A couple of months back, I came back to my bedroom to find that I wasn’t the only woman in the room. A very pretty young lady had decided that my place was good enough to spend the night. She was resting against one of the pillars in her absolutely stunning dress in shimmering golden-coppery-green.
It made me slightly jealous–She was definitely returning from the disco, because there was no other excuse for such a dress. I, on the other hand, haven’t stepped out of my house since December 2019, thanks to COVID 19.
Also, that meant she had not been following the social distancing rules, mingling with people. She had no mask. So I, with a self-righteous air, told her to leave. She was probably too drunk to get me, because she stayed right where she was. So, I had to bodily remove her from my premises. But I couldn’t forget the dress…yeah, I know, typical woman! 😁
Kara was sitting on the water tank on the roof with the lost look on his face, that I have become accustomed to, ever since his latest batch of eggs hatched. This time I decided to ask, “Hey, what’s with the long face?”
For the few seconds he took, I thought he wouldn’t reply at all. When he did, there was a sigh in his voice, “I’m worried about the youngest one.”
“What happened? Did he fall off the nest?” That would explain his worried face. But he shook his head, “No, he is careful and obedient–just the child any parents would ask for. I just think, he’s not getting the right role model.”
I thought if the number of times I had thought the same about my baby, “Don’t be silly! You and your wife are dedicated parents and a loving couple. How could you not be a good role model?” He hesitated and I could see he was considering whether to just take off without answering. “Yeah! But our voices are…rather different from him. He tries to imitate us but fails…it leaves him frustrated and sad.”
Out of everything I had expected, thus wasn’t in the list. I was confused, “I think I’m mising something here. How could your voice be different from your child’s? Is it because he is still young and his voice unbroken? You can tell him it is just a matter of time…”
A pregnant silence ensued before he answered the question, sounding hesitant and repentant, as if he was sorry for having talked at all. “It isn’t that. His voice is…shrill…Ever heard of a cuckoo? They often break one of the crow’s eggs and leave their own egg behind. There was a cuckoo in our area when our eggs came about…”
That must have been difficult, to suspect having raised the child of their baby’s murderer, “So, you suspect your youngest is the cuckoo’s baby?”
Resigned, he admitted, “We know he is. Knew it from the first day. Both I and wife saw the broken egg below the tree, but what could have we done? Thrown him out of the nest, out of our lives, like his own parents did? Let him die without experiencing love?
We thought we are doing the right thing by taking him in. But now, we are worried if we are the right role models. All the kids laugh at him at his inability for crow-speak, when he coos in the weird cuckoo voice. We try to rationalise it in front of him, but I think he is beginning to understand that he is different and it hurts him.” He was speaking more to himself than me. “We have been arguing over whether to tell him the truth. The wife is afraid the truth will hurt him deep. She’s afraid to lose him.
But I feel he is already hurting too much–the constant failure to become what he clearly isn’t, to conform with family, to accept himself with all the differences–is proving to be too much for him. I want to tell him the truth before we lose him altogether.”
“But you haven’t. Why?”
When he answered, tears bubbled up in his eyes, “What if he decides that he doesn’t want us anymore? I’m afraid to lose him…”
The guy often flies pretty close to the ground and I can often take clear pictures of him from my roof while he makes baby deliveries. He was rather pleased with his last post–It brought him quite a lot of fans, so he is posing for more.
If you notice, the picture is looking doen upon this flying beauty. It is because I am on my fourth story roof and he flying at third story level.
There is famous piece of poetry in Urdu that says, “Har shaakh pe Ullu baithe h, Anjam-e-Gulista kya hoga.” (Owls sit on each branch, I fear for the fate of my beautiful country–that it would turn into ruins).
I had assumed, considering owls as a harbinger of bad luck was a common misunderstanding in India against the gentle creature, who does nothing but sleep all day and hoot sweetly at night. My belief was further strengthened when I saw a couple of Spotted Owlets on the tree next door. They are wee creatures, barely 8 inches, sitting in the tree hooting serenely or sleeping on the electric wires across the road.
