“There amid the blue flowers, fair as the flowers themselves, sat the lady of my dreams. Her eyes, black as midnight, dreamt on as she held the petals close to her heart. Her long hair and shimmery wings ruffled in the wind, thrumming my heart strings.
And, in that moment, I fell in love with the fairy.”
We’ve been getting too many knocks on the windows during lockdown. This series is dedicated to these neighbours.
Ever met those black coats who gather in huge numbers to discuss important matters, dissent on everything, protest for everything, speak all at once for hours, and then go away without discussing anything worthwhile? The sharp eyes, the curt manner, the voice that doesn’t accept ‘No’ for an answer…
Ever so often, they campaign for a cause. They knock on the door, squawk a curt greeting and cry “Vote, vote, vote” and hurry away before I can understand anything.
Not sure if they expect a reply. My voice won’t carry that far anyway.
Author’s note: I always believed Myna as uninteresting until I moved to Baghpat. For the first time, I noted the subtle differences between the various myna breeds that frequent the area. I don’t have decent shots of all types but here are a few.
Many of my neighbours having been calling in, in spite of the lockdown and strict government measures. This guy took it to another level.
It is one thing to ask for something to eat but raiding your neighbour’s fridge and locking yourself inside is plain rude, and stupid too. I found him inside the fridge. Too colourful–bright white background with red and green spots–so, I’m unsure if he’s a regular moth or her love-baby with a butterfly.
Since the little guy showed no intention to move his butt out of the new found haven, or may be his butt was frozen after a night’s orgy inside the fridge, I took him on my hands (he fretted a little but couldn’t fly away) and placed him on one of the walls that gets warmed by the sun.
There he stayed for another 7 hours and I saw his butt had moved a little.
Later in the night, he was gone. Either he got well and away, or Hariya, our resident lizard (a story for a different day) had a sumptuous snack. At least, someone had a good time.
Fish in the Treesis my alter ego. It stands for my unique position as a true Gemini. (Ever saw that horoscope picture with two people looking in different directions? That’s me.) I have always been looking in two directions or more–trying to see both sides of the coin, skewing my perspective like a fish-eye lens. I have a traditional small-town upbringing, but am plagued with question-itis (the habit of asking pain-in-the-ass questions) and conform-o-phobia (the fear of conforming with status quo). My blog follows suit.
It makes both of us forever misfits, like a shellfish in the trees.
Fish in the trees only had five posts till mid-last year, all of which I deleted. On the night of 15th June last year, I decided to rebirth this site and moved in stuff from my earlier site Fly on the Wall (that no one read). Since then, I have written every week, twice a week, daily… Yup! I’m that crazy!
Now after one year, here are 10 posts that I am proud of…okay 18…It is rather difficult to pick your favourite child, and I have over 300.
The lockdown has made me better acquainted with a lot of neighbours. This one visits us every spring.
When I first saw one, I rubbed my eyes, took a photo and showed around to check if it was really green, and really a pigeon. May be, it was a parrot or a barbet…People suggested I needed to invest in a better camera, or perhaps, a psychologist.
I questioned my sanity.
A couple of years later, I saw a group again, I took pictures. People suggested, may be it was just the morning light. I showed them Google Search for green pigeons. They said they might exist but not here. The shots aren’t clear enough for a proof.
For another month, I hung around on my rooftop everyday, looking for clearer evidence. Even though they had moved in the trees around my house, the green mean guys hung around, always out of range.
Then, one fine day, one of the elusive guys came close enough for a clear shot. There he sat for 10 minutes, letting me take 15 shots, and prove to myself that I hadn’t been hallucinating.