Excerpt: Words for Birds: The Collected Radio Broadcasts of Salim Ali
The conscience of birds, his own “shabby” appearance, the question of the usefulness of birdwatching, and the invaluable contribution of amateur ornithologists – Salim Ali tackled all these topics and more in his All India Radio broadcasts as these short extracts show
Time and again in the course of my experience as a birdwatcher, I have fallen in with persons who have left me with a feeling, as they withdraw, that they were inwardly tapping a pitying finger on their foreheads. Their first glimpse of me very often has, it is true, been of a distinctly shabby khaki-clad individual of the garage mechanic type, wandering leisurely and rather aimlessly about the countryside and surreptitiously peeping into bushes, and holes in tree trunks and earth banks. At times they have seen me becoming suddenly rooted to the ground with a pair of ponderous-looking binoculars glued to my eyes for long stretches of time. I doubt not that some of them have suspected all these hole-and-corner tactics to be conducted on behalf of some foreign power with nefarious designs.
A few years ago I had a building colony of Baya Weaver-birds under close and regular observation for several months running. To get on a level with the babool tree on which the nests hung, I had rigged up a raised platform on which I spent several hours each day with camera, binoculars, and notebook concealed behind a screen of leaves and branches. In a short time the birds became perfectly accustomed to this weird contraption almost in their midst. They worked at their ease and paid not the slightest attention to me, perched only a few feet away, even when from time to time there were mysterious clattering sounds from within as the Reflex shutter was released and the slides changed. I remember this particular occasion because of a question it forcibly thrust on my mind – the question as to whether birds possess a Conscience, and what is in reality the thing that we call Conscience. I noted down the various incidents almost as they occurred.
While the owner of a half-built nest was away with a party of fellow builders to procure fresh grass strips from a field of young paddy plants close by, I observed his neighbour, who had stayed behind, surreptitiously hop across to the unattended nest and tug feverishly at two or three of the interwoven strands. Presently he flew off with the booty to his own structure and proceeded to work them into the fabric of his own nest. I soon discovered that this was the only laggard in this industrious colony. He seldom flew out with the others to get his own nesting material, and he was in fact, a habitual offender. Whether it was the Little Inner Voice, or whether it was the memory of some unsavoury past experience I cannot tell, but the pilfering bird certainly showed every evidence of guilt and sheepishness in his actions. His hurried pulls, his furtive glances around, and his hasty departure before the return of the “supply column” all evinced plainly that the bird was fully aware that what it was doing is Not Done. When making our customs declarations, for instance, is it fear of consequences if caught out, or is it – as we smugly imagine – a Righteous Conscience that guides our pen?
If I am asked why I spend hours and days in watching birds when I might be doing something more useful, I must admit that I do not always find it easy to produce a convincing reply on the spur of the moment. Yet, on reflection, I see no difficulty in putting up half a dozen good reasons why I do so. But I suspect that with most enquirers the crux of the question is that one word – “useful”. If by useful they mean ability to produce cash dividends, then it is well not to try to justify bird watching. For there is perhaps no other occupation less likely to offer a livelihood than the study of birds, particularly in India where its importance is as yet so little realised.
Of the type of so-called amateur birdwatchers who are making valuable contributions to science I would cite as example a young barber’s assistant in Basel who works under the direction of a university professor. This young man is engaged on a problem connected with the population dynamics of different species of titmouse, and has already collected some exceedingly valuable and intricate data. He crops his customers’ hair all week long and waits impatiently for the clock to strike one on Saturday afternoons.
Immediately the shop is shut, he jumps on his bicycle with his binoculars and his rucksack (containing his nest marking rings, weighing scales, and other paraphernalia) and makes a beeline for the forest four miles away which is the scene of his operations. He plunges into the investigation the rest of Saturday and all Sunday and is back again to attack his customers’ heads and beards betimes on Monday morning!
Time and again in the course of my experience as a birdwatcher, I have fallen in with persons who have left me with a feeling, as they withdraw, that they were inwardly tapping a pitying finger on their foreheads. Their first glimpse of me very often has, it is true, been of a distinctly shabby khaki-clad individual of the garage mechanic type, wandering leisurely and rather aimlessly about the countryside and surreptitiously peeping into bushes, and holes in tree trunks and earth banks. At times they have seen me becoming suddenly rooted to the ground with a pair of ponderous-looking binoculars glued to my eyes for long stretches of time. I doubt not that some of them have suspected all these hole-and-corner tactics to be conducted on behalf of some foreign power with nefarious designs.
A few years ago I had a building colony of Baya Weaver-birds under close and regular observation for several months running. To get on a level with the babool tree on which the nests hung, I had rigged up a raised platform on which I spent several hours each day with camera, binoculars, and notebook concealed behind a screen of leaves and branches. In a short time the birds became perfectly accustomed to this weird contraption almost in their midst. They worked at their ease and paid not the slightest attention to me, perched only a few feet away, even when from time to time there were mysterious clattering sounds from within as the Reflex shutter was released and the slides changed. I remember this particular occasion because of a question it forcibly thrust on my mind – the question as to whether birds possess a Conscience, and what is in reality the thing that we call Conscience. I noted down the various incidents almost as they occurred.
While the owner of a half-built nest was away with a party of fellow builders to procure fresh grass strips from a field of young paddy plants close by, I observed his neighbour, who had stayed behind, surreptitiously hop across to the unattended nest and tug feverishly at two or three of the interwoven strands. Presently he flew off with the booty to his own structure and proceeded to work them into the fabric of his own nest. I soon discovered that this was the only laggard in this industrious colony. He seldom flew out with the others to get his own nesting material, and he was in fact, a habitual offender. Whether it was the Little Inner Voice, or whether it was the memory of some unsavoury past experience I cannot tell, but the pilfering bird certainly showed every evidence of guilt and sheepishness in his actions. His hurried pulls, his furtive glances around, and his hasty departure before the return of the “supply column” all evinced plainly that the bird was fully aware that what it was doing is Not Done. When making our customs declarations, for instance, is it fear of consequences if caught out, or is it – as we smugly imagine – a Righteous Conscience that guides our pen?
If I am asked why I spend hours and days in watching birds when I might be doing something more useful, I must admit that I do not always find it easy to produce a convincing reply on the spur of the moment. Yet, on reflection, I see no difficulty in putting up half a dozen good reasons why I do so. But I suspect that with most enquirers the crux of the question is that one word – “useful”. If by useful they mean ability to produce cash dividends, then it is well not to try to justify bird watching. For there is perhaps no other occupation less likely to offer a livelihood than the study of birds, particularly in India where its importance is as yet so little realised.
Of the type of so-called amateur birdwatchers who are making valuable contributions to science I would cite as example a young barber’s assistant in Basel who works under the direction of a university professor. This young man is engaged on a problem connected with the population dynamics of different species of titmouse, and has already collected some exceedingly valuable and intricate data. He crops his customers’ hair all week long and waits impatiently for the clock to strike one on Saturday afternoons.
READ MORE: Interview with Tara Gandhi, editor, Words for Birds
Immediately the shop is shut, he jumps on his bicycle with his binoculars and his rucksack (containing his nest marking rings, weighing scales, and other paraphernalia) and makes a beeline for the forest four miles away which is the scene of his operations. He plunges into the investigation the rest of Saturday and all Sunday and is back again to attack his customers’ heads and beards betimes on Monday morning!