The serenade starts at dawn — usually led by the soulful warbling of a thrush or the cooing of a dove. Soon several bulbuls join in, chirping lustily, as they flutter around our porch in search of moths. Sometimes one perches on the car’s rearview mirror, studying its reflection; then takes off, cheekily strafing the windscreen with its droppings. Assured of safety, one even nests in the shrubs beside the car. They do make themselves at home.

Squeaking, two fidgety wagtails often perch on the verandah railing, wistfully eyeing the moths but too timid to enter. Sometimes a regal-looking hoopoe, resplendent with its crest, sneaks in for a morsel. Emboldened, the wagtails quickly follow suit and flee, squeaking their contentment!

Throwing caution to the winds, several mynahs, squawking among themselves, often pick grasshoppers off the lawn unmindful of our gardener. In a spirit of amity, the mynahs, bulbuls and shrikes even enjoy a collective dip in the puddles that form when the lawn is watered. Shrieking discordantly, sometimes a kingfisher waits for a fish to surface in our pond. Then it swoops down unerringly and up again, its quivering meal clamped in its beak.

The crow pheasant’s booming call clearly unsettles the smaller birds — apparently, it’s a nest-raider. Soon I spot it stealing through the foliage of a jack tree, often with its mate. Adding a touch of excitement, occasionally a huge kite swoops low, seizes an unwary chicken and sails away — usually with the owner in hot but futile pursuit!

... contd.