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A rare species of uncle

This text is taken from a biography of Salim Ali-a well-known Indian ornithologist-famously referred to as the Bird Man of India. Here, Zai Whitaker tells us about her childhood experiences with Salim mamoo, who was her grandmother's brother.

Salim bhai was my mamoo, my grandmother Kamoo's brother. By the time I was born, he was living with Kamoo and her husband Hassan,our Nani and Nana-in Bandra, Bombay. My parents are both nature lovers, and my father, Zafar Futehally, became interested in birds through Salim mamoo. My mother Laeeq wrote a book with Salim mamoo, called Common Indian Birds. Quite often, when new birdwatchers are out in the field, one or two of them look into my mother's book to identify a bird.

My brother, sister and I grew up in a very nature-friendly atmosphere. At dinner, we often heard words like 'habitat and ecosystem'. Many discussions about nature and the environment took place around our beautiful old dining table in Juhu Lane, Andheri. Those days, I greatly envied my school friends because they could sleep as late as they liked on weekends. We, on the other hand, were woken upat 5.30 a.m. to go birdwatching at Borivali Park, which is now a national park. Sometimes Salim mamoo would come along too. He would drive his Willys Jeep like a battle tank, honking and shouting at every person and car on the road.

His temper, which was never very sweet, was definitely at its worst on the road. As passengers, we learned to shut our eyes and hope for the best.

At Borivali, we had favourite walking trails in the forest, following pretty streams and waterfalls. I was not a great birdwatcher and still remain so. I keep buying bird books and binoculars, hoping that these will magically make me clever. But Salim mamoo definitely had some secret bird-finding talent.

He could see what no one else saw, hear what no one else heard. He could walk more miles than others much younger than he. Even when he was old, he would ride a camel or pony, walk for hours in the hot sun and climb up a shaky ladder to peer into a bird's nest.

As children, my sister and I often went to stay with our Nani and Nana. Our bedroom, the guest room, used to be directly above Salim mamoo's apartment.

During our stays, we always hoped that Salim mamoo would be away in some jungle or mountain or desert (and he often was). We loved to play hide-and-seek with our cousins, and Salim mamoo did not like noise when he was working. But what is the fun of hide-and-seek if you cannot yell and shriek? When he came up the steps to shout Keep quiet!" we would all dive under the beds in fright. However, our nervous giggles would soon give us away.

But we, on the other hand, had to put up with the noise of his typewriter at five in the morning, Clack, clack, clack. There were no silent computers then and he typed most of his books himself. When I see his Book of Indian Birds I still grumble to myself. It really robbed us of our sleep.

Luckily for us noisy children, Salim mamoo loved young people. He certainly used to scold us, but the next minute he would catch our necks with his walking stick and make a funny face. There was always laughter when he was around, and his was the loudest and most croaky. Once, my cousin and I decided to bake a cake for him on his birthday. It came out looking like a small, rocky hill. However, we carried it proudly to the table and the sixty-two-year-old birthday boy was asked to cut it. After a short struggle the cake fell on the floor-with a thud! Salim mamoo sprang back and peered at the cake. "Strange," he said, “it didn't break! Lucky it didn't fall on my foot."

Wherever he was, Salim mamoo always had a small army of followers, many of them children interested in wildlife. Because of him, many people in our family also became interested in natural history and conservation. I have many memories of Salim mamoo, binoculars round his neck, surrounded by little birdwatchers, mouths open, staring into space.

But most of all, I remember the joy on his face when he was looking at a bird. It did not have to be a rare or colourful one. Even a bee eater or drongo brought a special light to his wrinkled, sunburnt face. Birdwatching was his life.

Adapted from Salim Ali for Schools' by Zai Whitaker

Thank you.....