The fall of a sparrow

My friend S, once commented, ‘when you start talking of your childhood too often, it is an indication that you are growing old!’I don’t mind what you call me , but I have to share certain experiences with you.

I was eight years old. We lived in a quiet road next to the fire station. The road was lined with huge trees. If we went half a kilometre to the west we were in the mango orchards, beyond which lay the cultivated fields. But we were not allowed to venture there as it was very lonely. The boys went, and shared with us, their experiences and the loot- raw mangoes, guavas and goose berries.

We were happy playing in our road discovering worms, insects, flowers and birds. We collected bird feathers, butterfly wings, shells and seeds. One of my brother’s friends shared with us a piece of wisdom, that should we aim at a bird and shoot with our ‘caterpillar’ as he called it, the bird would drop a feather and fly away! So the next thing we did was to take a catapult aim at an unfortunate bird and shoot. When we ran towards the ‘feather’ which fell, we found a small bird wounded and gasping for breath! It was heart rending to see the bird open its small beak as if to ask us why we bore such enmity toward the little thing. We tried to pour a few drops of water into its open mouth. The bird however died and we all went home crest fallen-of course after giving the dead bird a decent burial.

None of us had even heard the name of Dr. Salim Ali at that time!

None of us went on to become ornithologists! L