Birds migrate, people relocate.

Never had I thought that I would grow so attached to the birds in my backyard that I would begin to miss them, miss them being around like a family member. I miss that particular time of day, their presence at that hour, their chirps, and sometimes even find myself imagining them perched on their favorite spots, singing, preening, and chasing one another.

And while I still sometimes get lost in that old world, life moves forward, and so do they. My bins now search for new companions around me. And they are here, all of them. Over the first few weeks of settling in, slowly and steadily they began showing up, one by one.

First came the rock pigeons (of course, feral), followed by the crows (house and large-billed). Noisy chatter from the mynas (mostly common, sometime jungle) around the buildings gave me a loud welcome. Soon I began hearing the bulbuls(Red-whiskered and Red-vented)  calling from the top of the mango tree. Early morning calls of peacocks and grey francolins were a pleasant surprise, adding unexpected joy to the start of the day.

Not long after, a pair of ashy prinias emerged from the overgrown grass, while purple sunbirds busied themselves chasing each other around the hibiscus plant across the street. And of course, mornings and evenings were greeted by the OMR calling from the topmost spot.

Down in the bushes, a common tailorbird quietly made its way, foraging through the foliage, while from the tree above came the sweet notes of a spot-breasted fantail. 

Overhead, black kites hovered lazily, a constant reminder of their presence in the city skies. Then there were the dusky craig martins and a few wire-tailed swallows, slicing through the air with their acrobatic movements. 

Every now and then an egret, a little cormorant, or an spot-billed ducks would give me a brief fly-past salute. A white-browed wagtail once marked its presence on a terrace top. 

Rose-ringed parakeets and hornbills preferred observing from a far-off tree, but their eyes met my bins and we exchanged a quiet hello. 

One afternoon, a shikra appeared, its sharp whistle rousing every napping creature, sending them flying… and me leaping from my office chair to catch a glimpse. 

The days stretched into evenings, and a late meeting ended with the calls of spotted owlets, not so gentle, nocturnal reminder that the city’s avian life never truly sleeps, certainly a late-night alarm to go to bed.

Then came the real treat for my new home. One morning, amidst the urban jungle, I spotted a pair of pied bushchats. 

At first, I thought they were just searching for food in the building’s crevices, but soon it became clear they were trying to build a nest!  It was utterly overwhelming. 

My presence has moved closer to the balcony, and the last couple of mornings I’ve been joyfully observing them at work. 

For now he seems a bit confused by the tricky spot, but she is clever, finding her way through every challenge. 

The coming days promise to be full of delight, watching them navigate the parking structure, selecting materials, and slowly building their nest.   

Watching all of them felt like coming home to a new home, a gentle, joyful sense of settling in amidst the chatter, calls, and fluttering wings.