Notes from Another Sphere: Record-keeping

March 24^th 2016

The garbage dump outside the clinic is growing. This clinic is in a pretty poor part of town, in what doesn’t look like a slum, but for all practical purposes, is. Narrow roads (one main reason why I can’t call this area a slum- which slum has roads in it that you can drive a car or an ambulance on?) upon which the BBMP civil engineers, in their unfailing enthusiasm, have placed tall speed-breakers (and breakers of back, neck and every type of bone) every 5 meters, criss-cross the neighborhood. There are no trees; small garbage heaps make a colorful patch every few yards. Large garbage dumps mark the really important locations. The BBMP PHC has the most gigantic garbage dump that I have seen. 

This time, as I enter the clinic, one of the attenders tells me to enter my patient details and my plan of care in one of the registers. I’m quite excited- this would be a good way of keeping track of my patients. I peek into the earlier entries in the register. I see many different handwritings, corresponding to many different doctors. Most have scribbled the patient’s first name, followed by chief complaint and medications prescribed during the visit. I can do this, I think to myself.

I see patient after patient after patient. Sometimes, I have to stop them from launching into their story as soon as they sit down, while I scribble down my notes. I miss a lot of details in the hurried note-taking. At the end of the 2.5 hours, I count the number of notes I have jotted down: 19 mothers/ families with babies or children, and nearly all of them for low weight. My notes about interventions done nearly all read “counseled on diet and nutrition”. 

Most breastfeed their infants. But I think that the point where the greatest confusion occurs is during the introduction of solid foods. Lots of mothers give their kids biscuits and idlis. But they shun fresh fruits, mashed vegetables, even rice, or ragi, or wheat. Many refuse to add ghee to the child’s meals for fear that the kid will somehow fall sick. 

Writing this down, I wonder if what might be really useful is to make a few handouts to give mothers, lots of pictures explaining what to give a child and when. 

At the end of today, I feel really energized. Writing down notes on my patients really added an entire dimension to my experience here. 19 patients! Underweight kids! Suddenly I have a handle on this population, I’m beginning to understand them.

Note from Another Sphere: Overwhelmed

March 17^th.

This time, Dr.D.M is not the senior consultant, as she is off on leave. Instead, Dr.S. T, a more junior consultant, leads the way. Something about Dr.S.T tells me that she might be a little more judgemental in her attitude than D.M. Perhaps it is her statement that “some mothers are so bad that they don’t even bring their kids to the clinic for their regular immunizations”, something that makes me wince a bit, since I frequently tend to be one of those mothers.

Dr.S.T has some good ideas, though. She starts off the clinic by introducing herself and the team. She tells moms the drill: get your baby weighed and measured here, get their shots there, then go visit the counseler (me) on that side of the room, and so on. She also spends a good 10 minutes explaining the importance of washing hands before eating and cooking, and after using the toilet. Dr.S.T is Telugu, and speaks in Kannada. However, the majority of the clientele in this neighborhood is Tamil. How many people understand her instructions? God knows. But I appreciate her intention.

This time my group is a bit more diverse in terms of language. I find that conversing in Kannada is not as difficult as initially feared. I reiterate Dr.S.T.’s messages of hand washing with most of my patients. Then, one lady brings her baby and sits down. “Tamil or Kannada”, I carol at her. “Hindi”, she replies firmly and then launches into a stream of Urdu. I blink at her. “Huh?” I say intelligently. “Bacchan kal rath **gibberish** kha liya. Aaj polio ka daviyiyan doon?” (My kid ate **something** last night. Can I give him the polio drops?) is what  I managed to understand after multiple attempts. No idea what it was that the kid ate. Was he supposed to have eaten it? Or was it some sort of garbage that he stuck into his mouth? I attempt to understand this. “Aapne khaneko diya?” (Did you give him this to eat?). “Nahin, vo apne aap kha liya” (No he ate by himself).

