It didn't start with binoculars or field guides. It started with my mum and me walking around the lakes near our house — not looking for anything in particular, not even really paying attention. Just walking.
But something shifts when you walk the same path enough times. Without either of us noticing, we began recognising the birds. Not because we were trying to — just because they were always there, and eventually, you start to see what's always been in front of you.
The heron that started everything
I have this faint, vivid memory of an Indian Pond Heron sitting at the edge of the lake like it had absolutely nowhere else to be. It was completely still. Every tiny movement was deliberate — that particular kind of patience that only hunters have. I was transfixed by it.
I pointed it out to my mum, told her what it was, and felt this strange little rush — the satisfaction of knowing a name for something that had always just been "a bird." It sounds small. But that moment mattered. In a way, that heron is the one that brought me to birding.
"The satisfaction of knowing a name for something that had always just been 'a bird.' It sounds small. But that moment mattered."
As our lake walks became more frequent, our knowledge grew with them. More birds, more names, more of that quiet rush each time we recognised something new.
Then came 2023
Something changed that year. Birding stopped being something I did only on walks and started being something I thought about in between them. I began doing more research — reading, watching, listening. It became a habit of mind, not just a habit of place.
A naturalist I met at Kabini deepened it further. It wasn't just about identifying birds anymore — it was about understanding them. Their habitats, what they eat, why they behave the way they do. One bird from those early Kabini days that stayed with me is the Common Hawk-Cuckoo, also called the Brain Fever bird — named, rather perfectly, for its call that rises and rises and refuses to stop.
The app that changed everything
Kabini is also where I discovered Merlin Bird ID. I can't overstate what a difference it made. Suddenly I could identify birds by their calls — sounds I had been hearing my whole life without knowing what they were. Walking around my own neighbourhood became a completely different experience. Every morning had a soundtrack I could finally read.
The window revelation
The last thing I expected was to find birds at home. But I did. So many different species, right there — outside my window, in the trees nearby, in the sounds drifting in from the street. I didn't need to go anywhere. I just had to look. And listen.
That, I think, is the thing about birding that surprised me most. You don't need wilderness to find wonder. Sometimes wonder is just outside, waiting quietly for you to pay attention.
The heron started it.
Everything else followed.