More On Happiness…

End

Happy And Sad

Was on my morning walk around the park.

Taking in the world up, yawning and cracking its knuckles.

The scene carried from yesterday, the day before…

failing miserably to get me down.

All the same, breaths laboured, carefully counting,

for the toil to finish.

Saw him a few feet ahead crossing the road

and coming my way.

A small withered body on a pair of purposeful legs.

A rag picker, clutching an out-sized sack thrown over his shoulders.

Heads down on the sidewalk,

not eying for more, content with the bounty.

The early bird had got the worms.

I took out from my pocket

a couple of tenners kept handy.

What ever happened to those twenties in orange?

When he came alongside, stride not broken,

lost in thoughts,

it was ditto with thoughts too…in other minds.

I gently tapped on his bony shoulders.

A couple of fogged but alert eyes looked up

from under bushy brows.

Concerned and it was not the constabulary…

Wordlessly I shoved the notes, worn but good

into his knobbly hand

that had not lifted up a wee bit.

I walked away suffused with goodness.

Happy moments. Why, verry…

Looking at and back was distasteful, I thought.

A few paces ahead, heard someone sobbing.

Looked around and found none.

Finally, I could figure out.

Confined in my pocket,

it was the fifty…for losing out

to its mates, mere tenners.

End

An Easy Escape

…when too bored with nothing to do or too overwhelmed with things to do. That’s when I escape…bring up an image and let it run my mind, filling up all its corners. Like the familiar picture challenge. But with no pressure on the theme, the style, word-count….

Is this a kind of meditation? An exercise in creativity? Well, all I know it helps me get over the ennui.

Two images that worked on me recently:

Image 1

(Vide S Mani)

Sun-worshippers ready to greet their God?

Or, some jumbo brooms to steer the clouds coming in the way?

Some punk-heads on a trip?

Giant brushes ready to paint the sky above?

Enthusiasts cheering up from their seats in a football match?

Image 2

A shot sent to me a couple of days ago taken from inside at a resort in Gir Forest, a lion sanctuary.

The first thing that struck was the room attendant must be one sloppy guy to leave the glasses the way they are.    

Then a thought…what would be an arrangement most pleasing to the eyes??

Mmmmmmmm….obviously irregular, not in a neat line…some shelves with 2 or 3 glasses…

How should the glasses carve up the scene beyond?

Incidentally, is this “looking at the world with colored glasses?”

Try it sometime handing yourself over to a picture!!

End

To Dear S

**

Its evening… the phone rings.

I rush to check.

Am ready with ‘Nanragha irukken, nee?’ (am fine, you?)

To your ‘Eppadi irukke?’ (how’re you?)

But it isn’t you.

Has been over a month now😟

**

Was it something I said last?

But we never raise our voice with each other.

Have you gone away to your son in US?

That, you had not mentioned.

Your phone not working?

Ah, that must be it!

**

Feeling too drained to talk?

Pumping out every third day,

I would be, too..

But you were always back to gupp:

CMC, Gupta, Alok, Sampat…

Did it matter we done it before?

**

A link I cling onto precariously,

all the way back to school!

Bringing a few moments

of comfort and warmth and a smile,

like a cool breeze…to a care-worn present,

making it worth the while.

**

What if you didn’t call?

What’s between us?

Well, I should as well be,

and call I will for sure.

But I know…

Dear S, what was the hurry?😟😟

End

Sent from Yahoo Mail on Android

Musings Of An Idle Philosopher

**

**

End

The Dawn Of Data Abstraction – a short story!

The plan was to write a story for kids. But it didn’t turn out that wayL

Here it is:

**

There was once this King who was proud his subjects were righteous. They would not tell lies.

Every night along with his minister he would make rounds of the city hiding their identity. If he caught red-handed anyone telling a lie he would reveal himself and fine the fellow on the spot for 5 silver pieces.

One night, while on their round, they rested under a tree and opened their packet of snacks for a bite. Nearby a street-side vegetable seller was winding up his daily business. Perhaps it was not a good day for him – his basket was heavy with unsold stuff and he struggled to lift it up and carry on his head.  On a cue from the King, the minister went up to him:

‘Periyavare vaarum (join us, Sir), have some snacks with us before going home. You look tired. Later, we’ll help you with the basket.’

