<p>While helping my sister’s family shift home, we discovered a tiny bulbul nest with a pair of even tinier pink dotted eggs, hidden amongst the hibiscus branches of their new home. The couple must’ve chosen the spot when the house was sapiens-free, we inferred.</p>.<p>In about a fortnight, we heard that the nest hosted the hatchlings along with their mommy. Every evening while visiting my sister, I made it a point to show the birds to my 1.5-year-old niece. ‘Shh... Look!’, I used to whisper, ‘Bulbul!’ she used to whisper back with a smile.</p>.<p>Time flew and so the chicks learned too. We named them 'Peter' and 'Paul'.</p>.<p>It was their first flying lesson, and I must say they were law-abiding babies, with the law here being the “Two little dickey birds” rhyme, albeit with a slight (South) Indian middle-class family touch.</p>.<p>Peter flew under his parents’ sharp watch. I know you expected me to say so did Paul. But that was not the case.</p>.<p>Paul instead protested the parents’ partiality towards Peter by sitting (literally) at the base of the flowering shrub. ‘Fly away Paul!’ I said. ‘Po!’ ('Go' in Telugu) my niece followed. But nothing deterred the birdie that day.</p>.<p>We were back to minding our own business when I saw the parent Bulbuls frantically chasing a crow twice their size, out of their home. “The crow must’ve come for the babies.” my mum said.</p>.<p>Later in the day, to our utmost surprise, we discovered Paul in one corner of the kitchen, with the mother cajoling him to move out of there. My niece went a step further, causing the mother to fly out. ‘Here Paul, come on, let’s get you out,' I said holding out my palms. When he didn’t move even after 10 minutes, my sister’s mother-in-law scooped him in a soft cloth and put him back in the nest.</p>.<p>In the evening, my sister told us that the Bulbul family vacated their home. Saddened by this, I learnt an important lesson: Never let curiosity get the better of you. The birds must have left because we meddled with their affairs or due to the threatening crow. Either way, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, the peace of the little birds.</p>
<p>While helping my sister’s family shift home, we discovered a tiny bulbul nest with a pair of even tinier pink dotted eggs, hidden amongst the hibiscus branches of their new home. The couple must’ve chosen the spot when the house was sapiens-free, we inferred.</p>.<p>In about a fortnight, we heard that the nest hosted the hatchlings along with their mommy. Every evening while visiting my sister, I made it a point to show the birds to my 1.5-year-old niece. ‘Shh... Look!’, I used to whisper, ‘Bulbul!’ she used to whisper back with a smile.</p>.<p>Time flew and so the chicks learned too. We named them 'Peter' and 'Paul'.</p>.<p>It was their first flying lesson, and I must say they were law-abiding babies, with the law here being the “Two little dickey birds” rhyme, albeit with a slight (South) Indian middle-class family touch.</p>.<p>Peter flew under his parents’ sharp watch. I know you expected me to say so did Paul. But that was not the case.</p>.<p>Paul instead protested the parents’ partiality towards Peter by sitting (literally) at the base of the flowering shrub. ‘Fly away Paul!’ I said. ‘Po!’ ('Go' in Telugu) my niece followed. But nothing deterred the birdie that day.</p>.<p>We were back to minding our own business when I saw the parent Bulbuls frantically chasing a crow twice their size, out of their home. “The crow must’ve come for the babies.” my mum said.</p>.<p>Later in the day, to our utmost surprise, we discovered Paul in one corner of the kitchen, with the mother cajoling him to move out of there. My niece went a step further, causing the mother to fly out. ‘Here Paul, come on, let’s get you out,' I said holding out my palms. When he didn’t move even after 10 minutes, my sister’s mother-in-law scooped him in a soft cloth and put him back in the nest.</p>.<p>In the evening, my sister told us that the Bulbul family vacated their home. Saddened by this, I learnt an important lesson: Never let curiosity get the better of you. The birds must have left because we meddled with their affairs or due to the threatening crow. Either way, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, the peace of the little birds.</p>