A Symphony of Birds Around My Home
To the right of my house is a beautiful garden with a pond at its heart. Another garden lies directly in front of the house. During the monsoon, everything around turns lush green. It is the charm of a village nestled within a city. Birds gather here in abundance throughout the year.
Although they visit in every season, their presence is especially overwhelming during the monsoon, particularly in June and July. It is the breeding season, and the sky resonates with their calls. So many birds assemble here that from sunrise until about 8:30 in the morning, their melodious chirping swells into a joyous chorus. After resting through much of the day, they begin singing again as the sun sets.
The pond attracts numerous Red-wattled Lapwings, which spend day and night calling in their unmistakable refrain that sounds like “Did you do it?” They remain constantly alert, guarding their eggs and chicks. Unlike most birds, they do not perch on trees but wander tirelessly along the water’s edge on their long, slender legs. The lapwing is perhaps the only bird that flies and calls even at night.
Few creatures display such vigilance. It reminds me of the old tale: when the sea washed away the lapwing’s eggs, the tiny bird resolved to empty the ocean, carrying away grains of sand one by one in its little beak. It cared neither how long the task would take nor whether it would live to see its completion. What mattered was its unwavering determination.
“Kuhu… kuhu…” sings the cuckoo.
“The cuckoo sings ‘kuhu kuhu’,
While bees hum through every grove.”
How can the transition from summer to the monsoon pass without hearing the cuckoo’s enchanting call?
The male cuckoo, restless in search of his mate, begins singing even before dawn—often before the rooster announces the morning. The female remains comparatively silent; it is the male that fills the air with music.
The male cuckoo is glossy black with a bluish sheen, while the female is brown and speckled like a partridge. She has striking red eyes and a long tail. Since crows threaten her eggs, she cleverly lays them in a crow’s nest. By the time the unsuspecting crow realizes the deception, the young cuckoos have already hatched and flown away.
A famous Sanskrit verse captures their contrast beautifully:
“The crow is black; the cuckoo is black.
What then distinguishes the two?
When spring arrives,
The crow remains a crow,
But the cuckoo reveals itself by its sweet song.”
One who learns to speak sweetly has already achieved much in life. Whether one is fair or dark, tall or short, a gentle voice makes life easier and relationships warmer.
Then comes the Pied Cuckoo (Papiha or Chatak).
“The papiha keeps calling,
My heart forever longs,
Forever thirsty…”
Its plaintive call, sounding like “Pi kahan? Pi kahan?” (“Where is my beloved?”), has become a symbol of longing and separation. With the arrival of the rains, its voice echoes constantly through the countryside.
This is also its breeding season. The male repeatedly utters a three-note call, the middle note being the longest and most intense. The rhythm gradually rises in pitch before suddenly stopping, only to begin again. It continues almost tirelessly throughout the day, into the evening, and until dawn.
The bird resembles a small hawk in appearance and flight, yet it is completely harmless. Like the cuckoo, it does not build its own nest but lays its eggs in the nests of other birds.
Then comes our national bird—the magnificent Indian Peafowl.
“My heart dances in delight,
As rain clouds gather
And the earth grows wet.”
Where else would the peacock belong but in the monsoon?
The male peacock cries loudly in regal tones, spreads his magnificent tail into a shimmering fan, and dances tirelessly to attract the peahen. The peahen appears modest and reserved, making him work hard for her attention. A lonely peacock calling in separation evokes sadness, but one dancing in the rain fills the heart with joy.
Crows are no less abundant.
Their harsh “caw, caw” echoes through the gardens as they fly from tree to tree, eating the eggs of many other birds. Yet even they are cleverly deceived by the cuckoo, which entrusts them with raising its young.
Every child knows the famous story of the thirsty crow. Unable to reach the little water left in a pitcher, the crow patiently drops pebble after pebble into it until the water rises high enough to drink. The tale teaches perseverance and intelligence.
In Hindu tradition, Kakabhushundi is revered as a sage. During Shraddha ceremonies, food offered to departed ancestors is traditionally first given to a crow.
Crows also display remarkable social behaviour. When one dies, others gather around silently, as though paying their final respects, before flying away. A dog hides its food to eat alone, but a crow calls out to its companions whenever it finds something to eat. It teaches us the value of sharing.
The House Sparrow has become less common than it once was, yet it still survives.
Amidst the chorus of larger birds, its tiny “chee-chee-chee” reminds us that it too is present.
My grandchildren, Hiranya and Dhairya, often recall their favourite childhood story:
“The little sparrow brought grains of rice, the little sparrow’s mate brought mung beans. Together they cooked khichdi… but who ate it?”
For generations, this simple tale has delighted children.
A pair of Sarus Cranes also visits our neighbourhood.
Their voices may not be melodious, yet they are among the most devoted of birds. Their lifelong companionship seems almost like a gentle reminder to husbands and wives who quarrel—that love and togetherness are life’s greatest treasures.
On the pond glide egrets, spoonbills, and little grebes. Their calls rarely reach us, but watching them while taking a morning walk beside the water brings immense peace and happiness.
A pair of partridges also visits our home, pecking happily at scattered sorghum grains before disappearing into the shrubs. To a meat eater they might seem tempting, but within the safety of our garden they remain protected.
The dawn chorus is completed by countless other birds:
the rooster with his confident crow, the pigeon with its gentle cooing, the dove’s soft “ghu-ghu”, the bulbul’s cheerful melody, the parrot’s sharp whistle, the ever-imitative myna, the tailorbird’s delicate notes, the rhythmic tapping of the woodpecker, the resonant call of the hoopoe, the kingfisher’s vibrating cry, the lark’s prolonged song, the sweet voice of the bushlark, and the constant chatter of the Seven Sisters (Jungle Babblers).
Each one announces its presence, adding another note to nature’s grand orchestra.
My home has become a sanctuary where birds find shelter, companionship, and song.
All the birds are welcome here. This is their home as much as it is mine.
— Dr. Punamchand Parmar
3 July 2025
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