Seeing it as the only thing going right for him this day, without a demur, he followed the minister. Sitting beside them he gratefully took the share offered to him.

The King engaged him:

‘Sir, may I ask how old are you? At your age, you ought to be resting at home and send your son instead to the market.’

‘I may be appearing to you older than I’m actually. Am forty.’

‘Sir, why not get your kids to help you out instead of straining yourself thus?’

‘Well, I’ve a son. He works for a weaver. ‘With this alone’, he said pointing to the basket, ‘we can’t make ends meet.’

‘I understand. Selling in the market is always an uncertain proposition.’

Some more talk, inane and they were done with the snacks; the King was ready to move on. The minister helped the man with his basket.  And they went their ways.

**

The following day, the King’s men came looking for him.  They said the King had asked them to bring him to his royal court. No reasons were given.

What did he do wrong? He was absolutely clueless. A law-abiding citizen. No altercations ever with the authorities…With great difficulty he steadied himself from shaking like a freshly sheared sheep on a cold night, he accompanied the soldiers to the palace.

So there he was standing before the King. Fixing his gaze on the royal person, the face somehow seemed familiar. In fact he had seen the lord of the land only once or twice in all his life and that too from a distance – sinning on exaggeration this once – halfway to the moon. While he was furiously and futilely rummaging his memories, the King addressed him:

‘Sir, may I ask how old are you? At your age, you ought to be resting at home and send your son instead to the market.’

The penny finally dropped. So it was…he managed to catch his breath to mumble:

‘Am forty.’

‘How many children you have?’

‘One son…’

‘…who works for a weaver as you cannot make ends meet only selling vegetables?’ the King filled in.

His response was but a weak nod.

There was a brief silence.

The King turned to his minister and asked more for drama than data: ‘How much fine do we levy for a lie told?’

‘Five silver pieces, my lord,’ he said.

‘Please collect fifteen silver pieces from this man,’ the King pronounced.

**

The man was at once shocked and dismayed as was the rest of the royal court. Fifteen pieces of silver was heavy upon him.

The stern-faced King permitting a hint of smile ordered his minister to explain.

Thereupon the minister gave an account of their chance meeting with the man, the previous evening.

He further informed: ‘Our majesty felt something was not sounding right with this man. So men were sent this morning to his neighborhood and inquiries were made discreetly. Checking with multiple sources, it was confirmed this man had lied on all three counts. Hence, the fine.’

So this was it – the vegetable seller breathed easy for the first time ever since he was accosted by the king’s men this morning!  

The minister continued: ‘We learnt this man was fifty years in age. Two old ladies in the neighborhood clearly remember his first birthday anniversary celebrations. It was the year of grand kumba-abishekam at the local temple, an unforgettable once-in-a life-time event for folks around here. Next, this man has fathered three children. Not just one as he claimed. And finally – this required some digging – he is not a man of meager means as projected, but a man of some affluence making contributions anonymously to several charities and temples. These were his three lies that stand exposed now. Though not relevant to the case and hence we let it go, the man has had a ‘colorful’ youth, the ladies aver.’

Now all eyes were on him saying ‘What now? Go and pay the fine, thanking your stars it did not get any worse. And we all can go and attend to other matters.’

**

The man, standing on stiffer legs now, looked up to the King and said: ‘My lord, I seek your indulgence…What I said to you were not lies, it was but truth…’

His patience wearing out thin visibly, the King admonished him: ‘There you go again with another lie. For this you’ll pay another five silver pieces.’

The man continued with his plea: ‘My lord, there’s none in this land known to be more fair-minded than you. All I ask for…I can explain in a couple of minutes.’

A half nod from a somewhat mollified King was all he needed.

“As I was saying, I wasn’t telling lies, it was the truth, but by parts…When I met you yesterday, I guessed right away I was talking to a couple of noble men, wise, to whom perspectives would be more interesting than tedious particulars especially in casual chats.

