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NORTH ZONE
Dream zone for birdwatchers
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The Simpson Industrial Estate in Sembium is a fine example of how environmental beauty can remain intact despite industrial activity.
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WHEN THE crepuscular sky is all set to throw its blanket over the Simpson Estate in Sembium, the egrets make a beeline for the trees there. Soon, the battle lines are drawn - between the crows and the egrets. In point of fact, it is only the crows that are on the offensive. No, they do not bring the egrets to any harm. They just heckle them; but this spirited effort to raise the egrets' hackles comes unstuck. The egrets on their part wage a war of indifference - judiciously, as one learns later. As more and more egrets hunker down on the trees, the crows quietly fade from the scene. They (crows) know they have been outnumbered and wisely give up the fight.
"The crows are just bullying the egrets; they know they are waging a losing battle. Nevertheless, they perform the `ritual' every day when the egrets come to roost," says Sudhakar Reddy, field naturalist, Simpson Estate.
As you walk around the sylvan estate, you have about 20,000 trees and over two lakh plants to take in. This probably is nothing much to write home about, but for the fact that the Simpson Estate houses a few industrial units. Under "normal" circumstances, industrial estates are a blot on the landscape and a smear on the environment. But this abundant greenery and bio-diversity save the Simpson Estate from such a common fate.
"They are much habituated to human presence," says P. Sivaramamurthy, manager, Simpson Estate. "Even when the 3-tonne pseudo-hammer is put to work at a factory near the estate, the birds do not exhibit any alarm. The same goes for sirens."
You notice a shikra hawk streaming across a pond. The crows give a playful chase. The pond is called the APC pond, because it is located near the Addisons Paints and Chemicals work station.
"This pond, which is nine feet deep, is an example of what can be achieved by rainwater harvesting," says Reddy.
The moorhen are the permanent residents of this pond. The pond is fringed with neem, bauhunia, pongamia and gulmohar trees. After a short walk, you find yourself looking down at another pond. This one is called the Lily Pond. It is green with moss. As you drink in the scenery, a dabchick dives in and resurfaces in another place with a squish. Two other birds seem to be gliding lockstep. They look as different as chalk and cheese. One is dark in colour and has a red beak, the other looks light in colour. They are both moorhen - the dark one is an adult bird and the other one is a juvenile moorhen. A white-breasted kingfisher alights upon a wetland rush.
When the water level scrapes the bottom, the pond will be swathed in lilies and lotuses. The lily pond is tasselled all around with subabul trees.
"About 23 to 24 species of butterflies are to be found in the foliage around the pond," says Sivaramamurthy.
A portion of land is partitioned off for what is called "social forestry". Here, mango, tamarind, tabebuia, raintree (thunghu munghi maram in Tamil) and peepul trees proliferate.
"When the breeding season is at hand, the birds collect nest material from here," says Sivaramamurthy.
Manure for the trees is made in the estate's backyard itself; dry leaves and twigs are recycled as manure. "We do not touch inorganic manure even with a barge pole," says Sivaramamurthy.
A grilled enclosure stands testimony to the fact that there were deer in the estate, a few years ago.
"We used to have 50 spotted deer. A prodigious quantity of vegetable waste from our canteen would go to feed these deer. We gave them away to the Guindy National Park a couple of years ago," says Sivaramamurthy.
Such a faunal presence would indeed have added to the estate's value as a bio-diversity zone. Nevertheless, the avifaunal variety quite makes up for this loss.
PRINCE FREDERICK
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