The Story of a Baby Bird

2nd June was my 2nd vax day. After all the confusions, frustrations and endless waiting that we were collectively going through --- was no mean achievement, this one. It did not start very well though. The hospital in which my appointment was at 9 am and where we reached at 8:45 made us wait for about 45 minutes to tell us the vaccines have not arrived yet. In the meantime, a crowd started forming on the footpath in front of the hospital, where the hospital staff threw in like 5 or 6 chairs. Almost like a habit, a queue started forming -- a long one, there was no question of maintaining the any kind of distance. Queuing and crowing to get a  vaccine to prevent the most infectious disease in our history is such an amazingly paradoxical thing to do! And this is one of the fun things that you get to witness in this new world. Do check my little video made with the clippings that I made earlier on.

 

 

Anyway, not being particularly fond of standing in a crowded line for anything, leave alone for this vaccine in the middle of a pandemic, I decided to quit. Just thought of giving a check whether any other vaccine Centers are available nearby. And there was one. This one went relatively smoothly. Though there was some mismanagement there was no crowding .

 

But this blog is not the story of my triumphant vaccination. This one is about a little bird. An Indian Myna. Not the more common one with broad yellow eyeliner, but the one with a little headgear on top of their beak. They are called Jungle Myna, I think. In any case, early in the morning, when the queue was yet to form in front of the first hospital, when the chairs were enough, as no more than five/ six people were waiting for the vaccine (henceforth vaxiniaries) at that time, a Jungle Myna, a baby one, landed on a lady's head.  The lady, being considerably perturbed, offered the chair to the Mayna and decided to take a walk. The bird was either too young to understand that we are a danger to her or had a freeze reaction to danger. It just sat there staring blankly at the make-shift pandal that was set up for the vaxiniaries. A couple of other fully grown Mynas, presumably the parents, started raising a ruckus in the trees nearby. But the baby bird paid no attention to them, sat still on the chair. We vaxiniaries all got interested. I stroked its head a little. An elderly gentleman sitting next to it tried to get the bird to sit on his forefinger. A young girl noticed that a couple of crows that looked suspiciously curious. A small team formed to shoo the crows away. a few minutes passed after which the baby bird finally left the chair to sit on that gentleman's forefinger. Everybody hurriedly started giving opinions about where it should be released. but before a consensus could be formed the baby bird flew to the tree where the parents were.

 

That was the story. It was worth being written about, wasn't it? It is not too small,  too mundane. right? In the time where a terrifying disease is destroying the world we knew, when death and devastation is everyday news, where fear has a firm grip on our collective mind, a set of worried people, with their faces hidden behind layers of clothing, got together to save a bird. Somewhere else in the same city,  young people were risking their lives to arrange oxygen and medication for a sick person who they are going to meet for the first time. In another house, some others were making arrangements for delivering homemade food to some unknown people who are too sick and weak to do it themselves. a child was writing "get well soon" on the food packets. Doctors who caught the virus were fighting hard to stand back on their feet so that they can go straight back to doing what they were doing before they fell sick. These are not trivial events. This is the history of our time in the making. Maybe a change is coming. Maybe this crisis is awakening the natural kindness hidden deep inside of us, maybe it is teaching us about the strength of solidarity, maybe it is making us aware of the deep connection every little being on earth has with each other, making us instinctively want to protect the other who was a stranger to us. 

 

 

Life is thrown off gear a little bit. But that is nothing new. That is the way life is, it gets thrown off gear once in a while. The new thing now is that it has happened to all of us at the same time. We now understand and feel the stranger's pain a lot better, because we are going through it ourselves. Maybe that is what will make us want to broaden our little circles enough to include the whole world in them. Maybe we will, at last, engrave the value of  Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam in the core of our hearts instead of on buildings.  Maybe this will make us want to wish that every little bird survives and be able to fly back to the trees and we do what we can to ensure that it does.

 

 

A Pete Seeger song is stuck in my head for the last few days.

 

There's a time to laugh but there's a time to weep
A time to make a big change
Wake up, you bum, the time has come
To arrange and rearrange and rearrange

 

 

 

THE LETTER

Mrs. Bose can’t remember who this Nandini is. The letter opens with a few ordinary comments and queries ... goes on to talk about a gossip on Nita…how she puts on the extra eyeliner, her hairstyle, her doling on Biren… makes a few philosophical comments about girls of her ‘type’…then a whole paragraph describing her new saree in minutest detail, promising to show it to her as soon as the vacation ends… writes about the latest movie she has seen … ends saying how she hates the vacation, that she misses the college all the friends etc.

Mrs. Bose found the letter in an old songbook where she used to write down the classical songs. She remembers her song teacher distinctly. The tall bearded man always made it a point to close his eyes during songs, whether he himself was singing it or not. Mrs Bose herself was quite a good singer. In fact it is her voice that impressed her mother-in-law, a very strict woman, always had a stern expression in her face.

