Avian minnows. Brown, beady-eyed, chirruping hoppers. So numerous in my childhood, so not-seen nowadays.
I see proud-chested pigeons. Puffing, preening, primping. Grey with fluorescent necks. Meek, docile, mild. Dropping plenty of their tell-tale poop all over.
I can see murders of crows. Raucous, black, glistening, circling away in their hundreds. Attacking stray pieces of strewn garbage.
There’s cawing and cooing, but no chirping or cheeping.
I see majestic kites, gliding high overhead, riding the air currents, eyesight as sharp as their beaks and talons, on the lookout for carrion.
Parrots. In the mornings. Camouflaged among the green canopy outside my window. Happy, carefree and noisy.
The occasional koels. Their warbling heard, more than themselves being seen. Even mynahs.
Sea birds. Long spanned, long billed and long legged. Flying in formation. Or seeking the fruits of the sea, while wading.
Bats, stealthy ghosts that scare the heck out of me, come twilight.
Unidentified wagtails and pretty whatchamacallits, hopping, bobbing, pecking.
But where have all the sparrows gone?