Yes, I said I am forty. Reason? Being the fourth child never missed by the family – I’ve no shame in admitting to this – I went absolutely wayward emerging from adolescence into adulthood, barely staying out of long reach of law.  Steadied myself only when I was in my thirties. I usually discount those years, about ten, of my life. That is my perspective on age.  

During those years I did make some easy money that should let me spend my remaining years in reasonable comfort. But my conscience, reformed, would not allow…So I set it aside to be given away for public good – those funds are nearly exhausted now – and work hard to earn my living. You saw it with your own eyes yesterday, my lord. And you so generously offered me a share of the snacks you had carried. I readily took it so I could give up on my share of the dinner later in the evening to my son and wife, and not so much because I was hungry then. Of course what my son brings home at the end of the day does provide some relief.

And lastly, yes, I have three sons. Unfortunately the other two have walked out of the house to live life on their own terms that I strongly disapproved. My wife and I hope they mend their ways like I did and return to us before long. As of now I don’t count them in; I’ve one son living with us and sharing our troubles day in and day out.

I repeat it’s my belief, to the wise, in certain contexts, perspectives are more interesting than particulars.

I’ve said what I wanted to. Now I appeal to our merciful lord to kindly spare me from paying the heavy fine and…”

 **

He had left the wise King with no choice!

**

End

Source: It is based on a chance viewing of a parable narrated as opening remarks by an anchor in a political show on a Pak TV channel captured and presented by Raj TV!!

Two Tiny Tales From Africa (For Kids)

The Story Of The Three Runners

In the days when whites ruled South Africa and apartheid was the law of the land, two middle-aged blacks met in a whites only section of Johannesburg. One of them had a permit to work in the area, the other did not. This meant he could be put behind bars for trespassing into an exclusive zone.

Suddenly they saw a policeman coming towards them, and froze. “Run!” whispered the man with the permit to his friend. “I’ll follow.”

They started running and the policeman shouting “Stop, stop,” began chasing them.

Finally he caught the second man.

“Did you think you could outrun me!” he snarled. “Show me your permit!”

The man, playing for time, began fumbling in his pocket and finally produced his permit.

The policeman was taken aback. He realized that he had been tricked. The man without the permit was now too far away to be caught.

“When you had a permit why did you run!” he bawled.

“Doctor’s orders,” said the man. “He has asked me to run a mile every evening.”

“Oh, yes?” sneered the policeman. “Then why was your friend running?”

“His doctor too has ordered him to run,” said the man.

The policeman became red with anger.

“You think you’re very smart, don’t you?” he snarled. “But tell me, if you were only running for your health why didn’t you stop when you saw me running after you? And don’t tell me you didn’t see me chasing you… I know you did!”

“Of course I knew you were running after me,” said the man.

“Then why didn’t you stop?” asked the policeman, triumphantly.

“It was stupid of me,” said the man, “but I thought you too had been ordered to run by your doctor.”

**

The Story of The Royal Servant

The King of Kamera in Africa was a proud and stern man, feared by all his subjects.

One day while sitting in his mud palace, surrounded by fawning courtiers and watched by a multitude of people who had come to see him, he was suddenly overcome by a sense of grandeur and loudly declared that he was master of the world and that all men were his servants.

“You are mistaken,” said a frail voice. “All men are servants of one another.”

A deathly silence followed the remark. The blood froze in the veins of the people assembled there. Then the king exploded in anger.

“Who said that!” he demanded, rising from the royal stool. “Who dares suggest that I am a servant!!”

“I do,” said a voice in the crowd, and the people parted to reveal a white-haired old man, leaning heavily on a stout stick.

“Who are you?” asked the king.

“I am Boubakar,” said the man. “We have no water in our village. I have come to ask for a well to be dug there.”

“So you are a beggar!” roared the king, striding down to where the man stood. “Yet you have the temerity to call me a servant!”

“We all serve one another,” said Boubakar, showing no fear, “and I will prove it to you before nightfall.”

“Do that,” said the monarch. “Force me to wait on you. If you can do that I will have not one but three wells dug in your village. But if you fail, you’ll lose your head!”

