Bird-watching is karmic and exciting, says Maanav Jalan
THERE ARE hobbies and then there are hobbies: hobbies that are picked up to beautify a CV and hobbies that are actually hobbies. The word – hobby though really fails to capture the essence of what it means. Indulging in a hobby is an escapade, a means to pursue ones fantasies and childhood dreams, a tangible way to move into a place where one actually enjoys oneself. Now hobby seems to be quite a crude expression of such philosophical depth. Therefore, I refuse to refer to bird-watching as my hobby. Till no synonyms are thought of that are acceptable, I’ll just refer to it as birding.
Birding is more or less a game of luck; A few well thought out guesses as to where in the vast forest to wait in hope to see that one bird that captures every birders imagination, when to give up and move on to another spot and whom to take (or not take) along. And then there is the moment of fulfilment when you actually see the bird, a pastel blue bird, with a sapphire like, glittering crown and an impeccable orange breast hovering over a flower that dulls in comparison. It is this moment that makes birding different than a game of poker; when all the sores become worth it. I secretly love the moment when I get to tick off a bird of the bird list a tiny bit more, but that’s just material old me. See, there are these set of birds that are ridiculously rare and some godforsaken birder who birds day and night (god bless his soul) sees it and takes a beautiful photograph of it. This photograph is now paraded on all forms of social media, which is interpreted by my brain as a taunt. And so when this glittering blue bird is seen and more importantly ticked, I can rest. Competition is a big motivation.
But, while the pleasure a birder gets out of checking birds off lists is ephemeral, the overwhelming feeling of serendipity lasts longer. I feel grateful, which is not a common occurrence, when I get to be with a bird. I still remember the time when I bumped into four beautiful Brown hornbills while looking for something else altogether. The sheer surprise and the subsequent elation. It feels like the adrenalin rush never subsided. This is slightly worrying because it doesn’t sound much different from what an addict would say. A birder is an addict though, and if you think about it every ‘hobby’ is an addiction of sorts. And an addiction is not necessarily bad. And if you think about it, bad isn’t necessarily bad.
One of my favourite places to watch birds is home. Walking around the bamboo grove separated by the vegetable garden by fragrant eucalyptus, or crouching below the bottle-brush in the backyard, it is the sheer pleasure of being outside that speaks to me. I am not one to choose ruggedness over comfort, but being outdoors doesn’t necessarily mean roughing it out and thrill isn’t necessarily a product of speed. I like wandering around and sitting down while birding as opposed to striding with purpose. So, I just wander when at home, in Assam. Recently I moved to Delhi and this, ironically, made me closer to home. Nostalgia sweeps over me as I think of Assam. I like nostalgia; it is an emotion which is more personal and private than any other. So I think of having lunch in the veranda after touching down at Dibrugarh airport and then immediately pulling out my camera out of the case and walking off. Assam made me love the great outdoors, a phrase used so often that its meaning is lost in translation.
But truly the extent of what your hobby does to you is unimaginable. It gives you insight and satisfaction. It liberates you from the routine. Birding is big part of who I am. It was a result of circumstance, a brilliant stroke of luck. A stroke of luck which I cannot take for granted. My birding trips to here and there have influenced how I think, and by extension, me. This is why I say that hobby is too used a word to carry all of what it means. It means a lot more than a mere pastime. And it certainly means a whole lot more that all that I have blabbered in print.