Okay. That didn’t get me too far. What exactly was this lady’s concern? Was it the fact that the kid had eaten something he wasn’t supposed to? (in which case, why wait till the next afternoon to ask someone about it?) Was it because she wasn’t sure if he could get an oral polio vaccine since he had something in his stomach (from last night- was she saying that he had had nothing to eat since he woke up? )? Was she asking my implicit permission to give him whatever it was that he had eaten?  And how in the world was I supposed to ask all these questions if my brain couldn’t unscramble itself quickly enough for me to form any coherent sentences?

Overwhelmed, I say to her, “Aap vo doctorse pooch lo” (please ask that doctor over there).

When she leaves with a bit of a huff, I berate myself for my complete unpreparedness for a Hindi-speaking patient and spend a few minutes meditating on possible answers I could have given, wrack my brains for the right vocabulary (not too Sanskritic or Anglicized) and practice some lines in my head.

Next walks in a lady who overturns my idea of the people who use a BBMP PHC. She is attired in a frilly pink T shirt and jeans, heels on her feet, a perfectly well dressed little baby girl in her arms.  We talk in English; she lives in one of the neighboring high rises; is worried about her daughter having a cold. As we chat, I notice bruises on her hands and realize that what I thought was a disfiguration on one of her cheeks is actually another bruise. “What does your husband do?”, I ask, very casually. “He works too. My mother in law lives with us”, she says softly. I am not sure how to proceed. On one hand, the bruises could have a perfectly rational and harmless reason. On the other hand, why was such a well-dressed woman coming to a BBMP clinic, unless she felt this was one where probably not too many questions would be asked? On the pretext of playing with her baby, I watch her carefully. But honestly, I cannot read the situation. I have to send her on her way. How does one ask another woman, whom she has known for all of five minutes, if she is being abused by her husband?

I put this question to my husband, much later in the day. He says, “Well, you can’t ask her that. Instead, give her your card and reassure her that if she ever needs help, she should call”. Hmm… good to know. Though, if she does call, what would I do? Offer her protection? In my house with my two kids? Call the police? It’s very difficult to figure out the right steps.

Three women with a small baby seat themselves in front of me. “Weren’t you here a couple of weeks ago?” I ask, since the baby looks so familiar. “No, no”, they assure me. “Maybe your mother came with the baby then?”, I ask the woman in front of me. “No no”, she says. The baby is about 9 months old and looks to be 2 months. I could swear it was the same baby from the last time I was in the clinic, the one whose grandmom ran away. But these women are firm that that is not the case. I drop the subject. Again, we talk about the baby’s weight; this time I ask more detailed questions about his development and diet. The baby has never tried to crawl, or sit, or even roll over by himself. He just keeps lying down. The mother gives him some biscuits and milk, but no vegetables or fruits or breastmilk. I talk about the importance of all this but I get the frustrating sense that I am not making much leeway. But the presence of the other two ladies gives me a false sense of security as I insist again that the baby be taken to the doctor. “Dr. S.T. is right here. Please take this baby to her. He needs help”, I say. “Yes, yes”, they all nod. I think that at least the other ladies will make the mom take the baby to the doctor.

An old Muslim lady rushes in. “Gassa ka goliya dedoji” (give me the gas tablets), she cries.

“Gassa ka goliya?”, I blink stupidly. “Kya gassa ka goliya? (What gas tablets?)”

“Vahi vo lal patte vale” (those ones in the red strip)

I dazedly gaze around the array of tablets on my table. I see Omeprazole, sodium citrate, some crocin and the like. “Vo vale”, she says pointing to the Omeprazole. I vaguely know they are related to some stomach issues, but that’s about it. “Main nahi de sakti aur main doctor nahin hoon. Aap vo doctor ke pas jao” (I can’t give you those and I am not a doctor. Go to the other doctor), I say.

“Dedona” (please give)

“Nahin ji, nahin de sakti. Vo doctor se poochlo” (no, I can’t. Ask the other doctor).

She gives me a disappointed look and leaves.

Phew! This day has no end of surprises.

