NATURE
Rosy pastor rave
RANJIT LAL
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Rosy pastors are back in the capital. Look out for them.
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They’re even more famous for timing their breeding cycles with that of the swarming of locusts.
Photo: Ranjit Lal
Pale pink and glossy black: Rosy pastors on the lookout for sugar-rich fare.
THE first reports start trickling in by around the third week of March, and by the beginning of April, they’re coming in thick and fast from all parts of Delhi: The Rosy pastors have hit town and are on the lookout for figs, mulberries and othe
r such sugar rich fare. A couple of years ago, I spotted them infesting the peepul trees outside Delhi’s cacophonous Palika Bazar, as if waiting impatiently for the shops to open. And then, at the end of March this year, I was briefly puzzled by a strange jazz composition from outside the window — a melodious, yet sometimes harsh and improvisational incessant chittering and squeaking, that sometimes reminded me of squeaky-wheeled children’s toys being pushed back and forth vigorously en masse.
Partially concealed in the mesh of a tamarind tree just behind the complex wall, I could see furtive, excited bird movements. Closer inspection revealed that they were here –— in the historic Nicholson Cemetery –— a rave gang of Rosy pastors or Rose-coloured starlings, partying away.
They’re dressed in pale pink and glossy black (like newsreaders on some foreign television channels) and have a well-gelled recumbent crest, which is raised when they’re hyper or madly in love, and they have the lunatic staring eyes of many of their clan members, the starlings or mynas. Quivering with excitement, the birds would sing and call, shivering their wings, and then suddenly wing off to a nearby bare-leafed peepul, laden with figs. They’d pig out for a while and then fly back to the spiky cover of the tamarind.
Passing through
The chittering would grow in intensity, and then suddenly for no apparent reason, stop with the suddenness of a switch being thrown, though once this happened when a bulbul let off an alarm call, probably on spotting a cat. Occasionally the whole flock would take off and swirl swiftly around the cemetery, always reminding me (as most flying mynas do) of a squadron of World War II Spitfires flying sorties.
Rosy pastors are passage migrants through Delhi, passing through en route to more southern destinations in the Deccan and Peninsula in July and August, and then again on their return journey in March and April.
They’re famous as being one of the few species who migrate from east to west, rather than in the usual north to south direction of most species. They breed in South-eastern Europe and South-western Asia including the Middle-East and Asia Minor and winter in huge swarms all over the Deccan and Peninsula. They’re even more famous for timing their breeding cycles with that of the swarming of locusts because baby pastors are almost exclusively brought up on locusts.
Swift operation
It’s a swift operation. Huge colonies of the birds set up home in rocky grounds or old ruins, untidily stuffing holes with grass and twigs. Five or six pale bluish eggs are laid, the female incubates for 10 or 11 days, and the chicks, stuffed with locust protein, fly out between a fortnight and three weeks later; an ideal way to raise a family.
Only one brood is raised every year. As adults, the birds have a more eclectic diet, apart from locusts and other insects they love figs, mulberries, ripe neem berries, and grapes, which make them unpopular with vineyard owners.
They also inflict huge damage on fields of jowar and bajra and in fact also go under the alias of ‘Jowari bird’. They also love the nectar of the blooms of the silk cotton and coral trees and are so in
strumental in cross-pollination of these.
Alas, we too love them and consider their flesh an epicurean delicacy, so large numbers are slaughtered in north India and Pakistan while on their journey back home, when they’re fat and probably, exceptionally flavourful (all that ripe grain and sweet fruit!).
Impressive
They’re impressive when out hunting locusts in the field, a frontline of birds will hop, skip and jump swiftly in a particular direction, snapping up the insects, as the birds bringing up the rear flurry and fly to catch up, giving the impression of a wave-like motion.
Like most of their clan, they’re aggressive, cocky and known to be belligerent, and will not tolerate other avian company on fruiting trees they consider their property even if they’re full up and satiated. Just like us, but a whole lot more charming.
At the moment, the tamarind tree is empty and silent and I wonder if they’ve gone for the season, or will be back in 60 seconds after a sortie…
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