our city - Series
Bird watching can be quite contagious. I find my friends asking me whether I can introduce a few really common birds, so that they can identify them when they sight any of them....So here it is, a really amateur and beginner-level introduction to our most common denizens of the sky in Bangalore.
I will begin with the most common birds, and then come down to some not-so-common but resident ones.
Our Commonest Bird, Surprisingly...
The commonest bird in our cities these days is, surprisingly, not the House Crow or the Black Kite.....but an urban, synthetic, "semi-feral" (as Salim Ali puts it) breed of the Blue Rock Pigeon.
The ancestor of this urban breed inhabits quite a different habitat - lonely rock faces, abandoned buildings out in the countryside. The urban breed, however, is more at home in the concrete-choked, dusty, polluted city streets. Indeed, the only birds you might get to see in many corners of our cities where no trees exist are the Blue Rock Pigeons - only they can survive there. Even the hardy House Crows and Black Kites are not as well-adapted.
For the total beginner, here's how to find them:
Where to look for them:
Almost anywhere actually, but specifically:
I will begin with the most common birds, and then come down to some not-so-common but resident ones.
Our Commonest Bird, Surprisingly...
The commonest bird in our cities these days is, surprisingly, not the House Crow or the Black Kite.....but an urban, synthetic, "semi-feral" (as Salim Ali puts it) breed of the Blue Rock Pigeon.
The ancestor of this urban breed inhabits quite a different habitat - lonely rock faces, abandoned buildings out in the countryside. The urban breed, however, is more at home in the concrete-choked, dusty, polluted city streets. Indeed, the only birds you might get to see in many corners of our cities where no trees exist are the Blue Rock Pigeons - only they can survive there. Even the hardy House Crows and Black Kites are not as well-adapted.
For the total beginner, here's how to find them:
Where to look for them:
Almost anywhere actually, but specifically:
- Niches of any building, new or old
- Top-most branches in the tree canopies
- On the ground in shady verandahs or gardens
- In the skies, there's always some flying about all day long
- Heavy built, about a foot-or-so long. Fan-like tails.
- Slaty grey all over. Couple of black wing bars. Darker tails. A purple-blue-green shiny colour around the neck.
- A deep, low, mournful gurgle, almost like a person in pain. The gurgle sounds like blowing through a hukka.
- Sound of rapid wing beats in flight.
Here's a picture:
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Birdielog - 040407 - Warbler Fascination :)
Hmmm.
I guess it is kind of an accomplishment to be able to tell the warblers apart. There are only three hereabouts anyway.....so it shouldn't be difficult, you say? Hmmm. Try it.
Actually it wouldn't be accurate to say there are only three - the Common Tailorbird is a wren-warbler anyway. And I also suspect an Orphean Warbler. But before this actually melts away into the foliage (like warblers often do quite expertly :))......
We have one reed-warbler - the Blyth's Reed-Warbler; one Hippolais warbler - the Booted Warbler, one leaf-warbler - the Greenish Leaf-Warbler, and one wren-warbler - the Common Tailorbird.
The Blyth's Reed-Warbler is with us from September to April. This a square-tailed tit or sparrow-sized bird, always skulking around in the bushes, olive brown in the wings, rump and tail, and white-dull-cream in the throat (usually a white throat) and belly. The distinctive call is its diagnostic - the harsh, sharp, single "tchitt" or "tchuckk" every few seconds (a lot many times, it is a silent bird). If you hear this sound, you can be sure it's coming from a nearby bush and you can be sure the bird is around (you can claim a sighting even if you don't see the bird!!!). The Blyth's Reed-Warbler is a bird very dear to my heart :) and is the proverbial "bird in the thicket".
The Booted Warbler is a bird I have identified only in the last few months. This is just a teeny bit smaller than the Blyth's Reed-Warbler, and looks like a smaller, duller Blyth's Reed-Warbler. The olive brown is not so pronounced, and neither is the whitish-cream-buff. Now this bird behaves appreciably unlike the Blyth's Reed-Warbler in that it resembles leaf-warblers, preferring low trees to bushes and thickets. It was the call that alerted me to its presence - it's still confusing, but as far as I know, it is a harsh, low "tchrrrrd". There also seems to be a "tcheck" which is feebler and not as sharp as that of the Blyth's Reed-Warbler.