Just as I am getting up to leave, a mother walks in with a small girl and a baby in her arms and hands me the baby’s records. I look at the notes the pediatric resident has scrawled: Weight 2.1 kg (<2sd baby="" is="" meaning="" p="" that="" the="" underweight.="" very="">

We chat about the baby’s diet. Then, all of a sudden, the mom bursts into tears and sobs that she isn’t really worried about the baby, it’s her daughter who refuses to eat any food. She talks about how every mouthful has to be coerced; about every mealtime being filled with tears, frustration and rage; about the family’s collective exhaustion with this situation. The baby, she says, is fine. I ask her questions about diet: what does she give the kids, how many times do they poop and pee and so on. According to her, she gives them everything: bananas, raagi, meat, eggs, milk. Apparently the baby eats all this, but the girl does not. The girl too is very under-sized; a 3 year old who looks like she might not yet be 1.5. The mother says that she finds it difficult to bring the kids to the clinic or take them to the pediatrician in a nearby hospital. She is also afraid of going back there because she thinks the pediatrician will scold. I dismiss these concerns: no no, the doctor won’t scold. She may ask why you haven’t brought the kids to her for so long, but she’ll help, I tell her. While I explain to the mother that yelling and hitting at the kid during meal times isn’t going to get her to eat more, I know that some medical intervention is called for as well. I call the Pediatric resident, Dr.M, to evaluate the situation.
Dr.M. checks the girl’s throat, asks even more detailed questions about diet (I learn that trick from her: ask what the patient has at EVERY meal, not just a general overview), asks about birth weight and so on. Dr.S.T steps into the room while this is going on and listens in. The doctors diagnose malnutrition and recommend that the lady take both her kids to Indira Gandhi Children’s Hospital, at least 10 km away. While I agree with the diagnosis and the plan, I am taken aback by the attitude of the doctors. They are patronizing, they scold the mother for not having brought the kids to a doctor sooner (no wonder she had been procrastinating taking her kids to the other doctor! This attitude must be prevalent everywhere), they discuss her kids in front of her as though she and they weren’t present. At the end of 10 minutes or so of all this, the mother takes her babies and scuttles out, not meeting anybody’s eye. I am pretty sure she’s never going to come back here again.  “God, these people!”, says Dr.S.T. “They are so uneducated and backward”. Then she starts a diatribe about the backwardness, about how the husbands are useless, probably spending all the money on drink and cigarettes, about how they mistreat girl children and so on. I make “hmm… hmm” sounds as she talks, not wanting to give offense. But I feel terrible and small and more than a little lost. I think my actions today have driven away this woman and her kids without solving any of her problems, adding new ones to the mix. I hated seeing her shamed so, but I hadn’t said anything to help her out. I have no idea what I ought to have done, either.

A sobering end to my second day at the clinic.

Notes from Another Sphere- Opening my Eyes

3^rd March 2016

My first day at the BBMP Urban Primary Healthcare Center in Koramangala. I get there around 11am, by which time the clinic is in full swing. Babies are being measured, weighed and injected with whatever shots are deemed appropriate, mothers are chatting, the attenders in their blue sarees are ordering people about… a typical scene in a government hospital. I find my contact, Dr.D.M, inside one of the consulting rooms. She is marvelously efficient- within a few minutes, I have a spot at one corner of her clinic, a set of chairs around me, and the attender is leading in my first few patients.

I am an antenatal and postnatal counseler. This means I talk to pregnant moms and new mothers about their worries and concerns, I give them advice on nutrition, I counsel them on how to take care of themselves, their babies and their families. I speak to the family members, if they are present. I find out about their work, if they have help, if they have any ongoing issues with something, I help them problem solve. My role is to be a source of support, an elder sister of sorts.

My main source of worry on this day is my ability to communicate. I can handle Tamil, but Kannada and Hindi, I tend to falter with, despite being able to read both languages and have routine conversations. Oh well, I’ll muddle along somehow, I think.

