Story of Bulbuls

That's the Mother Bulbul. Ever since she built the nest she used to occupy my bike very often. Didn't fly even when I was just a foot away. Instead, perhaps frightened by my presence, she would increase the intensity of her calls.

That's the parking lot adjacent to ours. The guy is looking in the direction of the nest on top.

Three babies in the nest. Only two can be seen clearly.

That's the Mother Bulbul on one of her regular feeding occasions. The pics were taken in the morning.

In the last few days when I came back from Mississippi in the evening and when I found the tube-light on, I would switch it off. The passers-by would watch curiously why I did that. It is then that most of them started noticing the nest actually. That act of mine drew attention to the Bulbul family.

On Friday morning, to send a picture of the Bulbuls to participate in a contest on one of the websites dedicated to saving birds, I started clicking pictures and drew yet more attention to these little birds.

And then the intelligent move took place. That afternoon, after I took pics in the morning, a well-wisher ordered the nest to be moved into a bird-feeder hanging clay-pot. So it was done and the hanging-pot with the 3 babies was hung right in the way of the passers-by near the parking lot.

The Parent Bulbuls were furious. Against relatively gigantic intelligent beings they could only do so much though. I sensed trouble.

By evening the hanging pot was found in one corner. Two babies which could barely manage to fly, flew out in the open under the parked cars. One little baby relegated in the pot.

Someone showed me pics of Bulbul babies in the hands of the kids playing around. I couldn't help but feel that we were toying with the Bulbuls. And with the fancy toys - the ready-to-be-flaunted-and-brandished smartphones - we would do nothing better but this. 

With the help of some kids in the building and a couple of concerned ladies, I gathered the two flying babies in a basket. I had lost hope for the third one. But luckily found the third baby sitting quietly in the pot in utter darkness.

The 3 siblings spent the night in that basket. 

Next day, Saturday (that is yesterday), we kept the basket on the car shown in one of the pics above. To our delight, the Parent Bulbuls came back in the morning and found the babies. The Bulbul Mother got into action and in a few minutes brought some food to feed. 

We tried tying the basket high up in place of the nest. The two barely-flying babies panicked and flew out in the open again. The Parent Bulbuls were again furious and intensified their calls. They chased the flying babies. One of babies found refuge in a tyre-rim cavity and got trapped. And Mother Bulbul got food to feed it even there! The baby was trying to come out and was calling as best it could. We spotted it again and pulled it out.

Now we had two babies - one who could fly a bit and the other who was still in the basket - with us. The one other baby which flew out was untraceable at that moment.

We had already removed the nest. So, we had compromised the safety of the babies. They could become prey to crows (or cats or dogs) which are always in the vicinity of the building.

I couldn't dare to see the baby which stayed in the basket. It opened its mouth in anticipation of food every time it sensed someone near. It was smaller than the other two babies which could fly a bit.

Fearing for the two little babies' lives, I put them again in the basket and drove them to Jeevdaya, a charitable trust-cum-hospital which takes care of animals and birds in need. All the while the little ones calling out for something during the 30-min drive.

I came back and tried listening to the calls of the third one. I saw the Parent Bulbul sitting on a ledge and felt like I heard the cries of the third baby right near to where they were perched. I didn't interfere but I was worried.

I couldn't apologize to the Bulbuls for what we did. Last night I prayed for these babies before sleeping. And I prayed to see the third one.

Today morning, after I came back from my earlier-than-usual morning run, I spotted the third Bulbul baby perched on top of one of our compound's boundary ledge-grill. And yet again found the Bulbul Mother feeding it. The other Bulbul Parent was around, among the leaves of a little plant nearby.

How could they have figured where it flew? How could they hear the not-so-loud calls and respond? How could they manage to stay away from so many preying eyes?

If the nest had been in place, I reckon they would've managed just fine no matter if the two babies flew helter-skelter and the third one stayed in the nest.

:)

We really think we are smart. Don't we?

The unsophisticated little birds have their ways and they manage just fine. That is, until we interfere.

We build these fantastic buildings and landscapes by cutting down the trees which had grown without any possible human assistance. So the little creatures have no option but to adapt to the ways of humans. And then since they try to use the constructed settings, we always have opportunities. We have these contests and we have these high mega-pixel cameras. And we are so click-happy. Like I posted the pic of the Mother Bulbul the other day on FB.

We draw attention to such happenings and these little beings become toys. And then we come to their aid and feel great at helping them.

I'm on a self-deprecating spiral. Can't feel anything but that there's a huge downside to the 'progress' we so often keep referring to. We are an ever-growing attention-craving status-anxiety-driven generation and we are adding the fancy tools which encourage the same. You understand the unwritten rant here.

Even paying attention and drawing attention on occasions is an act of violation and violence. Thinking 'good' for some others also is. But then one would say, every move in that sense could be violation and violence. YES, could be. Where does the line get drawn?

We invented the gun. Why? We were lazy to constantly defend ourselves from our adversaries. Lazy to prepare ourselves. Lazy to endure the surprise attacks. So we said stop them at a distance, and once and forever. Invent the gun. Shoot. Kill. Done.

Violence is at its best when it is applied to our defense and without leading to a killing of the other. Killing is a defense mechanism for the lazy. Not killing and yet being able to defend is the way of the strong. The way of the observer. The way of the 'violent but non-violent', to speak in the same breath.

