Colour ... with a splash

At Delhi's ponds, RANJIT LAL encounters things of interest - flycatcher, kingfisher and weaver.

IT is amazing how much bird life can be found around even the most sleazy looking, scum-ridden city pond. Whenever I draw a blank on the stony thorny outcrops of the Northern Ridge, I make a beeline for the two furtive looking evil greeny-black ponds in the area, rather prosaically christened the "Serpentine" and the "Khooni Khan Jheel", knowing that I will surely encounter something of interest here.

The white-breasted waterhen for instance, is a certainty. With its bronze-grey plumage and rather earnest chalk white face, it stomps about like a hunchback amongst the reeds, flicking a stubby russet tail up and down. The birds breed in the area, and by the time the monsoons arrive, you can hear their stentorian "Kwaark-kwaaark-kwaaark" calls echo ghoulishly around the ponds; a sound that can make you quicken your steps on glowering storm dark evenings. The more diffident Indian moorhen, in its sooty brown and black plumage, brightened up by a red frontal shield and red and yellow bill, prefers to keep to the reedy fringes, pretending it is not there at all. A couple of pond herons, dun and streaked like sheaves of dried grass, may surprise you by suddenly unfurling blazing white wings from a spot much closer than you anticipate. On another pond nearby, opposite the Hindu Rao Hospital (a really disgusting body of water that mysteriously could also look copper sulphate blue), I once spotted a pair of furtive little (green) herons, classy looking birds with bronze green and ivory scalloped plumage. A pair of sad looking little cormorants, add to the fishing community on the Ridge, turning up every now and then, swimming low in the water or drying out their wings from high up perches, dodging the teasing tail-pulls of the crows. A pair of spot-billed ducks too arrived here, on a few occasions, turning the place into an authentic wildfowl habitat. Recently, however, the authorities, in all their wisdom have introduced raucous gangs of domestic geese (and some mongrel ducks) which sound like a drunk and belligerent wedding band, and approach all bonafide bird life with inner city hostility and intent to disembowel.

But even they cannot keep the glamour kings away. The white- throated kingfisher is a regular of the area, and probably nests somewhere nearby, though I have never found exactly where they excavate their tunnels. The smaller, more resplendent, common kingfisher, with sapphire spangles on its head and fire orange on its breast, has become a less common visitor in recent years. It is always a pleasure to hear its excitable "chwee-chwee-chwee" call as it zips low over the water like a blue tracer bullet.

Winter brings its own surprises. A sandpiper or two may bob and nod along the muddy edges of the ponds, kept company by squeak- and-scuttle wagtails. There are birds that are not directly so dependent on water, but drawn by the flies and insects that hover over it. The diminutive grey-headed canary flycatcher is a long time personal favourite, and a winter visitor from the Himalayas.

In summer, screeching mobs of streaked and baya weavers (mostly the former) arrive on site inspection trips. I know they nest in the reeds and acacias along the filthy Hindu Rao pond (because there is less disturbance due to the stink and anti-social nature of the area), but here, the "Khooni Khan Jheel" and "Serpentine", are far too disturbed for quiet family life. Also in the monsoons (and sometimes in early summer) the paradise flycatcher arrives mysteriously and flits around the bamboo pennants that crowd the ponds. It sounds quite irritable at this time, perhaps because it has shed its magnificent tail plumes and looks like an ordinary puny bulbul.

If we were a little quieter, and listened rather than shouted, and did not strew plastic bags and bottles about as though bestowing benediction, I wonder how much more bird life would be attracted to these tiny ponds. Of course, we would have to nuke those wretched terrorist geese first.

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