I have done some homework for this trip. Just before leaving for the clinic, I send my various cousins a question on WhatsApp: How do you say, “don’t have unprotected sex” in Tamil, Kannada and Urdu. My cousins are highly amused and I spend the time while traveling to the clinic giggling at their increasingly improbable translations. Nonetheless, before I step into the clinic, I have my answer: Avar jothe serak mudhale nirod upayogisi (use a condom before sex). “Serodu”- to join, the colloquial euphemism for sex in Kannada and Tamil. Phew! I can embellish the rest.

My first patient brings in a baby of about 3 months old. As is my custom, I ask her which language she is most comfortable with, to which she replies, “Tamil”.  I practically rub my hands in glee. We chat. She’s a first time mom, living with her mother, who has also accompanied her, a large capable-looking woman, who initially looks askance at my questions about diet and at my even more impertinent questions about urinations and bowel movements. But she thaws soon, once I praise her lavishly at the work she does everyday to keep her daughter and grandchild healthy.  I ask my patient about her husband: does he visit, does he play with his child, does he spend the night and so on. “Never!” inserts the mother, at this point. “According to our custom, her husband will not sleep in the same room with her for the first seven months”. “Wonderful!” I assure the patient and her mother. “But in case the opportunity arises and you want to have sex, you must think about contraception”, I say, keeping my eyes fixed on my young patient. “Don’t become pregnant right away. Give some time to yourself and your baby to grow up” “And give some time to your mother”, her mother interjects, at which we all laugh. I tell her to go to Dr.D.M., whom I see is relatively free at the time, and discuss options for contraception and am gratified when they head there directly afterwards. A very pleasant session indeed.

I see about 10 or 12 more patients, all Tamil, most doing relatively well. My onlytruly worrying case is a grandmother who has brought her 9-month-old grandson, but the child looks closer to 2 or 3 months of age. “Where’s your daughter?” I ask. “At work”, she replies. “I feed the child and take care of him. I give him cow’s milk”. Further questioning reveals that her daughter breastfeeds once or twice a day. The grandmother looks hassled, has very bad teeth, slightly blurry eyes, and difficulty understanding what I am saying. The baby is asleep. “You need to go talk to Dr.D.M. This child needs help. He doesn’t look well”, I tell her. She nods and gets up. My attention is momentarily caught by the next patient who walks in. When I look back up, she’s nowhere around.

The clinic closes at 1pm. The attenders walk us out, we get back into the ambulance that will take us to the hospital whose outreach program runs this clinic. On the way back, Dr.D.M and I discuss my experience. My most vivid impression of the two hours I have spent is of how incredibly diverse the clientele is. I have spoken to mothers who are day laborers, who work as receptionists and speak English, some who are fairly well educated and some who are illiterate. The phrase “government hospital” evokes images of lines of women carrying malnourished babies, wearing tattered sarees. In reality though, the PHC serves as a first contact for pretty much anyone living in the vicinity and this includes educated women and their families. What also stands out is that most of these babies look okay- other than the one who was clearly malnourished, most babies were decently sized, many were exclusively breastfed. What is more worrying is the standard of nutrition for the mothers. New mothers are not counseled on nutrition and most do not eat vegetables and fruits, with the result that most of them suffer from constipation; some are dehydrated.

I learn something from Dr.D.M that makes me hit my head in self-irritation. The hospital that provides the service at this government hospital is Catholic, and as such, their doctors are not allowed to provide contraception. “Gaah!” I scold myself for having forgotten this basic rule of any service: never forget the funder. I recall all those women to whom I happily advocated contraception, asking them to meet with Dr.D.M. for further instructions, and cringe.

Dr.D.M urges me to come for their antenatal clinic, since this is the time, she says, where counseling is desperately required, but no one available to provide it. I hesitate to commit because I don’t want to take on too many new commitments. I don’t want to stop going to the postnatal clinic, now that I have experienced it and feel it might be better to gain some mastery on one aspect before tackling another new one.

