Spying on little birds

Tailorbirds stitch together a nest from hibiscus leaves, bits of cotton, and soft scraps.
| Photo Credit: Getty Images

I made a silent dash to the window as I heard the loud chirping — or rather, chattering — of birds. At last, they were here! A tailorbird and her mate had perched beside their nest on the yellow hibiscus bush, making quite a racket. These were tiny birds, with greenish-yellow wings, pale yellow chests, and beaks that looked too long for their bodies. Their voices, surprisingly loud, did not match their sizes.

Nearby, another pair — shiny black with bluish hues and long, sharply curved beaks, likely a kind of sunbird — seemed to be quarrelling with the tailorbirds. They too were trying to build a nest in a branch of the yellow trumpet tree. The tailorbirds appeared unhappy with the intrusion, protesting the newcomers’ plan to build so close. After a bit more squabbling, the black pair flew away, leaving the tailorbirds to enjoy some peace. Perhaps they already had eggs in their nest.

It was during one of my early morning garden strolls that I first spotted the nest. Neat and compact, it was stitched together from hibiscus leaves, bits of cotton, and soft scraps. At first, I was alarmed — thinking my bush had become infested with pests — until I realised it was a bird’s nest. How had I missed the construction?

From then on, I watched eagerly for any sign of activity. But this was the first time I had actually seen the birds. Standing quietly on the cot, I realised I could observe them from the window without disturbing them. Days passed, and soon little beaks began poking out from the nest’s opening. The fledglings made hoarse cries — almost like a snake’s hiss. I watched in delight as the mother and father bird took turns feeding their hungry young. One day, I heard alarmed chirps and rushed out to investigate. A ginger cat was slinking along the compound wall near the hibiscus bush. Though it couldn’t reach the nest, I chased it away — for the birds’ peace of mind as much as for their safety.

Before I knew it, the young birds were perching on the hibiscus branches and learning to fly. It had only been a couple of weeks since they hatched. I marvelled at how quickly these tiny creations of God grew up. Eventually, the nest was empty. The fledglings and their parents had flown away, leaving me feeling a bit disappointed. I still ran to the window at the sound of chirping, only to find the bush deserted.

Time passed, and the memory of the birds began to fade — until one day I heard excited chirps again by the window. I quickly climbed onto the cot and peeked through the curtain. There they were — the same sunbirds who had earlier fought for nesting space. This time, they had begun building their own nest using bits of bark and spiderwebs. They would disappear for a while and return with tiny pieces of material. Day by day, the nest began to take shape. It was larger than the tailorbirds’ nest, but messier — more like a hanging sack, with a front-facing opening. Days turned to weeks, and yet the construction continued. The birds didn’t seem to be in any hurry.

I was eager to witness the next chapter — eggs, hatching, and feeding. Seeing the size of the nest and the thin branch it hung from, I prayed the branch would hold.

Meanwhile, we had planned a short vacation to Kerala. I hoped the eggs would be laid before we left. But the birds, still busy with construction, showed no signs of completing the nest.

On the day of our departure, I had to shut the window. As I carefully pushed it closed, disaster struck. Just a moment of carelessness — and the window edge grazed the nest. My heart sank. There it lay on the ground — the labour of two little birds over many days, undone in an instant.

I left for the vacation with a heavy heart. Gone were my dreams of returning to find fledglings fluttering on the branches.

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