Life-Changing Lakeside Epiphanies

When the word 'lake' is uttered, it conjures up pictures of picturesque expanses of blue water, skies with cotton-candy clouds, the bright but welcoming sunshine, reeds in the fringes with butterflies and birds, and probably the occasional fisherman cottage along the way around the lake. Well, it's common knowledge now that this image is far from the reality- 'Smart City' projects in Coimbatore have replaced the grass-laden fringes with concrete pathways, and the occasional fishing cottage replaced with chaat offering tea shops and ice cream stops in some lakes, and many more lakes to come. 

My recent visit to Kurichi Kulam, one of the numerous lakes of Coimbatore, was a whole new experience. Not like I’ve never visited lakes before for birdwatching, but this one just hit home in a very unique way. Away from the smart city construction work that was going on on the other side of the lake from where I entered, the peace was just indescribable.

I thought it would be another boring Monday- the fact that it was Vinayagar Chaturthi did nothing to raise my spirits on the extended weekend. The realization that the quarterly exam was a stone's throw away just made me more glum. 

As the day went on like a proper blue Monday, my irritation grew. I sat there, fumbling with my books, asking myself over and over what I should actually be doing at the moment. My mother, noticing my miserable state, suggested a birdwatching trip to the aforementioned lake. Just because it had been a long time since we’d last gone birdwatching.

I was reluctant. I had work to do, and things to study. But I so badly wanted to escape the humdrum cycle of reading chapter after chapter. So I couldn’t deny it, try as I might. 

And now, I am thankful I didn’t.

That evening, we reached the lake at four-thirty p.m. The walk through the maze of little streets was not encouraging, but we finally reached the lake.

It wasn’t the view I was expecting. The lake’s shore had receded a lot lately, probably due to the absence of rain. The resulting scenery was an expanse of bare land which was once the floor of the lake, and the actual lake a few hundred metres away.We crossed the path that went around the lake and into the lake itself- or at least, where the lake had once been. The ground was of cracked mud, and surprisingly there were oyster shells all over the ground. I had to remind myself time and again that I was walking where lakewater had been once. 

After a point of time, it was impossible to avoid those oyster shells. With a heavy heart, I stopped avoiding them as I walked. They scrunched and crunched beneath my shoes. The notion that those belonged to live creatures came back and haunted me repeatedly. 

As we traversed the ground and reached what the lake’s shoreline is now, I was welcomed by a Little Egret, perfectly posing for a picture. As I

clicked a few pictures, my mother discovered a little group of fellow birdwatchers sitting there at a distance. As we walked towards them, I noticed something- a long linear congregation of white birds in the middle of the lake, and another line of black birds behind them. I assumed them to be egrets and cormorants- those were common features of every lake. Soon, I realized that wasn’t the case- the white birds were black-winged stilts, and the black ones were Glossy ibises!

Try and find the Godwit in this picture!

That was when I realized I was in for a treat today. I’ve never seen those in such overwhelming numbers. There could easily have been hundreds of them. At the end of the day, I would realize there was a black-tailed godwit trying to blend in with the stilts. A lifer for us.

We met the little group of birdwatchers, and an old friend came to greet us. He greeted us with hushed tones, and very little in the way of polite greeting was said. He immediately informed us about why everyone was intently watching a single spot on the shore. After a few seconds of scanning the spot he was pointing at, I found out a little white bird wading around in the edge.

He said it was a red-necked phalarope, and searched my eyes for a glimmer of recognition. I glanced back at the unassuming little bird. I was visibly unimpressed, for, I had never heard the name before. 

Then, he said the species hasn’t been recorded in Coimbatore for the past eleven years, this is the second time it has been spotted in the history of the city, and that it was a rare winter migrant. Then, my excitement grew.

It was a little, unremarkable bird, akin to a sandpiper. There was nothing extraordinary about it. But the fact that this little thing had just flown all the way from the Arctic Circle was just unbelievable- and it's unpretentious size did no justice to the arduous journey it undertakes. I sat there on the ground with the others, clicking pictures and taking videos of the bird. It was nonchalantly going about its business, occasionally dipping its beak into the water for some morsel or the other. I couldn’t fathom how much significance the cute little shorebird, just a few white feathers over a bit of flesh and bones, held. Just the fact that it was here gave me profound joy. 

    As time flashed by, my camera’s memory card was filling up quickly. The bird seemed to be growing more and more bored of the group of weird people surrounding it. And finally, it decided to go for the day. As it flew farther away into the lake, I sat there, bidding it goodbye from the bottom of my heart.

    After that episode, I wandered off alone, roaming around on the marsh, while my mother conversed with the others. I walked onto a stretch of bare land, where the water had just receded. It was a peninsula that directly led into the middle of the lake. 

I walked down the narrow stretch of mucky mud and reached the water’s edge. I looked around, and the world came to a standstill. There was nothing but water and a tiny bit of mud around me. Almost everything was water. I daresay I was standing on the water- that was what it felt like.

The only thing that existed was the big universe- and me, a little atom staring at the face of the magnificence. I felt profoundly insignificant, in the midst of the cool smell of lakewater, the setting sun in the west, and the huge gathering of birds. The stilts suddenly rose in unison, and flew over the lake together, making beautiful patterns, picture perfect, over the water. I watched them, mesmerised, my hand forgetting the camera initially. 

I felt this sense of belonging- the sticky mud under my shoes, the lapping water, the cawing of the crows overhead, everything seened to accept me into Nature. It was a sobering moment of realization, and at the end of it, I was thankful to be existent on this beautiful Earth. Gone were my insignificant worries, and I was one with nature, her arms pulling me gently into her cosy folds.

Watching me waxing poetic to myself probably wasn’t on the crows’ agenda for Ganesh Chadurthi. I don’t know what the crows thought of me, but they obviously didn’t like my existence there. One of the jet-black birds started flapping around overhead and cawing madly, and in a jiffy, others joined in the party. Soon, there was a formidable murder of crows above my head, hysterically crowing their heads off. When the incessant racket turned from not-very-friendly to hostile, I finally decided it was time to leave.

I walked back to the actual border of the lake, sagely listening to the woosh of the wind and the oyster shells crunching underneath my feet. I tried to describe this day to myself. Wonderful? Extraordinary? Sensational?

The day was lowkey very beautiful. Just that, and nothing else.

As I sit here and write this, my mind wanders back to the Red-Necked Phalarope. I feel deep remorse for the poor winged creature. Unfortunately, people don’t have the same sentiments for these balls of fluff as the hopelessly small birdwatching community. 

The phalarope had apparently fled Kurichi Kulam, terrified by the throngs of people coming in with loud drums and big Plaster-of-Paris idols of Ganesha a couple of days later, putting and end to its, I would assume, somewhat pleasant sojourn in Coimbatore. It was never to be seen again in the coming days of the week. I listened to this news silently, and nodded to myself.

 And I thought -when will people actually learn to love nature’s creations as they are? The Smart City project, for example. Why lakes, of all the places available which are waiting to be modernized? Just a bit of clearing the water hyacinth, and a water treatment plant would have been enough for the lakes, in my opinion. These steps would have done more magic to the lakes than the elaborate sculptures, walkways and coffee shops. 

I just don’t see the point of this- Why add bling to something which already is so delicately mesmerising? When will people realize the profoundness of nature’s benevolence, and that its beauty lies in its simplicity?

I hope they do soon enough. Or will they just not care forever?