“In our village,” said the old man, “when we accept a challenge, we touch the person’s feet. Let me touch your feet. Hold my stick.”

The king took the stick and the old man bent down and touched the monarch’s feet.

“Now you may give it back to me,” he said, straightening up. The king gave him back his stick.

“Do you want any more proof?” asked Boubakar.

“Proof?” asked the king, bewildered.

“You held my stick when I asked you to and gave it back to me when I asked you for it,” said the old man. “As I said, all good men are servants of one another.”

The king was so pleased with the Boubakar’s wit and daring that he not only had wells dug in his village but also retained him as an adviser.

End

Source: english-for-students

What Women Really Want….

Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him, but was moved by Arthur’s youth and ideals. So the monarch offered him freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer; if, after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.

The question: What do women really want?

Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and, to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch’s proposition to have an answer by year’s end. 

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everybody: the princess, the prostitutes, the priests, the wise men, the court jester.  He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer.  Many people advised him to consult the old witch — only she would know the answer. 

The price would be high; the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no alternative but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer his question, but he’d have to accept her price first: The old witch wanted to marry Gawain, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur’s closest friend!

Young Arthur was horrified: She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises … etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature. He refused to force his friend to marry her and have to endure such a burden.

Gawain, upon learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He told him that nothing was too big a sacrifice compared to Arthur’s life and the preservation of the Round Table. Hence, their wedding was proclaimed, and the witch answered Arthur’s question thus:

What a woman really wants is to be in charge of her own life.

Everyone instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur’s life would be spared. And so it was. The neighboring monarch granted Arthur total freedom.

What a wedding Gawain and the witch had! Arthur was torn between relief and anguish. Gawain was proper as always, gentle and courteous.  The old witch put her worst manners on display, and generally made everyone very uncomfortable.

The honeymoon hour approached. Gawain, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But what a sight awaited him! The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen lay before him! The astounded Gawain asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she’d appeared as a witch, she would henceforth be her horrible, deformed self half the time, and the other half, she would be her beautiful maiden self. Which would he want her to be during the day, and which during the night? 

What a cruel question! Gawain pondered his predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his home, an old witch? Or would he prefer having by day a hideous witch, but by night a beautiful woman with whom to enjoy many intimate moments?

Noble Gawain replied that he would let her choose for herself.

Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time, her real self, because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.

End

Source: wowzone.com/women.htm.

Image from here.

Apocryphal, I would think. There’s an Indian version of the story too attributed to King Harshavardana.

Tenali Raman Shines Again – A Folk Tale For Kids

Once, Tenali Raman was permitted by his king Krishna Deva Raya ruling the renowned Vijayanagar Empire (VE) to visit the kingdom of Gajapati’s of Odisha at the request of the latter. On his way back, he broke his journey at Rampur, a small state with friendly relations with the VE.

After reaching the palace, he realized his visit was a little mistimed on learning about the recen happenings in the state.

*

The chieftain of the state was, for a month now, unfortunately down with an ailment – a painful stomach ache – that proved incurable till date. The prime minister of the state had organized experts in various different systems of medicine from all over the state and outside to come down and treat his master. With all efforts to no avail he was at his wit’s end on the next steps. It was then he heard about the arrival of a yogi from deep south on his way to Kashi. The yogi was reputed to have performed some incredible feats through his yogic powers. Where formal medicines have failed, maybe he could help. So the minister with the consent of his chief went ahead and made arrangements for the yogi to visit the palace and examine the patient.

The yogi on arrival was received with due honour and taken to the living quarters of the chieftain.  In the presence of the prime minister, the royal priest and the royal vaidya (doctor) he thoroughly examined the patient. When he was done, he turned to the vaidya and asked for some common herbs to be brought. Mixing honey, he pestled the ingredients into a gooey paste. Gesturing the two to silence, he sat down and for some good ten minutes chanted some esoteric mantra’s invoking Agni, the god of fire, keeping the paste in a shallow dish in front. Done, he handed over the dish to the vaidya for use.

And taking the prime minister aside he asked in a low voice:

‘Sir, speak truthfully, just between us when did you utter a lie, a lie of any kind, last?’

