Delhi is, to me, one of the most fascinating of world capitals. Not as glamorous as Paris, not as busy as Tokyo, but with an elusive charm nevertheless. Much of that charm lies in the history of Delhi, in the thirty-odd centuries of habitation this city has seen. A lot of it lies in Delhi’s sometimes surprising proximity to nature: the plant life, the flowering trees that colour every season, the birds and animals that make even the smallest patches of vegetation come alive.
Sad, then, that most Delhiites go through life blissfully unaware of the non-human denizens of the spaces they inhabit, completely oblivious to the beauty of a tiny purple sunbird or a wildflower, ignorant of the natural wonders that surround them. We spend years living cheek-by-jowl with a wide variety of living beings, never even realising they’re there, breathing the same air, leading very busy lives, right beside us.
Bulbul Sharma’s heart-warming book comes, therefore, like a breath of fresh air: it introduces us to these creatures. To the occasional jackal that can still be heard howling in the night on the Ridge. The migratory birds—the shovellers and brahminy ducks, the Siberian cranes and flamingoes and dozens of other species—that descend on Delhi and its neighbouring Sultanpur in winter. To Delhi’s own resident birds, the homely-looking but very vocal barbet, and its prettier, red-capped cousin, the coppersmith. Tailorbirds, baya weavers, pigeons and doves and woodpeckers. And Delhi’s own state bird, the tiny house sparrow.
The book is divided into four sections: Winter, Spring, Summer and Monsoon. Each is a personal account of the season in question. Sharma, with her narrative and the occasional black-and-white illustration, brings to life Delhi through the year. The mist and fog of the short winter days and the flower-filled gardens and parks of the spring. The scorching heat of the summer, which drives every creature to look for ways to cool off—and the monsoon, the very embodiment of relief.
This is a delightfully readable mix of entertainment and knowledge, anecdote and information. And information, too, that’s interesting, not bookish. Sharma draws from history, mythology, folk lore, literature, and hard fact, for instance, when describing the flame of the forest: “The sufi poet Amir Khusru likened the flowers to a lion’s claws stained with blood. According to a myth, it sprung from the feather of a falcon which was dipped in soma—the favourite beverage of the gods.”
Interspersed with this are anecdotes drawn from Sharma’s own life. There are recollections of walks through the grounds of Humayun’s Tomb and the Lodhi Gardens; of bumping into fellow Delhiites—many woefully unaware of the city’s avian life, and bewildered by Sharma’s fascination for it. This is a chatty, friendly book. It is not, by any means, a field guide for the birdwatcher wanting a ready reckoner to the birds of the National Capital Region. A book written with a genuine affection for nature, a deep-rooted interest in all that goes on in the lives of everything from toads to massive grey hornbills. It’s witty, humorous, a breezy read. The only grouse I had was that the illustrations were few and not in colour. Otherwise, extremely satisfying, and a must for anybody interested in nature.