--

I feel really sad that the Parent Bulbuls can't see the other two babies grow and take flight and be able to eat on their own. I feel sadder than the Parent Bulbuls themselves do, though I doubt if it can be like that.

After having read Rupert Sheldrake's ideas, and after having seen the Parent Bulbuls with the third baby this morning, if I speculate on the powers of nature (and the way it has shaped these organisms which do not use smartphones and gadgets) I would say (perhaps and somehow) the Parent Bulbuls sense that the other two babies are alive and growing up.

--

That reminds me, I should visit Jeevdaya and check up on the babies.

Dumbed?

The 'p' in 'dumped' just gets vertically flipped 180 degrees.

If you've felt sometimes that the more time you are spending working in a job, the dumber you are becoming, do not blame yourself. Better thing would be to read Dumbing Us Down: The Hidden Curriculum Of Compulsory Schooling :)

Intelligent, full of common-sense, explosive and subversively delightful.

Blindness

I call it blindness coz calling it insensitivity or senselessness might be misconstrued. Apathy might work but blindness is well understood even for senses other than eyes.

Every time I pass a relatively green patch here in Ahmedabad, I can immediately feel the coolness on my skin and the freshness of the air I breathe in. Guess, everyone must be experiencing the same thing. If not better, the impact is at par when compared to that of ACs.

Is it so hard to feel that both, economics and ecology of this country, would improve with planting trees instead of feverishly intaling ACs wherever we find four walls?

On death

Death shocks. It is such a finality. The dead person is no longer doing anything, so your consciousness cannot be distracted; it might dive into memories but it cannot be distracted. And, sooner or later, you wouldn't know but you would be propelled out of that window of memories.

I wonder if relationships can be pronounced dead when the protagonists - who were once a part of the relationship - are alive. Perhaps the fact that the other person is alive and doing something always has the potential to pique your curiosity, to distract you or to make you go through some obnoxious emotions.

It is strange but sometimes death (of the other person) could be a far better balm for an aching heart. No, of course, to wish the other person's death isn't the suggestion. But it's a comment on the nature of death. 

Sometimes, just the awareness - that your consciousness can feel distracted by those you were involved with earlier - could be liberating. Perhaps it could help you to consider the other person dead and to live as if the other person is dead. That is, until you inadvertently stumble upon him/her again. When FB, parties, social occasions, events, arenas of public entertainment, media-presence etc bring him/her back into your consciousness.

So? Live out the bout, what else! And, better than that, train hard. Real f***** hard! So hard that you almost nearly die.

Source of inspiration

Only that which isn't or distant, inpires.

The problem with thinking about future

Trudging on a path, or driving, I cannot help but look at the immediate pothole or bump. And I have to make sure that I handle it properly. Even if I do know that there's a big pothole after 2 kms, I can't do anything until I really reach the spot. Yes of course, I can think of ways to go around the pothole but if I think a lot, with reasonable certainty I would be running into a lot of potholes anyway before even reaching the one I would be thinking of avoiding.

I can think of the future but I can't act in the future.

I can act in the present based on my vision of the future but even so only when my act is well adapted to the present, and to all that are a part of the present.

I sense I have been trying the impossible. I sense a big pothole in the future and am trying to avoid it right from this moment on. The world around doesn't even wanna know about the pothole!

I suppose future is only as far away or as near as your next step.

Osama & compassion misplaced

Have been reading a lot about systems thinking. In fact, even before I was aware of the term 'systems thinking', I realize I was thinking on those lines for a long time.

Osama is dead.

I just happened to check an image on the cover of India Today today morning. People protesting Osama's death. Another image showed people offering prayers in Osama's support/memory.

The truth could very well be that these very people (shown in images mentioned above) wouldn't support Osama if they lived in relatively more comfortable environment and had suffered from something like a 9/11.

So what's happening really? And why does anyone like Osama become a leader (call him a terror leader) in such a manner? Was he just a egomaniac? Was he a narcissist? Was he just doing it for fame? Was he just a despot? Was he fond of putting himself in utmost danger? Could be. But there is definitely a little more.

He was tall. From whatever images have circulated in mass media, he looked assured. Was media-savvy for sure. Could've been an actor, isn't it?

But he became an icon for a certain kind of people. If we analyze such people, we might see some common characteristics. Under-educated, under-privileged, illiterate, filled with powerlessness, lacking means for an appropriate living, jealous of those who are better off, hatred of being patronized, desirous of self-respect but not aware of the 'means' to possess some, failing to find someone appropriate to blame... Of course, they were wanting for something to feel proud of. Enter Osama.

It isn't that what I am writing hasn't been thought of. But I would like to say that, somewhere, men like Osama arise because of their compassion for their own people. But this river of compassion seems to flow through the steamiest rocks and the same water which could assuage thirst, burns.

One can say whatever one has to but men living without means for a long time are like that. They are sort of dangerously unhooked. Depending on what they chance upon, they will gravitate or levitate or evaporate or explode.

Osama was definitely inept in that he caused such unforgivable harm. Many of the so-called leaders of the world seem no great either. They might be good on the television but their solutions aren't solving much. And, at best, the blame for any explicit harm cannot be attached to them.

SMS from a good friend

Man, I see the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

:) I've held myself back and haven't bought the much desired motorcycle for the last one year. And I'm gonna buy a good bicycle soon, stay fit and sleep well. And share good things I read and think :).