The minister was taken aback at the question so suddenly sprung on him. Recovering his poise, he said a little abashedly, ‘Yesterday, night, to my lady…before we went to sleep.’

The yogi wanted him to continue.

‘My wife has been pestering me for quite some time to get her a necklace like the one worn by our queen during last Dussehra (festival). I bought peace with a promise I’ll get one before the next Dussehra though I’ve no idea or the means on how to; and yesterday night I had to repeat myself when she brought it up.’

The yogi smiled.

Moving on to the vaidya he asked the same question. The vaidya too unprepared. He collected himself and confessed many a time he had given placebos to patients in the name of medicines though it did prove beneficial in number of cases. Would that be considered as lying?

The priest admitted to not being truthful when in his zeal he blessed devotees with aayush (longevity of life), arogyam (health) and aishwaryam (wealth) though it was in no way within his means to deliver or ensure the same, instead of praying for the same to the almighty on their behalf. Misrepresentation, right, was he lying?

Addressing them, he said: ‘this medicine is now invested with the power of agni to burn his ailment; giving three spoonful’s at one shot would cure him of the illness. Next morning he should up and about. But for now let it stand under the hot sun for a couple of hours before using it.’

In just three spoonful’s the stubborn ache gone? So potent? Incredible! They were visibly overjoyed.

The yogi continued: ‘Not so soon…there’s a condition, not easy to satisfy. It must be given to the chieftain only by someone who doesn’t speak a lie at all for any reason, good or bad. Anyone who does not qualify and yet tries to administer the medicine, would face intense heat of agni first and if he persists he would be burnt alive. So be very careful who you chose. Also remember the medicine would lose its potency in about three days from today- ah, wear this kappu (amulet) around your wrist and you’ll not come to any harm handling the medicine. Of course it won’t still let you…’

Nothing more to do, the Yogi took leave to continue his journey.

*

The inner council got down to the job immediately – they knew it was not going to be easy to find such a soul if there was one at all in mere three days. They brainstormed on how to go about. All kinds of ideas were thrown up, nothing appeared promising. Drawing a blank, they finally decided to broadcast a message right away covering all parts of the state inviting anyone who thought he qualified with a promise of a rich reward for the right man.  

So criers were dispatched expeditiously in all directions with the message however without disclosing the details of the sickness their chieftain was suffering from for the fear of demoralizing the entire populace.

In the following two days about fifty people, young and old, men and women turned up. There was no way the officials could check on their claims except lead them directly to handle the medicine set on a table a few feet away from the patient’s bed. No surprise not one of them could go near the table without getting badly singed.

Third day morning, the priest, the prime minister and the vaidya got together to contemplate their next move; and there was no next move they could think of. End of road. It was precisely at this moment of utter despondency, Raman landed at the palace.

*

Raman heard intently as they narrated to him all about the stricken chieftain, their efforts and finally the yogi’s prescription and the impossible challenge for them.

They were disappointed when all Raman said was he wanted to rest for a while and come back to join them.  His reputation had led them to expect much more.

Anyway, they sent an attendant to take Raman to his quarters, make him comfortable and stay with him to attend to his needs.

It was after lunch. They had resigned to the inevitable. The attendant came running.

‘Why, what happened?’ the minister inquired listlessly.

‘Sirs, an hour ago, sahib came out and spent time talking to the palace guards – about six or seven – one at a time in the gardens. He finally settled on our Ratna, the tall guy with a handlebar moustache, you know. When he finally parted, I overheard him tell Ratna to go home and get his son within the next hour without fail. When the latter hesitated about leaving his post without permission, sahib assured him it was alright, it was for the good of his master and the state and he would personally vouch for him. Don’t know what had transpired between them. Couldn’t talk to Ratna either as he had left for home to fetch his son.’

‘Intriguing! He has asked for Ratna’s son, and he assured him it is for the good of his master…at this time, I’m sure he’s as serious and concerned as we are and not engaged in any frivolous caper, so what’s going on here?’ the minister thought loudly.

‘I agree,’ the vaidya chimed in.

