Nocturnal City Neighbours: The Owling Hour

It’s a winter evening, and you are strolling down that familiar path behind your apartment that leads to a grocery store in your neighbourhood. The traffic hum softens, the streetlights flicker on, and just as you contemplate putting on your headphones to listen to your favourite podcast, a sharp, familiar screech slices through the air overhead. As you look up, a pale shape lifts off from the ledge of the nearby building with a questioning “Eeeeeeee?” and vanishes into the dark. Some city dwellers might shrug and keep walking, but most would pause in such moments and ask- ‘what the hell was that?’ I am here to tell you that it was probably the closest to a magical experience that most of us will ever experience in our backyards. As some of you might have rightly guessed, the screech belonged to an eastern barn owl (Tyto javanica), one of several owl species that continue to live alongside us in India’s towns and cities.

Owls are often imagined as creatures of deep forests and remote wilderness. Yet long before urban skylines expanded, some species had already learned to navigate human-dominated landscapes. Today, India is home to more than 35 owl species, and a handful have become surprisingly comfortable in urban environments. From the familiar spotted owlet (Athene brama) peering out of tree hollows to the well-camouflaged scops owls (Otus spp.) tucked into leafy neighbourhoods, these nocturnal hunters exploit pockets of green cover, old buildings, and the steady availability of prey that cities inadvertently offer.

They are possibly adapting, maybe even evolving, to survive urban landscapes and anthropogenic pressures, while cleverly managing not to attract too much attention. Owls are masters of stillness and shadow, active when most people retire for the day, the daytime chorus of birds has faded, and the sky is laden with beautiful stars and the ever-guiding moon. For those “owlers” who start spotting owls at night, whether by recognising silhouettes against streetlights or learning their distinct calls, cities reveal an entirely different after-hours community. That is the owling hour. 

It is commonly thought that all owls are strictly creatures of the night, but the Asian barred owlet (Glaucidium cuculoides) clearly did not get that memo. Unlike many of its nocturnal cousins, it is partly active during the day, which makes it easier to spot if you know where to look. In the greener pockets of cities in Northeast India, it often uses roadside trees, modest garden clusters, and remnant green patches as hunting posts, scanning for insects, small reptiles, and the occasional unwary rodent. 

The Asian barred owlet has a strange, ventriloquial call that often begins softly in a stuttering rhythm before building into a harsher, more staccato sequence — “kwuhk kuhk-ke-kwuhk…kwurre kwurre…” — before stopping abruptly. I remember stepping into a small clearing in Guwahati, surrounded by tall trees, when the call began to bounce around me. I turned slow circles trying to locate the bird until I nearly made myself dizzy and gave up. Across parts of Assam, the call has been compared to ritual ululation during Hindu ceremonies and is sometimes culturally associated with puberty or weddings. 

With its pale, heart-shaped face and ghostlike, silent flight, the eastern barn owl (Tyto javanica) remains one of the most recognisable nocturnal hunters around human settlements. Its sudden, rather alarming screech sounds nothing like the soft hoots many of us grew up imagining. 

Old buildings, warehouses, and farm edges have historically provided both nesting spaces and a steady buffet of rodents. In cities today, open garbage dumps and poorly managed waste often attract rodents, inadvertently creating feeding opportunities for barn owls. At the same time, rapid urban development can remove traditional roosting cavities and increase their risk of collisions, disturbance, and exposure to rodenticides. Despite these pressures, barn owls continue to persist in most cities.

Barn owls are also remarkably site faithful. Pairs often return to the same nesting site year after year, even when surrounding conditions deteriorate. Which means that the ghost you heard screaming over your head last winter may very well still be your neighbour. If you ever come across a nest, you may hear the hissing calls of the chicks, which sound uncannily like a pressure cooker releasing steam. 

The brown hawk-owl or brown boobook (Ninox scutulata) often appears upright and conspicuous; its neon yellowish-orange eyes give it a permanently unimpressed expression. Active mainly at dusk and night, it favours wooded neighbourhoods, large avenue trees, and older campuses within cities. In parts of Assam, this owl is sometimes considered a messenger of death; people have told me that if it calls, someone in the neighbourhood will die within 48 hours. Folklore aside, the bird itself is far more interested in beetles and cicadas than in human fate. Its repertoire of curious calls ranges from a soft, whimpering “yaow, yaow” (similar to a purring kitten) to a mellow “woop-woop” drifting through the dark. 

During breeding season, pairs may sometimes be spotted roosting close together, looking faintly conspiratorial. If disturbed, the bird will readily slip to another branch, blending into the foliage with surprising ease. The species depends heavily on mature trees with nesting cavities. As older trees disappear from cityscapes, many birds are forced to improvise, sometimes using abandoned buildings, ledges, and quiet residential corners. 

If urban owls had a hide-and-seek competition, the collared scops owl (Otus lettia) would win without effort. Small, ear-tufted, and exquisitely camouflaged against tree bark, it is easy to overlook even when perched in plain sight, emerging only after dark to hunt insects and other small prey.

Across parts of India, this species occupies wooded neighbourhoods, orchards, bamboo stands, and semi-urban green spaces. Most humans live alongside them for years without realising it. Its call is a single mellow “buuo” repeated patiently at intervals of roughly 12-20 seconds. 

The Indian scops owl (Otus bakkamoena) has shown a notable willingness to navigate human-dominated spaces, sometimes roosting in unexpectedly close quarters, including building ledges, dense garden foliage, and occasionally accidentally flying indoors and ending up perched on a ceiling fan.

During the day, it relies almost entirely on stillness and bark-like plumage to avoid detection, emerging at dusk with a series of frog-like, regularly spaced interrogative “wuatt?” calls or a slowly rising, bubbling chatter of “ack-ack-ack…”. 

If you have ever felt watched in your neighbourhood but cannot spot a human in sight, there is a reasonable chance the culprit is a spotted owlet. Few owl species are as comfortable around human settlements as this one. Small, expressive, and surprisingly vocal, they readily occupy tree cavities, building crevices, and even large pipes. Groups frequently roost together during the day, tucked into hollows that offer shade and safety. They also have quite the fan following thanks to their size, fluffiness, and general antics. If you listen carefully on warm evenings, you may hear their characteristic “chirurrr chirrurrrr” and “cheevak cheevak” notes floating through the air.