One morning, during the initial days of the lockdown, as we sat casually discussing about what all we could possibly do during the course of the day, we saw a humming bird sneak into our balcony. We got interested as this was the first time a humming bird came in there! Letting it be, we soon went about our affairs only to be alerted again by constant loud chirps by two birds in the afternoon! It seemed as if they were frantically searching for something. As we saw them wrestle against a clothesline every next moment, we guessed they were perhaps trying to build a nest. We debated among ourselves whether they could really make a nest on a mere clothesline and by evening, we were surprised to see a little bit of fluffy stuff already hanging from it with some kind of glue. The artistry, with which it had been done, made us believe they would succeed.
Since the confirmation, our curiosity began growing each day. We would spend hours watching the two little creatures rushing in and out alternately like little rockets and adding bit by bit to their nest and knitting the stalks-coir-leaves-feathers with their pointed beaks with such ease and finesse amidst innumerable acrobatic movements about the wire as would a master tailor seated at his set of machines! In seven days, there was hanging from the thin-single piece-GI wire clotheslines a smaller but denser replica of the cane swing in our balcony; utterly cute.
The next few days went in guessing if the female bird had laid eggs. Soon, we heard mild chirps…and soon we saw the parents fly in and out…and then one…and two little heads started popping up from the nest’s doorway. And most hours of our days were spent watching the birds as dawn turned into dusk and night made us wait desperately for day again. We were excited about how they ate, how they grew and how they would move as would a set of new parents for their firstborn! We were anxious what if the little birds flew away without our knowledge. But as if to bid us ‘bye’, one morning as we awoke, we saw them sitting on the balcony frame still. And as we got filled with enthusiasm, the little wings fluttered a little and soon they were in the air.
The next few days felt quite gloomy. The parent birds came to visit us only twice after they left. And as it happens in all households: the children beg to preserve every little thing that the parents feel insignificant and the parents somehow find those very things as the ones needing urgent disposal, the nest was taken off; and after very careful and curious examination of its contents, admiration and appreciation of its beauty, unexpected strength, unbelievable creativity, spotless cleanliness, it was casually flung out onto our flowerpots below. Life moved.
But exactly after a month, a couple of days back, the humming birds again appeared in the balcony, chirping and flying about in frenzy. The desperation with which their little heads scanned the space, the depth with which their small lungs blew themselves out, the restlessness with which their tiny legs wrestled with the wire exactly at the spot they had nested, made it evident they were back and searching for their nest.
Guilt is perhaps the most painful emotion, even more than grief! As we indulged in a blame-game among ourselves for not being wise enough, the next morning we were greeted with a little tuft of stalks and feathers hanging from the same clothesline a little away from where it hung a month back. Perhaps in a week’s time, our guilt would finally give way to bliss as we would see the two winged wonders perched upon their rightful home chirping in pride at their virtues.
If only they could understand the language of humans, here goes to them our heartfelt thanks for trusting us yet again, for teaching us never to give up, for getting us acquainted with a beautiful form of art, and finally, for adding colours to our monotonous days during the lockdown!
(The writer is a PhD Scholar, Department of A & A Economics, Utkal University)