I sit here on my bed next to the window. It is cloudy, and feels like it has just rained though it hasn’t. There is a silence that is only enhanced by the distant crowing of the crow far away.
Suddenly, the silence is broken by the frenzied chirping of three little maina babies that reside, safe from prying eyes and claws, inside the shoebox-nest that my mother and I made for them. Their mother has returned, with something to eat. She squeezes into the nest- it’s small, and there’s three of them in there after all, along with twigs and leaves and yes, even a peacock feather. The chirping becomes more frenzied and louder as they all reach upwards towards her beak. They stretch their little bodies as much as biology would allow them to, their mouths open revealing a triangle of yellow. When I see them I am reminded of how, as a child, pictures of open-mouthed baby birds used to remind me of samosas because of their yellow colour and triangular shape. It makes me smile now, as it must have then.
Their father still visits. This is the most amazing part. And the female maina still comes out of the nest to let him go in and have a peep at his little ones.
Now they have both flown away, leaving the babies in the nest. It is quiet again, as the babies know they can’t make too much noise, as it might be dangerous.
Who taught them that?
Who knows? Who can tell?
Suddenly, the silence is broken by the frenzied chirping of three little maina babies that reside, safe from prying eyes and claws, inside the shoebox-nest that my mother and I made for them. Their mother has returned, with something to eat. She squeezes into the nest- it’s small, and there’s three of them in there after all, along with twigs and leaves and yes, even a peacock feather. The chirping becomes more frenzied and louder as they all reach upwards towards her beak. They stretch their little bodies as much as biology would allow them to, their mouths open revealing a triangle of yellow. When I see them I am reminded of how, as a child, pictures of open-mouthed baby birds used to remind me of samosas because of their yellow colour and triangular shape. It makes me smile now, as it must have then.
Their father still visits. This is the most amazing part. And the female maina still comes out of the nest to let him go in and have a peep at his little ones.
Now they have both flown away, leaving the babies in the nest. It is quiet again, as the babies know they can’t make too much noise, as it might be dangerous.
Who taught them that?
Who knows? Who can tell?
