My Life with Birding Parents
Illustration by- Evan
Story - Amol
Hi, I am Aarav, and I have a secret to tell you. My parents? They’re not normal. They are birders. You might think that’s cool, but trust me, it is an adventure you can’t prepare for.
What is a birder, you may ask? It is someone who wakes up before sunrise, talks all the time about birds, and gets overly excited about spotting them. My parents don’t just like birds—they love them. And that means our family vacations are… well, different.
For my other friends, normal parents take their kids to amusement parks or mega cities. My parents? They take me to birding hotspots. While other families are eating ice cream, delicious food and relaxing , I am standing in a swamp, trying not to sink, while my mom whispers, “Shh! I think there is a Crake!”
Birds aren’t just a vacation thing in our family. At home, my parents constantly talk about them. Dinner conversations go something like this:
Mom: “Did you know the Great Hornbill can live up to 50 years?”
Dad: “And it is a key seed disperser for fig trees!”
Most families talk about movies or sports. My parents? They argue about birds.
Dad: “That was definitely a Blyth’s Pipit we saw.” Mom: “No, it was a Richard’s Pipit.” Me: “What is the difference?”
Mom: “The Richard’s Pipit has a louder call and taller than Blyth's .”
Our family vacations are never about relaxing. One time, we went to the Himalayas. I thought we had see snow, maybe make a snowman. Nope. We were there to find the Himalayan Monal and Cheer Pheasant, these birds so rare my dad called them the “jewels of birding.”
“Look, Aarav,” Dad said, pointing to the long grass patch . “Cheer Pheasants are masters of camouflage. Spotting one is like finding a needle in a sea!”
“Great,” I whispered. “Wow, A vacation where the main attraction is invisible.”
We spent hours in the cold, staring at long grasses. Finally, Mom shouted, “There it is!” Dad and Mom started high-fiving like they’d won the lottery.
Me? I was just excited to go back to the warm hotel.
If you think weekends mean watching cartoons, movies and sleeping in, think again. In our house, weekends are for birding. Last Sunday, my parents woke me up at 5:30 AM. “Wake up, Aarav! The early bird catches the birdwatcher!” Dad joked.
By 6:30 AM, we were at a Arnala Jetty near the city.
Me: “Why are we here?” Mom: “To spot the Common Gull.” Me: “What is so special about it?” Dad: “It is a vagrant bird for our area, with yellow legs and a grayish colored small sized gull.” Me: “What an amazing bird,” I whispered sarcastically.
One day, we went to a Viva Grassland to look for the Grasshopper Warbler, a small bird known for its insect-like song. But when we got there, the grassland was covered in plastic trash, and part of it was being cleared for construction.
“This is terrible,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Grasslands are so important for birds like weavers, munias, larks, and pipits.”
Mom nodded. “People don’t realize that grasslands aren’t wastelands. They’re full of life.”
That day, I learned how fragile nature can be. My parents started a campaign with their birding group to clean up the area and talk to locals about the importance of preserving grasslands.
Over time, I realized something amazing: birding isn’t just about birds. It is about exploring beautiful places, spending time with family, and understanding how everything in nature is connected.
Birding taught us patience (you can’t rush a bird to appear), curiosity (you start noticing every sound and movement), and appreciation (even the tiniest house sparrow has its own charm).
One evening, while watching a flock of Little Cormorants flying in V shape in the sky, I felt something I couldn’t explain—a sense of peace and wonder.
Dad: “You’re all in, aren’t you?” Me: “Maybe,” I admitted, smiling.
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