One evening while I was walking up the stairs to the roof, I heard a weird screech. I had been hearing this screech ever since my first night here five years back. It gave me goosebumps everytime, and had reminded me of witches, giving me too many nightmares. Gradually, I had assumed that it was a Night Heron along the banks of Yamuna river or something on similar lines, but definitely far away, and definitely huge.
Hearing this screech, Curiosity propelled me up the stairs in half the time and I opened the door to the roof silently. Surprise! There was this eight-inch creature sitting on a pole. He was screeching at the top of his lungs until his friend flew out of the tree to meet him. He saw me, and flew away to party with his companion.
Well, so much for being gentle…I can now see how Owls earned their reputation in India! They are Dr Jakyll by the day, and Mr Hyde at night.
Not sure why but Egrets always look to me like grumpy old men. Their expression is always downcast and sad, shoulders hunched…I love them for their grumpiness.
Kingfishers are a common sight where I live. Though weirdly, there are no fishes in here. I’ve seen them feed on dragon flies and bees. May be they should be renamed as Bee-eaters but the real Bee-eaters might get offended…
In an attempt to give my daughter company during her ‘painting’ escapades, I created this on a rough page with her wax colours. Then she decided the rest of page wasn’t colourful enough and added stuff of her own. I would have kept it too, but leaving a Kingfisher in company of a Lion is rather cruel.
So I cut it out of the paper.
Then she wanted to ‘take a closer look’, so I took a picture to immortalize it in case she decided to go ninja on him.
It hassss been a difficult year–the god of rain hassss been relentlessss. Every other night, water gurglessss down my home driving me up a wall…or rather a tree.
So, here I wassss up on a tree again, waiting for the godssss to stop showering their blessingssss down on ussss, when the aroma hit me. I couldn’t help a peep inside the window next to me. There she wassss again, walking on the thin window ssssill in that tentalizing way that issss trademark of women who know the power they wield over men.
Had I been a mouse like her, I wouldn’t have been able to resisssst her.
So many timessss, I had seen her walk on that ledge. But today, I wasssss having a difficult time resisting her too…I wassss hungry. I had been on a hunt when the rain started pelting down and it hadn’t stopped all night. It issss close to dawn now, and my stomach wassss growling. This mansion has too many mice, which is a temptation, and but it also has too many humans–the only reason I had never hunted here.
They kill our kind the instant they spot any of ussss.
But at this time of the night, they would be deep asleep. I could just get in and walk out with a snack within minutessss! Nobody will be any wiser…my stomach growled in agreement. So, I reached out to the open window and slithered down in the room where three humans, rather two and a quarter, were deep asleep. Their body heat was too low for them to be awake and become a threat.
So, I followed the irresistible aroma of good food running around the floor. A few secondssss later, I was on the top step of stairs leading straight to heaven…down to the kitchen where the rats seemed to be having a feast. In an unthinking moment, I followed.
I was rather sleepy, moving in a food-induced trance, when I reached the bottom step. Damn! A human up too early…I hurried up a rack and inside a box that ssssmelled of old leather, hoping she hadn’t noticed me. Alassss! She called out on the top of her voice for reinfrcementssss.
There were sound of steps running down the stairssss and coming out of the inner room, and lot of shouting, and a bit of maniac giggling…(Some of these humanssss are plain weird!)
Suddenly, the box I was in moved, and I had an odd feeling of having left my stomach behind. I could feel the box sssspinning with me in it as it zoomed into the air and fell on the street outside. I quickly slithered out into darknessss before it was too late. I could hear loud thudssss of stonessss falling around me as I ran into cover. My tail had a scratch, and I wassss still hungry, but at least in one piece, which wassss a miracle considering my stupidity.
I am never going anywhere close to humanssss again. Let those mice take over their mansionssss, eat their food, chomp on their clothessss, bite them in fingerssss…that will really show these stupid humanssss…
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 