2026 has been such a blessing in the most unexpected way. It all started with one nest on a hanging pot in one of our balconies. We didn’t even know what these birds were. Slowly, we figured out that they were red-vented bulbuls, beautiful little ones with beige and brown feathers and a tiny patch of red beneath their ass. They seemed to have found comfort in our home, and the jade plants in our hanging pots turned out to be a perfect place for them to build their nests.
And they began adding little bits of cuteness to our lives. A pair would fly in, build a nest, lay eggs, and wait for their babies to arrive. Some babies survive, some don’t. The ones that make it are incredibly delicate when born. They wait for their parents to bring them food, gulping it down with their eyes closed. Slowly, they grow feathers, open their eyes, learn to make their first calls, and begin to fill our balconies with the sweetest sounds. In about two weeks, they’re almost fully grown and ready to leave the nest, flying into the endless sky to join their tribe.
Through it all, we became silent spectators to this little drama unfolding in our balconies. Before we knew it, our home became an Airbnb for red-vented bulbuls. They were paying rent with their cuteness! Over time, we stopped being surprised by their visits. It started with one nest in one balcony that soon spread to another hanging pot in the other balcony, now into 4th nesting! I started waking up to their chirps and I can’t describe a better way to start my mornings.
Now, whenever we spot a bulbul, we know they’re here to rebuild their nest (often on top of the old one), lay eggs, and start another little family. We draw the curtains to give them privacy because they’re such shy birds, and once a day, we sneak a little peek to see what’s happening. Are there eggs yet? Have the babies hatched? How big have they grown? Do they need water?
It’s been such a beautiful journey, having this tiny extension of our family living alongside us. A fair amount of my time this year has gone into reading about birds. I’ve even changed my alarm tone to birdsong, and I have an app that helps me identify birds by their calls. I’ll listen to a call, try to figure out which bird it belongs to, and learn about birds found in different parts of the world. I think I’m slowly becoming a bit of a bird buff.
But of all the little things these birds brought into our lives, nothing quite prepared me for what happened today.
Cyclone Arnab is over the Bay of Bengal. It was raining since yesterday. The skies turned grey, and the rain showed no signs of mercy. The balcony was getting wet, the wind was restless, and somewhere in all that chaos, inside a little nest perched on a high pot, there was a baby bird.
Just one little bird left.
I watched this baby grow. It opened its eyes, grew feathers, and slowly began to find its voice. I had checked on the nest a few times through the night, worried that the wind might swing the pot too much and dislodge the little one. Thankfully, it stayed put. This morning, I spotted a few food and fruit droppings on the balcony, and that gave me hope that its mother had visited sometime during the night or early morning.
The cyclone made its landfall and the rain was pouring cats and dogs. Because of the roaring wind, I didn’t go into the balcony. From the other side of the glass door, I was looking at the fury of nature. Soon, I got started with my day but I heard a sound.
My little baby bird has learnt to make the bird call. Kew Kew Kew…
It was calling. Over and over again. The rain was incessant. I couldn’t stop wondering whether it was hungry, whether it was cold, whether it was looking for its mother or father. Where were they? Were they somewhere in one of the trees sheltering from the storm? I am sure they can’t hear their baby calling through all this rain.
I felt helpless. I thought about squishing a banana and leaving some for the little one. I did this once before and the baby survived. In the end, I decided to wait until afternoon hoping for the rain to die down. Perhaps its parents would return by then. So, I drew the curtains, hoping to give the baby some privacy, and turned back to my desk to write. For the next thirty or forty minutes, I tried to lose myself in my work. And then I heard it. Chirping. Not just one, but a melody of two.
I stopped writing. Could it be? The parents actually came back in this weather? I got up and slowly moved the curtain, just a little. These tiny creatures are so alert that even the slightest movement can startle them. I didn’t want to frighten them away. And then I saw.
A bird, completely battered by the rain. Feathers were soaked, plastered against his little body, making him look almost bare. He looked nothing like the beautiful, fluffy bird I have seen arriving to feed his baby. He looked as though the storm had taken everything from him. Despite that, he showed up!
I don’t know where he had been. I don’t know how far he had travelled or how difficult it had been to find shelter, let alone return to the nest. All I know is that, while I was sitting inside worrying about this tiny bird, its parent had somehow found its way home through the storm. In this unforgiving weather.
I stood behind the curtain, looking at the scene, and my eyes filled with tears.
All those little calls I’d been listening to that morning didn’t feel so lonely anymore. I was wondering how something so small could survive in this overwhelming world. But a parent showed up for its baby. Drenched. Exhausted. Battered by the weather. It was so simple, so ordinary in the life of a bird, and yet it felt extraordinary to me.
Perhaps love doesn’t always arrive looking beautiful in sunshine, with dry feathers and perfect wings. Sometimes, love arrives soaked to the skin, fighting against the wind, carrying the weight of the storm on its little body. No grand gestures. No words. No guarantees that the storm will pass. Just a tiny, battered creature showing up for another tiny life that needs it.
Sometimes, love arrives simply because someone is calling.
I went back to my desk, but I couldn’t quite return to the person I had been thirty minutes earlier. My eyes were still wet. My heart was full.
Outside, the cyclone continued. The rain kept pouring. The world remained grey and wild. But on my balcony, in that tiny nest perched on a high pot, a baby bird was no longer calling into emptiness.
We talk about how powerful love is. We write poems about it, make promises in its name, and spend our lives trying to understand it. And then, on an ordinary, rain-soaked morning, a little bird comes home to its baby. And perhaps that is all love has ever really been.
Showing up. Even when the rain pours or the wind howls. Even when the whole world says it is impossible.
Nothing can stop love.
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