It was peak summer. Mid-May in Marathwada. I was moving around villages in the interior on a reporting assignment. Even when the earlier year it had rained well and fortunately that year was not declared as drought year, the landscape at the climax of summer was bleak, awaiting rains.
Brown earth till the horizon, some tilled, some fallow.
Small clusters in between. Several farmers were getting their wells deepened or
dug new.
It was well past noon time, and we came down a slope to an undulating area to meet a farmer. The farmer and his two friends, all 50-plus, were sitting in front of his spartan thatched hut. The sun was on the other side, there was lots of shade there. We sat on the charpoy while the farmers all preferred to sit on the ground that was smoothened with cow-dung.
Not even five minutes into our chatter, a continuous chirping of birds distracted me. I looked around and within few feet found the source of my delight. A jugaad that can be called as bird feeder was handing at a low level and was filled with grains. A little distance away, was broken half of an earthen pot that acted as a water container for the birds.
I am not a birder so I could not recognize birds except Bulbuls. But the fact that there were so many birds even during peak sun time made me happy from the core of my heart.