Now telling the two apart would require a close-quarters sighting, because there certainly are distinguishing identifying marks. But to those who cannot manage this (that's most of us), what I've said in those two paragraphs should be sufficient. And if you can't tell them apart, listen to the calls, they are quite a give-away.
The Greenish Leaf-Warbler is a tree-dweller - Salim Ali's observation about the Large-Billed Leaf Warbler, "keeping singly to the crowns of medium-sized trees" would also be applicable. Now this makes it very difficult to see at close-quarters. But the call is distinct, and you will not see this little beauty in a low bush or a low tree - only the crowns of the trees will find this little fellow. The call is a lovely, refreshing, liquid single "chliwee" or "chisweet". Probably as large or slightly smaller than the Booted Warbler, and a lot greener. The call is a very refreshing call - and can be very comforting to know this little chap is around.
The Common Tailorbird is one of the first birds I learned to identify as a birdwatcher. Really not too difficult at all because the bird is not as skulking, secretive or uncommon as the other warblers. It is a bold bird, not flinching when sighted. The head is russet or chestnut-topped, the wings and tail are lovely light-grass-green, and the whitish-cream below. The distinguishing mark is the tail, which is sometimes long and pointed, sometimes shorter, but almost always carried jauntily cocked. This is a very industrious, busy bird, and there are a variety of lovely, cheerful, loud calls - a constant, busy-sounding "chip chip chip" is sometimes incessant. There is also a loud, endless "weechew, weechew, weechew.." as well as "weetoo, weetoo, weetoo..", etc. These latter calls can be very endless and can seem to go on forever in the summer. Very common in gardens, bushes, trees all across town....and a joy to have around. Very often, you hear the bird (surely the most vocal of the warblers) more than you can actually spot it.
So, that's the story about warblers........will have to see if the Orphean Warbler shows up. Watching them is fascinating because most of them are skulkers and very secretive....will not intrude. But when they do, it is a fascinating thing.
I guess it is kind of an accomplishment to be able to tell the warblers apart. There are only three hereabouts anyway.....so it shouldn't be difficult, you say? Hmmm. Try it.
Actually it wouldn't be accurate to say there are only three - the Common Tailorbird is a wren-warbler anyway. And I also suspect an Orphean Warbler. But before this actually melts away into the foliage (like warblers often do quite expertly :))......
We have one reed-warbler - the Blyth's Reed-Warbler; one Hippolais warbler - the Booted Warbler, one leaf-warbler - the Greenish Leaf-Warbler, and one wren-warbler - the Common Tailorbird.
The Blyth's Reed-Warbler is with us from September to April. This a square-tailed tit or sparrow-sized bird, always skulking around in the bushes, olive brown in the wings, rump and tail, and white-dull-cream in the throat (usually a white throat) and belly. The distinctive call is its diagnostic - the harsh, sharp, single "tchitt" or "tchuckk" every few seconds (a lot many times, it is a silent bird). If you hear this sound, you can be sure it's coming from a nearby bush and you can be sure the bird is around (you can claim a sighting even if you don't see the bird!!!). The Blyth's Reed-Warbler is a bird very dear to my heart :) and is the proverbial "bird in the thicket".
The Booted Warbler is a bird I have identified only in the last few months. This is just a teeny bit smaller than the Blyth's Reed-Warbler, and looks like a smaller, duller Blyth's Reed-Warbler. The olive brown is not so pronounced, and neither is the whitish-cream-buff. Now this bird behaves appreciably unlike the Blyth's Reed-Warbler in that it resembles leaf-warblers, preferring low trees to bushes and thickets. It was the call that alerted me to its presence - it's still confusing, but as far as I know, it is a harsh, low "tchrrrrd". There also seems to be a "tcheck" which is feebler and not as sharp as that of the Blyth's Reed-Warbler.
