Trust is built with consistency

My readers might remember the little birdie on our kitchen sill who bravely protected her eggs, and later hatchlings, to maturity and disappeared suddenly. Her modest nest was duly recycled by another bird and I had highlighted the importance of reuse and recycling in our shared future.

I continued with practice of leaving a pail of water on the sill and quite enjoyed the noisy early morning visits of my avian neighbours. We took a break to go home, and this practice was discontinued resulting in birds losing interest. I resumed the practice on return and a new set of birds became my guests.

There was this dove that ventured first and cagily sat on the pail’s edge without risking dipping her head in to drink. Wary, she kept surveying her surroundings and could never drop her vigil to enjoy a drink. Probably the clanking and movement in the kitchen did not allow her peace to slake her thirst as I quietly observed through the one-way glass.

Thereafter, I ensured a complete quiet and our friend promptly revisited to attempt her first dip in. She was a little frustrated that the water level was low and danced on the edge as she could not risk being blinded even for that flitting moment when she dipped in.

I replenished the pail and watched again. She returned and this time dipped in fruitfully with her wary eye fixed on the window. Having learnt my lesson, I made it a point to keep the vessel full and gradually she started tolerating my presence in the kitchen.

Importantly, whenever the water level went low, she would almost admonish me with her grumbling chirps and would relent only when I refilled.

Also, while earlier she would fly away a fair distance when the window opened, now she perched watchfully on the nearby sill and impatiently waited as I poured water. One day she brought along a friend and they both made merry on the water’s edge splashing about raucously.

One morning as I pulled the window to replenish the vessel, our birdie fluttered clumsily and rather than scoot-on-reflex decided to remain parked barely a foot away from me, patiently supervising my effort.

Thereafter, I deliberately did not fill early and only when she announced her arrival with sharp chirps that I gently opened the window and replenished as she watched expectantly with her neck turned to me and eyes rolling briskly.

Her visits were now the high point of my morning and one day the scientist in me was inspired to experiment wherein I pulled the vessel in through the open window.

I withdrew and discreetly watched the action as my avian guest appeared. She was intrigued by this change in circumstances and surveyed her surroundings suspiciously. She seemed convinced that this was a trap and looked set to abandon the exercise.

She thought and fluttered, thought again and fluttered as her neck turned feverishly to detect any threat. Torn between thirst and threat, she gave up despondently and went to perch at a distance.

Minutes later, with no signs of an alarm she returned and took her first step in. I feared that loud breathing might give away my concealed presence and scare her away but that did not happen as she took the second half-step.

Now just half a step from the vessel’s verge she reconnoitred her surroundings and took the leap. Still no threat. She dipped in and then there was no stopping her as she made hay. Sated, she flew out and I too let out a relieved breath that I had held for a few seconds.

Over a period, our relationship has grown to a point where she can now come into the kitchen and drink from her pail but only if there is no one loitering about. Every time I watch her from a distance, I feel strangely fulfilled that I have won her trust. Trust, I have learnt, takes honesty of intent, and it takes time.

Dr Rakesh Maggon is a specialist ophthalmologist with an interest in literature