Of bird-meetings and core-memories.

It was one of those quiet afternoons in the forest. The kind where a gentler than down feathers like breeze would momentarily wake the sleeping forest floor, a sudden scuttle of a skink would cause a burst of crackle that’d die down almost immediately, a magpie robin would send out a soft whistle from an unknown perch. And then there were my foot-steps, cautious and as quiet as could be, walking amidst the mixed farm-forest of areca-nut, mangoes, sapota and hibiscus. Not wanting to disturb the siesta of the land, I was looking for a hidden patch to pee. That’s right, to pee. At the time, I was staying at a friend’s farm. She had a dry toilet for when you had to poop, and one was encouraged to pee amidst the trees across the 30-odd acre farm-forest and wild-forest land. No, the land didn’t stink of human pee. Animals do this all over the forest, don’t they! It is all a number game. With a habitation of 2-4 humans on the entire property, we did not generate enough pee to dominate the myriad smells of the farmland and forest. This however, isn’t the story of human-produced stench. Another day for that one.

And so that afternoon, I found a quiet little spot to go tinkle. Having checked for thorny scrubs, any hidden critters or crawlies, I squat down. Stay with me, there is a sweet moment here. Mid-tinkle, my eyes suddenly caught a sculpture-still bird-shaped figure at a little more than an arm’s distance. It was as motionless as I was but certainly more camouflaged! I had never seen anything like it. An autumnal leaf like rufous head, neck and body, a grey-blue back and wings, an off-white face and two distinct black strips- one that ran down across it’s eye and another parallel to it. We both seemed to have noticed each other and pretended to not have, me allowing it a sense of security and it allowing me a sense of privacy I’d like to imagine.

Later that week, when I was back to a world of digital connection, google would tell me that what I saw that afternoon was called an Orange-headed thrush. And that the black eye-stripes are characteristic of it’s sub-species found in south peninsular India. I remember wondering if when I came by the species again, I’d recall the first time I was introduced to it. I wondered this of most new species I spotted and learnt of for the very first time- the golden-fronted leafbird, the great Indian hornbill, the buff-striped keel back, the malabar giant squirrel, the chrysilla volupe spider, and so on. I’d never truly have a first meeting with a species, would I? It is like a first kiss; there may be more passionate kisses that follow in one’s life-time, but the first kiss is often remembered- no matter how awkward with teeth-clacking and noses coming in the way. There will never be a ‘first-kiss’ again. There may be longer sightings and closer meetings with these fantastical creatures as they slowly step into my presence, welcoming me into theirs— extending a thread of connection in our meeting and knowing of one another. That is special. I wanted to be able to remember the first meeting, the first thread of connection.

Less than a week back, walking forest trails on a similarly quiet morning (no intention of pee-ing this time), I was pointed out with contained gusto ‘Look! Look there, do you see it? On the branch there, behind the y-shaped twigs! See it? See it? Wow!!’. ‘Look how quietly it is sitting! And so still. It seems to be pretty okay with us here!’. A first-meeting with a new species was in the works. I recognised the awe washing over. I couldn’t help but grin stupidly as I reveled in the shared witnessing of a feathered creature.

In it’s signature quiet ground-forager energy, sat an orange-headed thrush. After a moment of having offered my greeting to it here, I was taken back vividly to my first meeting with its kind. That was 10 years ago. It had stayed— that moment had made home in my mind’s chamber and came rushing back to let me know too! It is like being able to go back in time to the first meeting with an individual who is now a kindred spirit. In that first meeting, the possibilities are infinite and unknown. And yet, nothing would be the same since.

To be able to go back in time with memory, to when an orange-headed thrush revealed itself to me, changing my bird-notes permanently, it is magical.

The only every photograph I took of this species, about a year after my first sighting. It serves me right for having been squatting with my bum out at our first meeting. They definitely passed the news along!