Now telling the two apart would require a close-quarters sighting, because there certainly are distinguishing identifying marks. But to those who cannot manage this (that's most of us), what I've said in those two paragraphs should be sufficient. And if you can't tell them apart, listen to the calls, they are quite a give-away.
The Greenish Leaf-Warbler is a tree-dweller - Salim Ali's observation about the Large-Billed Leaf Warbler, "keeping singly to the crowns of medium-sized trees" would also be applicable. Now this makes it very difficult to see at close-quarters. But the call is distinct, and you will not see this little beauty in a low bush or a low tree - only the crowns of the trees will find this little fellow. The call is a lovely, refreshing, liquid single "chliwee" or "chisweet". Probably as large or slightly smaller than the Booted Warbler, and a lot greener. The call is a very refreshing call - and can be very comforting to know this little chap is around.
The Common Tailorbird is one of the first birds I learned to identify as a birdwatcher. Really not too difficult at all because the bird is not as skulking, secretive or uncommon as the other warblers. It is a bold bird, not flinching when sighted. The head is russet or chestnut-topped, the wings and tail are lovely light-grass-green, and the whitish-cream below. The distinguishing mark is the tail, which is sometimes long and pointed, sometimes shorter, but almost always carried jauntily cocked. This is a very industrious, busy bird, and there are a variety of lovely, cheerful, loud calls - a constant, busy-sounding "chip chip chip" is sometimes incessant. There is also a loud, endless "weechew, weechew, weechew.." as well as "weetoo, weetoo, weetoo..", etc. These latter calls can be very endless and can seem to go on forever in the summer. Very common in gardens, bushes, trees all across town....and a joy to have around. Very often, you hear the bird (surely the most vocal of the warblers) more than you can actually spot it.
So, that's the story about warblers........will have to see if the Orphean Warbler shows up. Watching them is fascinating because most of them are skulkers and very secretive....will not intrude. But when they do, it is a fascinating thing.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Birdielog - 260307
Well, well, well.
Sometimes we all go to Siberia, right ?? !!!! How often does that happen?
I have at least one really cherished experience to share as a birdwatcher (at least two, after today). If I count each experience watching a great tit as a cherished one (and why not!) then that number would swell to at least a dozen.
Today the spectacle was a strange one. There was no possible way I could have been prepared for it.
Today, what I believe to be either an Ashy Drongo or a White-Bellied Drongo (most probably the latter) was being chased around, over and over, by a Eurasian Golden Oriole. Now Golden Orioles and Black Drongos nest pretty much in close proximity - actually, the accurate thing to say is that Golden Orioles like to nest as close to a Black Drongo nest as possible, because the Black Drongo is not a bird to be trifled with as far as fighting off predators are concerned.
But this was a slightly different thing. White-Bellied Drongos are not city-dwellers (neither is the Ashy Drongo)...and the first thing I noticed this morning was what I thought was a Black Drongo (which is black all over) with white underparts (!!!). And this was an expertly agile bird - more than twice, I saw bugs flying up really close and this chap just swivelled on his perch, turned in an instant and swallowed up the bug out of thin air. He didn't even need to leave the perch - he had his food come to him on wings :) I've seen Black Drongos hunt bugs, and the bird I saw this morning was far more of an expert than a Black Drongo.
The call was also different - much more musical and cheery than the harsh sounds the Black Drongo makes. Then came the spectacle. A Golden Oriole began chasing this chap around. I witnessed an extremely agile, high-speed flight duet that went on for about 15 minutes. The Oriole just wouldn't leave this Drongo alone. And get this - all along, the Drongo just kept feeding.
I won't attempt to explain this behaviour because I don't know too much about Orioles or Drongos to sustain my theories. But I was convinced that this was no ordinary Black Drongo - the white underparts were unmistakeable. I think this was the White-Bellied Drongo....considerably outside its normal environs. Such sights happen once a year, or perhaps twice if you're lucky......and I certainly was, this morning.