A good learning experience and an unforgettable introduction to the world of the government run PHC.

Introducing "Notes from an Another Sphere"

I have started volunteering at a municipal primary health care center.

Have been writing up these experiences as a series of blog entries. The NGO that I work for put up some of these entries on their blog (here and here).

I'll be publishing the same entries on my blog too, since obviously I'm rather happy about the entries (as happy writing about these experiences as I am doing the work- a good place to be!)

Discovery of a poet

Do you know Libgen? It's my mainstay for free ebooks. And one day, in a fit of boredom, as I was typing in random names of authors trying to find a book, anything, to pass the time, the auto-fill feature came up with "Sylvia Plath". I've heard of Sylvia Plath, who hasn't? But, having never read any of her works, and having an innate distrust of poetry (such a philistine!), decided I would first read her biography and then decide.

Have been reading her biography as well as some of her poems these past few days.

Phew! Feel-good reading, it is not. Yet, her poetry is magnetic. It's like bringing the North poles of two magnets near each other- they repel but they keep circling each other. I can't read more than one poem at a time and I can't bear reading too much of her life- it's too much! Too much of everything- violence, passion, anger, love, tragedy, everything! Perhaps this is how she appeared to the many men in her life- endlessly fascinating and irrevocably difficult.

I recall, in a critical reading class in English that I had attended many years ago, we were asked to read the assigned pieces by taking them piecemeal, removing them from the context of the author's life (which, in hindsight, seems a bit counter-productive, but what the heck), to be able to analyze the depth of truth, and to ponder on the construction of the sentences and so on. With Plath's poetry, that attempt would be laughable- every thought in every of those lines is about her, you can't remove her from the poem (not least because the poems are confessionals; she writes about her life); but overshadowing every line of every poem (that I have read, anyway) is her death. Among the reviews I read was one that said that her poems felt like they had been written posthumously. I couldn't agree more.

Red Letter Month

Sometimes I get stuck on an idea for a blogpost and keep procrastinating writing on my blog because I think I ought to write down that idea first. But in the meantime, life goes on and other things come up and I don't note them down because I'm still stuck on that increasingly elusive idea.

I've been meaning to write on our trips to Nandi Hills for a few weeks now, but feel rather lazy because God, there is a lot to write about. But in the meantime, lots of things have happened and if I don't write down the most important of these, I will forget and that is unforgivable.

Most of these big, important events happened within the space of a few days, certainly within one week. I don't know what kind of cosmic activity aligned multiple stars at exactly the right place at the right time, but I am blessed... and bewildered by the influx of good tidings... blessedly bewildered? Or bewilderedly blessed? Ok.. whatever.. good things have happened and I am grateful to the Higher Beings.

Firstly, the kids have got admission in a decent school. Hurray! They both (yes, even the little one) appeared for entrance exams, interviews etc and did well enough that they can start there in June. Phew!

Secondly, the NGO where I was working pro bono has suddenly come into some money and they created a position for me and I will get paid for things that I really enjoyed doing for free :)

And thirdly, I managed to get my butt to the BBMP urban primary health care center at Koramangala and spend 2-3 hours talking with new mothers and counseling them about nutrition, breastfeeding and general postnatal issues. This has traditionally been a bit difficult, because to get to this UPHC I need to first get to St.Philomena's hospital before 10am and catch their shuttle. And if the kids get delayed or if I haven't woken up early enough that day, then I can't get to St.P on time.

But the real reason last week was such a milestone in my life was because I stood up for myself in a couple of situations, which traditionally I would have let slip with lingering feelings of resentment. A co-worker in the same NGO I mentioned above was giving me huge amounts of attitude over the draft of a research paper we were co-authoring. She was the first author, the main driving force behind the study, but had let the project slide to the back burner after writing up a preliminary report. When I joined, I reanalyzed the data and wrote up the first few drafts of a research paper. And ended up getting comments like "No where have you mentioned this fact.... this is a crucial piece that absolutely needs to be included" etc. Initially, I let this slide, making excuses for her. But this kept happening. So finally, I wrote back complimenting her on her insights, then reminded her of our shared goals and told her that comments like the ones she had been writing (and here, I copy-pasted her exact statements so she knew which ones I was talking about) would result in negative thoughts entering an otherwise positive collaboration. I ended the email by reminding her that the draft of the paper had been passed around precisely so that other members of the team could include or modify it as they deemed appropriate.

