In Waratah House, my grandparents’ bedroom window faces their small private garden that is closed to the rest of the world, but open to them and anyone who will peak through the window. It is an enchanting little area. Twenty feet from the window is a tall cold grey wall that serves as a frontier to our neighbor’s residence. Fortunately there are a lot of trailing plants and creepers that the eye must pass before spotting the wall.
The strong heady fragrance of sugandhi, jasmine and other flowers that I didn’t care to learn the names of are fresh in my mind thousands of miles away from home. For some reason, the trees in the private area, and especially the pomegranate tree seemed to attract a lot more birds and insects than the huge front open garden with more flowers and fruits, and the backyard, which too is thick and woodsy. It may be that they too needed the quite that the secret garden offered, and made themselves at home there.

The windowsill has a small wooden ledge protruding towards the outside. My grandmom used it as a feeding platform for sparrows. She fed them raw rice, and to my fascination they cleared off the rice every day. It used to be my pastime with her. I remember staring for hours and hours as the birds came to feed on the ledge and fly away in turns.

At home it was largely the monkeys that kept us occupied with their exploits. Monkeys were all over Secunderabad and especially Marredpally where I lived, almost competing with the stray dogs, cows and buffaloes for space. The dogs were on the street, the monkeys on the trees, men and women trying hard to walk in step with both while jumping over animal excrements. Sometimes it was comforting to walk next to the cows and buffaloes that although passive, at least offered psychological protection from the monkeys because of their size. My favorite incident with the monkey was one where I walked into mom’s bedroom to find one on the dressing table trying out mom’s makeup. That was the only time I stood there with my servant watching him from behind the door for quite sometime without calling for help. There is also a famous story that has been passed down for two generations, about an aunt who hugged a monkey in her sleep thinking it was her niece.

I have always been afraid of monkeys. They could tell the brave people from the timid, women from men, kids from grown ups. I was neither brave, nor a man nor grown up, so for most of my life, I was in the bottom of the hierarchy of domination. That being said, there is no escaping the walk to and from school, spending time alone in the terrace, or playing in the garden. So you pretend to coexist with them and find your balance. This is much like being a young woman in India any way, coexisting with stalkers who will try to feel you in the bus or as you are walking alone, whistle at you, call you names! You live with it. But, monkeys are certainly cuter. They generally keep to themselves except when they feel threatened. They are usually less harmful when in large groups.

But on the whole, notwithstanding dogs, cows and monkeys; rats and bandicoots; squirrels, cats, roaches, lizards and ants; there was no real animal life where I lived. At least not the kind that I see here, the horses, deer, the colorful birds, and so on.

Speaking specifically of birds. For a long time there were crows and sparrows that we saw everyday in Secunderabad but over the years they stopped visiting for reasons that I can’t fathom. First the crows left and then the sparrows.

At my grandparents place, there were still some crows and sparrows, and occasional visits by parrots as well (Tapi says, growing up, he too has seen parrots in Jubilee Hills and Sainikpuri). In the rainy season, just after it rains, we would hear the cooing of koel’s perched on the tall eucalyptus tree. Very rarely, we spotted monkeys, not the rhesus macaques we saw in Marredpally, but the long tailed langurs, which are more elegant in form and have a graceful movement, even though I am told they are fiercer, and more shy of people. We never knew where they came from. I believe there is a man somewhere releasing these monkeys from time to time, but god knows why he would do that. One theory is that he (and perhaps many like him) catches monkeys from nearby towns and releases them at different locations in the city from time to time, and is then hired by the local authorities to get rid of them for a fee. I’ve heard this story enough times to want to believe it is true. But, how one contacts the monkey catcher and pays him to catch the monkeys, I don't know.

Even in Manipal, we lived with rattle snakes and cobras, we saw foxes and monkeys, walked side by side with peacocks, fed cows, avoided street dogs and so on. And still I had been more overwhelmed with what nature has to offer here in the US than back in India. It’s perhaps the novelty of the wildlife here!

When I went to India two years ago, the first thing that occurred to me, was that I will never have those monkey experiences again. The apartments that have replaced the houses, razed all trees, including the oldest in the city, and with them went the birds and the animals. I am filled with indescribable sadness as I think of it. My grandparents house is still in tact with the lovely garden and backyard. But, for how long, I don’t know.

But, now as I sit in a distant country, watching the sparrows in my patio or in the open area by the plaza, I feel a close bond with them. Funny how they should exist all over the world, a common comforting thread, the ambassador’s of commonality, so to speak. Same with the rock pigeons or red jungle fowls, although I have never quite grown up with them, they seem to exist all over the world. When I see the black American crow however, I feel more like I have left home, but to visit a close cousin, who is just as lovely :)