Later, there was another treat in store - the OTHER call of the Golden Oriole - so musical and so pleasant. The Eurasian Golden Oriole is not a very vocal bird - there is one really harsh scream somewhat like a broken piano string, and there are also horrible sounds which make you think the bird is in painful agony. But there is also this clear, fluty, liquid, musical whistle, much is more pure and breathy than the Red-Whiskered Bulbul's, which I heard today. When I heard it for the first time, I thought it indeed must be a Red-Whiskered Bulbul....but just more soft and musical. I was more than pleasantly surprised to see that it was an Oriole :)
I always thought that a splendidly colourful bird like the Oriole should also have a call to match - and now I know.
Only God could have put golden yellow, black and orange together so masterfully....the Oriole is a vision of beauty. Then, what do you know, God even puts rose-pink and black together so expertly - you have the Rosy Starling!
Well, on to the roster then....
Range : Richmond Town, Richmond Park
Time : 0745 - 0930
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
Sometimes we all go to Siberia, right ?? !!!! How often does that happen?
I have at least one really cherished experience to share as a birdwatcher (at least two, after today). If I count each experience watching a great tit as a cherished one (and why not!) then that number would swell to at least a dozen.
Today the spectacle was a strange one. There was no possible way I could have been prepared for it.
Today, what I believe to be either an Ashy Drongo or a White-Bellied Drongo (most probably the latter) was being chased around, over and over, by a Eurasian Golden Oriole. Now Golden Orioles and Black Drongos nest pretty much in close proximity - actually, the accurate thing to say is that Golden Orioles like to nest as close to a Black Drongo nest as possible, because the Black Drongo is not a bird to be trifled with as far as fighting off predators are concerned.
But this was a slightly different thing. White-Bellied Drongos are not city-dwellers (neither is the Ashy Drongo)...and the first thing I noticed this morning was what I thought was a Black Drongo (which is black all over) with white underparts (!!!). And this was an expertly agile bird - more than twice, I saw bugs flying up really close and this chap just swivelled on his perch, turned in an instant and swallowed up the bug out of thin air. He didn't even need to leave the perch - he had his food come to him on wings :) I've seen Black Drongos hunt bugs, and the bird I saw this morning was far more of an expert than a Black Drongo.
The call was also different - much more musical and cheery than the harsh sounds the Black Drongo makes. Then came the spectacle. A Golden Oriole began chasing this chap around. I witnessed an extremely agile, high-speed flight duet that went on for about 15 minutes. The Oriole just wouldn't leave this Drongo alone. And get this - all along, the Drongo just kept feeding.
I won't attempt to explain this behaviour because I don't know too much about Orioles or Drongos to sustain my theories. But I was convinced that this was no ordinary Black Drongo - the white underparts were unmistakeable. I think this was the White-Bellied Drongo....considerably outside its normal environs. Such sights happen once a year, or perhaps twice if you're lucky......and I certainly was, this morning.
Later, there was another treat in store - the OTHER call of the Golden Oriole - so musical and so pleasant. The Eurasian Golden Oriole is not a very vocal bird - there is one really harsh scream somewhat like a broken piano string, and there are also horrible sounds which make you think the bird is in painful agony. But there is also this clear, fluty, liquid, musical whistle, much is more pure and breathy than the Red-Whiskered Bulbul's, which I heard today. When I heard it for the first time, I thought it indeed must be a Red-Whiskered Bulbul....but just more soft and musical. I was more than pleasantly surprised to see that it was an Oriole :)
I always thought that a splendidly colourful bird like the Oriole should also have a call to match - and now I know.
Only God could have put golden yellow, black and orange together so masterfully....the Oriole is a vision of beauty. Then, what do you know, God even puts rose-pink and black together so expertly - you have the Rosy Starling!
Well, on to the roster then....
Range : Richmond Town, Richmond Park
Time : 0745 - 0930
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
- Spotted Dove (what a lovely, lovely bird this is!!!)
- Eurasian Golden Oriole
- White-Bellied Drongo ? (:):):):)) or the Ashy Drongo
- Rosy Starling (flock)
- Grey-Headed Starling (flock)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
- Oriental White-Eye
- Tickell's Flowerpecker
- Common Tailorbird
- Booted Warbler ?