Well, she wrote back immediately, apologizing to me and we moved on from then. I feel really good about the way this was resolved. I am generally scared of confrontation, but in this case, I didn't let myself wallow in resentment but took positive action. However (yes, there is a "but"), while I am happy with the way things worked out, I see a real change in my attitude towards this project. I no longer feel as invested in it...so is it because a) there are still some lingering issues inside me, or b) I've learned a cautionary lesson- not to get too attached to any idea? I still have to resolve this question. My sense that it is (b), but some deeper introspection is required.

Other major strides in leadership:
a) Standing my ground for authorship: steadfastly supported my conviction of my right to be listed in a particular place in the authorship list in one of these research papers... phew! These are hard conversations and at least twice before in my admittedly limited publication history, I have bowed to outside pressure. This time, I didn't and that makes me feel awfully grown up...

b) Making my antenatal and postnatal consulting sessions at St.P "by appointment only", so that I don't have to go there and sit and waste my time.

So yeah, big strides.

Ranganathittu Bird Sanctuary

Phew! Finally, I get to this post. I have been meaning to update my blog and, especially, put down my list of birds sighted at RBS for ages.

Ranganathittu is very accessible from Mysore. You could drive there, but we car-less folks took a city bus from the Mysore bus stand and it takes you via the city, adjacent farm land and right outside the gates of the sanctuary. The river Kaveri meanders through this area. Like all historic and significant tourist spots in Karnataka (and perhaps the whole country, I don't know yet), this place is also plastic-free, but surprisingly, does indeed appear to be so (the other place in/near Mysore that's supposed to be plastic-free are the Chamundi Hills, but it's not uncommon to see a bunch of plastic bags and bottles lying right underneath the very sign that prohibits their presence). This part of the world is also very close to the Krishna Raja Sagara (KRS) Dam, so a common sight is of small canals cutting through green fields. Inside one of these canals, right by the entrance of the sanctuary, is a giant statue of Shiva meditating on a stone with his thick black locks touching the water. Some people canoe to the statue every day and leave flowers and fruit offerings. It's really quite a nice sight.

From the park entrance, you have to walk about a kilometer or so before coming to the parking lot and the actual park. This kilometer is beautiful to walk through, tree-lined, with very picturesque little babbling brooks running alongside the road. Many birds, flowers and insects. Kids enjoyed themselves very much. Only thing that spoils the experience are the cars racing through that kilometer, all, for some reason, in a great hurry to get to the parking lot. Slow down, folks! You're missing all the good bits by rushing about!

So, my sincere recommendation: ditch the cars at the main road and walk down.

In large trees, fairly high up from the ground, we saw golden orioles, grey hornbills, rose-ringed parakeets and red whiskered bulbuls

Golden oriole, seen in a tree by the bus stop
near a small village on the way to RBS. What a beauty, no?

A family of red-whiskered bulbuls were seen within RBS, in trees by the side of a small pond

Purple rumped sunbird

In small trees, we saw my favorite bird, the purple-rumped sunbird.

On the ground, by a marshy enclave, right as soon as you pass the parking lot, is the home of the yellow wagtail. And true to his name, he wags his tail as he busily flits from one reed to another.

Yellow wagtail. Friendly fellow, not at all put off by us plonking ourselves down a few feet from him and staring at his antics.

You know what else RBS is also famous for?

Far away rocks, nothing particularly interesting....

Check out the pelican nests on top of the trees

Then you go closer and...do the rocks look different now?!

