Yesterday, the bulbuls decided to grace my garden with a nest.
Bebo and Bibi, as I call the pair, have been regulars in my garden for the past three years. I had, at that time, lured them into joining the birdlife around my house by planting a lantana bush. Initially, the birds came only to eat the berries; morning, afternoon and evening, they hopped about in the bush, eating the berries. They then ventured into the custard apple and sapote trees, pecking at the half-eaten fruits, remains of a marauding group of parakeets who lived nearby.
The addition of a birdbath — merely an old discarded vessel — which I strung on the sapote tree was the reason that Bebo and Bibi decided to stay and forage in my garden for long intervals. Who would have dreamt that bulbuls were such fastidious creatures? But they were, and they liked to bathe three times a day, taking turns, first Bebo then Bibi, plunging in and ruffling feathers before jumping out. Then onto a branch, shaking themselves dry before preening in the sun. If the water was cold, as it was during the rains, they would finish in a hurry, just like children taking cold baths.
I soon learnt to distinguish Bebo and Bibi’s pleased chirps, excited chitters (I found a nice ripe sapota, come and see), frenzied calls (there is a snake nearby) and even the coy mating chirrups. If I had forgotten to replenish the water in the bath, or the water was dirty, Bebo would scream. It was amusing to see the little tyrant loudly scolding till he got his way. Bibi was more polite, though.
The bulbuls also shared space with a troop of other birds, all of which came for a drink and a bath. There were the magpie robins (who always thanked me with melodious songs), busy babblers, and the mynahs. Even the tiny tailor birds and the munias came, careful of losing their footing but trying to take a dip. It was astonishing to see birds waiting for their turn patiently, though the rambunctious mynah did not care much for queues.
In the meanwhile, Bebo and Bibi were also busy making a family, though they always nested elsewhere. I saw them bring their fledglings to the sapote tree, once or twice. And I also saw them lose their chicks to a predatory crow. I didn’t think much of the parenting abilities of the bulbuls. In my childhood, I had seen bulbuls building nests in the most inappropriate places, where they were savaged by crows and cats. It seemed to me that bulbuls were witless when it came to hiding nests, or teaching their babies how to survive. Some of my earliest birding experiences had to do with trying futilely to stop a crow from raiding bulbul eggs or cats pouncing on baby birds which left the nest too early.
So it was with trepidation but not much surprise that I spotted Bebo-Bibi’s nest: they had decided on the net of my fruit harvester pole, of all things! The small rounded nest was cuddled snugly into the hollow of the net. I had kept the pole safely under the overhang of a sunshade, protected from rain, but otherwise open to casual eyes. I guess the bulbuls thought it was a fine place, the poor muddled half-wits! And they are not secretive about it, either. All day long, you can hear them chirping loudly nearby, carrying bits of twigs, and thread and what-not with a flourish.
I am not sure what the next days will bring. Will my bulbuls succeed in bringing their chicks into this world? Should I help hide the nest by hanging something over it? And should I take guard duty when the eggs are laid? What about seeing that the chicks can reach a safe harbour when they begin to fly?
Or do I simply turn a blind eye and leave them to it?
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