Other incidental sightings:
Sighted what looked to me to be a Barn Owl, flying noiselessly through the trees by the side of Langford Road, around 8:00 P.M. on 25th March. It's like watching a ghost......can be a bit scary.
Hmmmmm......let's see what tomorrow brings!!!Birdielog - 24/250307
Some really interesting sightings these two days......it seems like there is always something new every day. This is a good thing!
The Roster :
Range : Richmond Town, Richmond Park
Time : 0745 - 0930 (on 25th, 0730 - 0830)
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
Red-whiskered Bulbul
The high points of the day, of course, were the Great Tit, the White-eye and the Tickell's Flowerpecker (in that order). Watching a great tit is a fascinating experience because the bird is so active, so vocal, and so dextrous - up to something all the time. The whole experience is one of unfettered joy.
The white-eye were always suspected...for many years. But because they are so tiny and expert at keeping out of sight (a lot of arboreal birds are), and also because of their really feeble, difficult-to-pin-down jingling call, they are extremely difficult to sight. Of course, the best way to identify a white-eye is to look for that white ring round the eyes - a dead giveaway.
The Tickell's flowerpecker is such a tiny bird, only about 8 centimetres long. It is also extremely active, whizzing around all the time, "chit"ting excitedly. Look for a clump of parasitic plants on a branch....and you can be sure the flowerpecker has been there.
Other Incidental Sightings:
Eurasian Golden Oriole, on 24th March, at around 4:45 P.M., on Museum Road. Tree-felling is going on on a greedy scale out there, but this chap was chasing away some other bigger bird that I could not see too well.
The Roster :
Range : Richmond Town, Richmond Park
Time : 0745 - 0930 (on 25th, 0730 - 0830)
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
- Spotted Dove
- Eurasian Golden Oriole (only 25th)
- Black Drongo (only 24th)
- Rosy Starling (flock)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
- Great Tit (Only on 24th - this is the best treat of them all. This beauty was around for hardly a minute but it was a great minute in my life as a birdwatcher. It is one of life's joys to watch these fascinating birds!)
- Purple-rumped Sunbird
- Oriental White-eye (my suspicions for so many years actually, confirmed now by a bonafide sighting)
- Tickell's Flowerpecker (could have also been a Plain Flowerpecker)
- Common Tailorbird
- Blyth's Reed Warbler or Booted Warbler (this is one mystery still to be solved; it is very possible both are around, because I heard two distinct calls)
Red-whiskered Bulbul
The high points of the day, of course, were the Great Tit, the White-eye and the Tickell's Flowerpecker (in that order). Watching a great tit is a fascinating experience because the bird is so active, so vocal, and so dextrous - up to something all the time. The whole experience is one of unfettered joy.
The white-eye were always suspected...for many years. But because they are so tiny and expert at keeping out of sight (a lot of arboreal birds are), and also because of their really feeble, difficult-to-pin-down jingling call, they are extremely difficult to sight. Of course, the best way to identify a white-eye is to look for that white ring round the eyes - a dead giveaway.
The Tickell's flowerpecker is such a tiny bird, only about 8 centimetres long. It is also extremely active, whizzing around all the time, "chit"ting excitedly. Look for a clump of parasitic plants on a branch....and you can be sure the flowerpecker has been there.
Other Incidental Sightings:
Eurasian Golden Oriole, on 24th March, at around 4:45 P.M., on Museum Road. Tree-felling is going on on a greedy scale out there, but this chap was chasing away some other bigger bird that I could not see too well.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Birdielog - 230307
Hmmm.
First, the roster.
Range - Richmond Town, Richmond Park
Time - 0815 - 0930 hours
March 23, 2007
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
The Heard for sure but not sighted category are as good as actual sightings; they are not merely suspects. The calls are unmistakeable and cannot be confused with other birds.
The reed warblers are the most difficult to identify (me and a million other birdlovers will testify !!!) - because they can look so easily like other warblers and also because a lot many times, they are silent. The dull metallic "chit" or "chuck" is almost always associated with the "tdrrrr"... compounded by the fact that Booted Warblers resemble leaf warblers a lot.