 Crocodiles! These are Magar types and not terribly active. With a good pair of binoculars, you can even see their long canines stick out of their mouths as they sun themselves on the rocks within the lake. These crocs are native to this region and completely wild. Imagine, even hundreds or thousands of years ago, they were probably sunning themselves on these very same rocks!

RBS is famous for little islands nestled within a large lake. There are boat rides available and for a little bit of extra money, the boater will row in between the many islands, rather than just around the periphery. None of the boats are motored and the splish-splash of the oars forms a relaxing background sound to the scenery.

A nuzzling nestling couple.

The boat ride, for me, really highlighted the truth of the old adage "Birds of a feather flock together". Colonies of each species really do stick to each other, and different species clearly occupy different niches, even on a single tree!

More pelicans hanging out

Cormorants pose together

It's difficult to take particularly good pictures of bird colonies with an iPhone, especially if one is on a rocking boat. Some of the other birds we saw, but I couldn't take good pictures of, were:

Night heron (www.pbase.com)

White ibis

Large and little cormorants, snake bird (dead, draped over a branch like a black shroud), river terns, spoonbills, spotted pelicans, open billed stork, painted storks (in flight, not in colonies) were some of the other birds we saw either nesting in or flying near the islands.

I wonder why so many birds that live close by water bodies are usually white and black. Must be for camouflage... though, why not muddy brown or dirty green? Perhaps there are such birds and I just don't know about them. This question reminds me of the paddy bird, which I came across in Cubbon Park many weeks ago.

Indian pond heron (paddy bird). Muddy white, it tends to fade into the background.

Speaking of birds that are hard to spot, we think we saw the bittern. Certainly the terrain was typical of its favored haunts, that is, reedy shores. It was all the way on the island on the other side of the crocs sunning themselves in one of the pictures above. It was completely motionless, and indeed, I couldn't spot it at all until Ram pointed it out to me.

We also saw this guy close up while boating back towards the mainland:


We lunched at the park cafeteria (decent dosas, but really awful chutney); kids chased a few monkeys around and we headed back by around 3pm. Back along the scenic kilometer! And this time, we stumbled across a true treat.

On a tree in what seemed like a sugarcane field, Ram thought he spotted some hornbills. So he walked into the field and realized that it was actually a patch of land on a hill, surrounded by the Cavery on two sides.  Immediately, what appeared to be a terrain of flat lands and high trees was transformed into one which supported water-loving birds too! A truly marvelous and diverse niche! Once we walked in, we spotted an immense number of birds, amazingly spectacular, brilliantly colored.

The view of the field from the road. Looks fairly ordinary, no?

Bordering the field on one side was the river, home to many species of bee-eaters, kingfishers, weaver birds and muniyas.

Bordering the field on another side was this little lagoon. Check out the weaver bird nests!

The blue tailed bee-eater

The little green bee-eater. We saw both species of bee-eaters side-by side on a wire above the river.

Tricolored muniya

We also saw three species of kingfishers: the pied, little blue and white breasted.

White breasted kingfisher. Pic from www.burneysbirdblog.org

Little blue kingfisher. Pic from Wiki

Pied kingfisher. Wiki pic

So, to end, here's a list of birds we saw at Ranganathittu:

Grey hornbills

Purple rumped sunbird

Red wattled lapwing

Yellow wagtail

Red whiskered bulbul

Golden oriole

Brahminy kites

Indian shag (possibly)

Yellow wagtail

Pied wagtail

Rose ringed parakeets

Heard barbets - not spotted 

Drongo

Bittern (which species?)

Pied wagtail

White Ibis

Night heron

Large cormorant

Little cormorant

Darter (snake bird)

River tern

Spoonbill 

Spot billed Pelicans

Painted stork in flight (?). None seen in colonies

Open billed stork

Pied kingfisher

Little green bee-eater

blue tailed bee-eater

Baya (non breeding plumage) Weaver bird + nests

Tricolored Munia

Little blue Kingfisher

White breasted kingfisher

Tickell's blue flycatcher

Fan tailed flycatcher