We were getting used to having her around in our bedroom every morning — a streaked, greyish brown sparrow. Every day, it would fly in, alight in front of the dressing table, dance as if she were a ballerina and then, proudly flap her wings and fluff out her downy feathers.

We were enamoured of the bird. My wife, as a gesture of invitation, would leave the door ajar. The children would place bread crumbs and grains for the visitor. And then, one morning, she decided to introduce us to her partner. A handsome sparrow - he was chestnut coloured on the nape and sported a black bib. He would just hop around pecking at the grains while she danced and sometimes, they danced together.

These birds were amazing and fuelled my desire to learn more about them. I gathered only sketchy information from the books I could find. But it was rewarding just to watch these birds at different locations, at different hours. On the ground and on trees, they held lively discussions. When disturbed, they would fly off chirping, always keeping a safe distance and never striking one another.

Our little sparrows clearly didn’t want to be anywhere else. They found a niche on the curtain valance and started stuffing it with grass, straw and twigs. We were concerned but our children insisted that the birds had to be given the freedom to build their nest where they chose.

But the real challenge was when we planned to go on a holiday to Ranikhet. The house had to be locked and that meant denying the birds access to their nest where the eggs had been laid. We toyed with the idea of shifting the nest to a mango tree outside but that was proved to be impractical — we should have known; it was an absurd idea. Just when we thought the only way out was to abandon our holiday plan, the children came up with an idea. By removing a windowpane close to the nest, the house was kept open for the parent birds. The little ones would be out anytime and the birds were busy flying in and out, preparing for the big day.

... contd.