Bird-savvy?

IN OUR family, it was taken for granted that a normal person had to be interested - preferably passionately - in birds. While other families went to the movies and had Sunday barbecues, we were hauled off of Borivli National Park to hear the call of the white-crested cuckoo. The night before the birding trip, binoculars were spit-polished, bird-books thumbed, small notebooks located and pencils sharpened. (For a true birder makes a list with a pencil, not a pen). Much to my secret chagrin, food was the last priority. "Make some sandwiches, Paul, for tomorrow morning," my mother would tell our cook. Paul believed that six people could survive on eight sandwiches... but only I seemed to notice that we were being starved to death. The others were too preoccupied with calls and crests, vents and whiskers, bills and backs. If I were a bird, I'd mind terribly, being ogled and analysed like this. But I guess our avian friends have no choice.

Well, neither did I. I resigned to my fate. But going along was one thing - it could be done, at a pinch; the real difficulty lay in hiding one's ignorance. Often, there'd be others along too, and I simply had to pretend an expertise I didn't possess. There was also our uncle Salim, who got very upset when you didn't recognise a call, or a small dark silhouette about a thousand metres overhead. Another complicating factor in my life was that my sister is a good birder. This was bad enough; but over the years, my brother, who joined me in jokes about bird-watchers, defected. So the outside world assumed I was just as bird-savvy as the rest of them. A grave situation. Over the years, however, I developed certain survival tactics which I feel it is my duty to share. There may be other victims out there, other non-birders like me who have the misfortune to be born into a birding community.

Number One, don't fight it (i.e. this whole birdwatching thing). It doesn't work. Birdwatchers are simply unable to understand that someone can be uninterested in seeing the nest of a blue- eyed caterwaul. Or walking ten miles in the (slim) hope of seeing an immature mud-slider. I don't think it's anything to do with intelligence because when you steer them away from birds (once in a while) they seem fairly reasonable. But when it comes to this, forget it. Just go with the flow.

Two: have your binoculars round your neck at all times. This is a useful talisman: it immediately makes you part of the club, establishes your identity as a birder. As the bird walk starts, twiddle the focus thing with a knowing, slightly puzzled air. The reason for this will be divulged later.

Three: if there's food along - and there usually is, for birders like to eat - don't indicate any interest in it at all. Pretend you just don't care. Once in a while, even suggest it be left behind in the car. This is tough I know, but it does create a good effect. There's bound to be someone who loudly vetoes the idea, probably some ace birder, who doesn't have to resort to strategies like these. In fact, Uncle Salim was distraught when he discovered the cold coffee had been forgotten at home.

Four: Soon enough, the dreadful moment will come when a sorry brown object flies across the path or croaks from a tree, and the birders stop, mesmerised, and ask "What was that?" Binoculars go up, mouths fall open. Some creep will single you out for an opinion. Don't give it, because like truth, ignorance "will out". You can blame your misty binocs - this is where the focus-twiddle comes in - or say you just got a flash, or glimpse. The untrained ignorant will immediately shout some name - a bird that's off migrating in Siberia - and his grave is dug.

Five: Every now and then, snatch up your binocs and glare piercingly at a tree. Squint, standing absolutely still for at least forty or fifty seconds. Then look dejected, and say "Oh, it's only a babbler." Or parakeet, or other common species. This has a two-pronged effect. It tells the others that you know your stuff, and also that you're above babblers and bulbuls. If you know their Latin names, all the better. But don't overdo it. Once is plenty.

Six: Avoid going with the same birding group twice. Sooner or later, one gets found out, and it isn't pleasant. Play it safe. And never, never go with just another person because then you've had it. I've been on the run from birding groups all my life, because as my uncle's niece and my father's daughter, people expect me to be an expert.

Seven: Quick thinking is a must. Just the other day, I was asked the difference between the Palni and Nilgiri laughing thrush. "Oh," I countered, "I'm not one of those nitpicky birdwatchers." See that? I managed to hide the fact that both thrushes are total strangers to me.

I'll stop here but must add my latest birding victory. Two years ago, I was in the United States and my hosts decided to take me birdwatching "as a special treat."

They even lent me-ouch - a pair of superb binocs, recently cleaned. "Shall we take a picnic, David?" asked Mary. David looked at me embarrassed, "Of course not. The last thing these bird-wallas think about is food." I grinned unhappily and off we went.

We turned off the highway on to a dirt track which led to a lovely lake. Just then a group of noisy objects flew in and landed clumsily in front of us. "Isn't it a bit early for the Canada geese?" I asked David. They were both impressed. They hadn't seen the small white Wildlife Department signboard we'd passed. I, on the other hand, had. So we come to rule Eight: keep your eyes peeled.

ZAI WHITAKER

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