Sitting in Atlanta airport, for a flight that keeps getting delayed by the minute, I found myself scanning the Google News aggregator, where I read this story on the decline of common bird populations in USA. Few highlights:

"• 20 common birds have lost more than half their populations in the past 40 years • Birds in decline: Northern bobwhite, field sparrow and boreal chickadee • Factors: Agriculture, habitat loss, pesticides, invasive species, global warming • Health of a bird population often a harbinger of health of other wildlife, humans"

This story comes to my attention on an evening where I spent discussing the shore birds, including two kinds of ducks, I saw on a walkabout last weekend in the Upper New York Bay, with my friend Tom, who had taught me much about North American birds. It also makes me reflect on the ecological transition that my childhood neighborhood in India went through as it got increasingly urbanized. I now realize that the times of idyll in those years of my childhood and youth roughly ended around the time when the common sparrows stopped nesting in the skylight vents, the cawing of crows was rarely heard, and the sight of squadrons of green parrots in flight become less and less common.

Even though the agonist in me wants to believe that absence of bird calls to embroider childhoods will lead to a diminishment of their magic, the cynic in me chimes in to say, "Who the hell notices birds anyway? Not the kids with their eyes glued to video game consoles!!" That said, if you are a home owner, please follow this suggestion vis-a-vis your totally useless and expensive lawn:

"You don't have to have a lot of land, just a corner of your back yard for native plants," he said.

The berries on native dogwoods, for example, provide a food source for migratory birds. And he suggested that bird lovers not cut down flowers in the fall, instead leaving them up as groundcover for birds in the winter and as a source of seeds. Introducing just a few native plants to perfectly manicured, sterile back yards can make a huge difference, Butcher said.

have passed, dear readers, since I have been dumping my scribbles in this dark corner of cyberia. I know I am supposed to write a post about how my life changed due to blogging etc but I won't, mainly because I have to be up in five hours to get on a plane. However, yes, it has been lovely, this journey. And I hope, in this world where things are jigged to fall apart, this floating space will be around five years hence. Thanks for reading, even if I have never really focused on writing for an audience. Also if you are a lurker, I would like to know you - so do say hello in the comments.

Cheers!

PS: First post I wrote here, in case you are curious.

[1] Gazing across the room, after a stretch of reading, I see a mother and a daughter sitting on the floor, like eggshells, thumbing through picture books, slowly mouthing the words in English, interrupting each other with Japanese and laughter. Beyond them, the bare shoulder of a young woman, tanned and supple, a rounded ridge that rises to a neck and ear (Moshin Hamid, in his novel "The Reluctant Fundamentalist", made an astute observation regarding such gazing; to paraphrase, he said, men from the Indian subcontinent, given to only chance glimpses of the feminine, tend to be more careful observers of the female form and gesture), becomes a container for light and bustle of the fair in Union Square, down below, as well this longing I am attempting to read through.

[2] Jottings from Paul Theroux's "The Great Railway Bazaar", sections of which I am re-reading:

"Mainstay of American small talk in India: the American on his bowels"

"Tamils seem to talk constantly - only toothbrushing seems to silence them."

"It (the South Indian landscape en route to Madras) was striking in another way: the people so black, the earth such a deep brown red, the green so green"

"Feral children, demented Mowglis abounded in South India"

[3] Also scanning this list of railway stations, which Theroux jotted down from an Indian Railways timetables, makes me think, wouldn't this be a wonderful tongue twister. Go on, speak the list below aloud, as quickly as you can:

Madras Egmore Mambalam Tambaran Perungalattur Halt Vandalur Guduvanchari Kattargulattur Singaperumalkoli Chingleput

[4] Waiting in line, on Sixth Ave, for a cup of coffee, my eye is jolted awake by the entrance of an American woman, wearing a brilliant hued sequined sari, jewelery, and glass bangles. Given as I am to seeing colors here, always on mute, I think I have stared too long at her, for she gives me an uneasy smile.

[5] Everyone who is in New York City in the month of June should go see Shakespeare On The Run's production of "Love's Labour's Lost": their movable stage The Pool, situated on north-end of the Central Park, their lighting some ten hand-held flashlights, their audience a running commonwealth, ranging from tiny tots to septuagenarians, their acting quite accomplished, and the speedy hours you would spend caught up in the dazzle and jests of the Bard, full of laughter. Oh, and yes, all shows are free but you would have enjoyed yourself so much that in the end you will give them five or ten quid. Go now; yes, it might be better if you can take a girl or a boy to kiss but alone works as well.