Mrs. Bose had not seen the songbook in many years. This fell into her hand when she was trying to tidy up the room. She was determined to do it today. She takes a look around. There are cloths all over the place. All of them seem to be unwashed. Newspapers, new and old are lying on the floor and on the writing desk, besides the bottles of medicines in all shapes and sizes. Some of the books in the bookshelf are lying upside down and some others, just piled on one side along with the old magazines. It is on this rack that she found the songbook.

Mrs. Bose looks at the clock. It is almost six. Mr. Bose will soon return from his evening walk. She placed the kettle on the stove and reached out for the teacups. Her knees are making it increasingly difficult to perform these tasks. She decided to rearrange the kitchen too. The tea utensils should be kept at an upper shelf where she would not have to bend down to get them. The other utensils may go to the lower shelf as they are used only by Urmila, the cook maid.

She stopped for a while and sighed. This flat is much bigger than her two-room flat where she lived for more than twenty years. She didn’t even have any maid to help her. But no one could find a trace of dirt there. Even when Ani was a child. Even his toys would have to be kept in the right places when not in use. And Ani was an exceptional child too. She does not remember him arguing with her about anything — candies, extra playtime, not going to school — things that were common with her neighbours’ children. He only used to follow her around clutching her saree and looking at her with his big eyes. She never had to give him an instruction twice.

And she was a perfectionist whether it was household chores or Ani’s studies. She personally took care to check each and every lesson as long as she could. She used to cut herself out even from the family gathering if there was an examination around, much to the disgust of her relatives. She was also a great cook and loved cooking for Ani and his father. And now she does not even feel like going to the kitchen.

Mrs Bose dragged herself to the kitchen to turn the stove off. It seems like Mr. Bose will be late today. Sometime he sits in the park bench to have a chat with his friends. He has made quite a few friends here. Mrs Bose does not even know her neighbours. They seem so different from her earlier neighbours. She never thought she like her earlier neighbours. In fact she was famous for picking up fights and lecturing them. They were jealous of her because of Ani. But she knew them, understood them. She thought she would be happy to leave them. But now she misses them.

Mrs Bose suddenly remembers that she had this habit of keeping old letters. She remembers packing them before moving into this flat two years back. But she can’t remember unpacking them. They must be still lying in the old trunk. She opens the lid with some difficulty. Seems like it has grown heavier. The letters are there, lying in a polythene pack along with some brass utensils she used to utilise for pujas. She pushes off some of the newspapers from the sofa and empties the pack there. Most of the letters are from Chandra, her best friend at college. There are a few letters from her school friends too, mostly concerning about studies. Some of the most cherished letters are from her mother advising her on the duties of a good wife and mother, along with household and cooking tips. She still remembers most of them by heart. She used to read them over and again when she received them. She tries to arrange the letters chronologically though many of them do not have a date on them. The most ancient letter seems to be the one from her grandfather from Ranchi. The letter was mingled with a lot of small drawings, that of her cat ‘barababu’, the new frock he bought for her for the puja, the new spectacles of grandmother.

This Nandini seems to be a friend from the college. She found another letter from her in the pack. She remembers Nita, she was in the same college as well as the same neighbourhood. She remembers Biren too, though she never saw him. He only existed in the college gossip. She remembers Rupa, Basanti, Chitra, the gossips, the college canteen, the building, most of the classrooms, the functions, the songs, the laughter, the tears but not Nandini. It is clear from the letter that they were close friends. Why can’t she remember her? A tear rolls down Mrs Bose’s chick, this is happening very often these days. She often feels like crying for no apparent reasons. These tears baffle her. She tires to think of her college days. Where did these moments go? She doesn’t have any contact with any of the friends. She wonders what Chandra looks like now. Suddenly a fear creeps into her mind. She prays to God for her well being. At one time it seemed like her friendship with Chandra would be everlasting. But she lost contact with her almost as soon as she got married.

She started sobbing. Ani never wrote her any letter. But, he calls her twice a week. There has not been any exception to that in all these years. He called yesterday only. They had a long conversation. He enquired about her health, whether she was taking the medicines regularly. They talked about the weather in Calcutta and Connecticut. Her heart swelled with pride to know that his article on some complicated economic issues was adjudged the best by most college professors. Ani never let her down. He was always the best in whatever he did. His voice on the phone makes her fill with joy, takes her out of the dirty room and all her ailments. But these conversations cannot be placed in a polythene pack to look at later on. As soon as she puts the phone down they are gone. And she has to wait for the next phone call. But then, she thought, it gives her something to look forward to. The only thing really. She tried to read some more letters. But her eyes were getting misty. She still can’t remember Nandini.