First, the roster.
Range - Richmond Town, Richmond Park
Time - 0815 - 0930 hours
March 23, 2007
"The Cold Reading"
Sighted for sure:
- Spotted Dove
- Eurasian Golden Oriole
- Rosy Starling (flock)
- Grey-headed Starling (flock) - these have not headed North yet :):)
- Purple-rumped Sunbird OR Small Sunbird (very probably both!!)
- Blyth's Reed Warbler ? (I suspect this could easily also be the Booted Warbler. There was a flock moving silently through a fig tree. Very difficult to tell...this could as easily be the Oriental White-Eye.)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
- Red-whiskered Bulbul
- Common Tailorbird
The Heard for sure but not sighted category are as good as actual sightings; they are not merely suspects. The calls are unmistakeable and cannot be confused with other birds.
The reed warblers are the most difficult to identify (me and a million other birdlovers will testify !!!) - because they can look so easily like other warblers and also because a lot many times, they are silent. The dull metallic "chit" or "chuck" is almost always associated with the "tdrrrr"... compounded by the fact that Booted Warblers resemble leaf warblers a lot.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Birdielog - 220307
Some of these birds are always around, so I won't mention them from the next time on unless they are unusually absent for a long period of time. Let's call these "The Cold Reading" - that is, you don't actually have to TRY to spot them - you will encounter these without too much actual birdwatching. In order of descending size,
Time : 0800 - 0915 hrs
March 22, 2007
Sighted for sure:
- Black Kite
- Jungle Crow (Large-Billed Crow)
- House Crow
- Asian Koel
- Blue Rock Pigeon (the 'synthetic' urban breed - I have my misgivings actually attributing the name)
- Rose-Ringed Parakeet
- White-Cheeked Barbet - not the Brown-Headed Barbet, confirmed almost positively as of June 2007
- Common Myna
- Jungle Myna
Time : 0800 - 0915 hrs
March 22, 2007
Sighted for sure:
- Spotted Dove
- Rosy Starling (flock)
- Oriental Magpie-Robin
- Black Drongo
- Common Tailorbird
- Purple-Rumped Sunbird or Small Sunbird (difficult to tell)
- Blyth's Reed Warbler or Booted Warbler (difficult to tell again...behaviour and call was more like the Booted Warbler)
Heard for sure but not sighted:
- Red-Whiskered Bulbul
- Greenish Leaf Warbler or Large-Billed Leaf Warbler (most probably the former)
Suspected:
- Grey-Headed Starling (don't know if the flocks have gone up North already, since they are always with the Rosy Starling flocks and are difficult to actually see)
- Tickell's Flowerpecker (so tiny that it's almost impossible to spot; only the call gives it away)
- At least one or two small species up in the canopy which cannot be identified without field glasses ....
Memo to me : Get myself some field glasses !!!
My roster above is not comprehensive; any number of other skulking birds could be present. A lot of these are expert at losing themselves in the foliage so you don't even suspect they are there. For instance, yesterday (21st March) I did sight a couple of Eurasian Golden Orioles. Now that doesn't mean they weren't around today; it could mean that they silently managed to keep out of sight today; or that they could show up if I had stayed longer, etc.
Among the birds I always suspect are around, that I haven't yet actually been able to sight are the following:
- Common Iora
- Oriental White-Eye
Again, there are birds that pass by and sometimes stay awhile for no apparent rhyme or reason, that I did not see today, however....the foremost of these is the Great Tit.
Ok....we'll need to wait for tomorrow to see who else turns up :):)
Monday, March 19, 2007
Ripple
This place is being put together. Even so, you will not see any construction equipment here.....you might see a chap with a painter's palette, who might seem just a bit preoccupied. Perhaps you must wait. Meanwhile, look around...and kick off your shoes and take off your watch (next time, leave them behind when you come :))
This is a bit like Lindisfarne.....
"Will I be in time to catch the 5:39 at Beal?"
"And just what time might that be?"
This is a bit like Lindisfarne.....
"Will I be in time to catch the 5:39 at Beal?"
"And just what time might that be?"
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