‘I think I got it,’ suddenly the priest jumped in excitement and ran to the gardens at the back.  In a few minutes he returned.

‘I have spoken to Ananta, the short stocky guy, and asked him to get his son here right away. He’ll be here anytime now.’

‘Care to tell us what’s happening? A children’s party for god sake?’ the tired minister shook his head.

‘Arre ram, don’t you see, we were stupid to go through all that…’

The other two were not amused by that bit of inclusive self-deprecation.

‘You know, Ananta’s son is about four years old. Would he know what lying is?’

The ‘penny’ dropped.

‘Great, simply brilliant,’ exclaimed the minister. ‘We’ve cracked it.’

The priest let go – this wasn’t the time to contest the collective ownership and credit for the solution.

Shortly Ananta came in with Veeru, his son. The child looked a little scared at all the attention he was getting suddenly.

The priest explained to the father what needed to be done and the father made it easy for the child. All the child had to do is to take the dish on the table, walk up to the bed and feed the willing man a spoonful of the paste. Just like his mom fed him over dinner. Likewise two more spoonful’s. As simple as that. Ananta made it a fun thing for the child – imagine a child feeding a grownup. Yes, it would be fun – Veeru perked up.

No sooner the child neared the patient with the dish carefully held in his hands, he shrieked and stepped back in horror. What had happened? It was like getting too close to fire, intolerably uncomfortable.

With great difficulty they coaxed the child to try once again. The second round was even shorter.

The four of them could not figure out what was happening. There was no question of a third round.

*

Just then Raman walked in with Ratna and his kid Sambu. One look at them, the unhappy Veeru almost in tears and his own crest-fallen attendant told him everything. Disregarding it for the present, he explained to Sambu what needed to be done.

With no fuss, the child did just as instructed within a couple of minutes! The chieftain took the spoonful’s and almost immediately fell into deep sleep, his snoring could be heard from where they stood.

They were nonplussed except for Raman.

The children were sent away with their father packets of candies for their efforts.

The looked at Raman.

Raman explained: ‘So this guy,’ pointing to the attendant, ‘was snooping on me, eh? Anyway, don’t you worry, no harm done. Well, it is right no child at that age knows what is truth and what is not. Whatever he sees or hears is the truth, the reality for him. There is a ‘but’ to it. If the child comes from an unhappy home, suffering at the hands of parents who are strict, impatient or even given to violence, the child begins to speak lies simply to escape from punishment. You should have checked like I did before bringing the child in.’

Next morning, Raman was seen off with generous gifts by a grateful and fit chieftain though a little sad his guest did not extend his stay despite his request.

End

Image from goodreads.com

Mumbai’s Homeless (For Kids)

In Mumbai, when it rains it usually pours.

This time it is happening metaphorically too.

Just when we are coping up with this Covid-19 lock-down seriously impacting everyone’s personal, professional and social lives, there were these reports coming in of imminent invasion of the city by some zillion locusts, advising us to hermetically secure our residences and stay indoors until it passes away. Fortunately it did not happen as feared – the pests seemed to have lost their way or perished in their march.

Barely a few days later, now the Met Department suddenly came up with the announcement of a cyclonic storm deciding to visit Mumbai proper in the next couple of days. Heavy rains, yes, cyclones, never in this city for as long as I could remember.  High wind-speeds and heavy rains were predicted. We were advised to stay indoors which we were anyways doing with the lock-down in force; and, alerted to the possibility of disruptions in power, water, essential supplies and what else – we didn’t know.  

When it came, the cyclone had mercifully changed its mind choosing a course to the south of the city. Did cause loss of lives and damage to property in its wake though not as badly as feared, quickly dissipating itself over the land. In the city, if the clips are to be believed, rains had lashed certain parts turning some streets into mini rivers, utensils and clothes sent flying in some high-rise buildings…On our street the tall coconut trees swayed crazily. In our own complex, three or four Ashoka trees, young, tall and slender, no longer able to keep their heads high, bowed down touching the walls on the inside. Surprisingly the neem tree, also young and slender, stood up well.

All in all, no serious damage done, no disruptions of utilities, we, lodged safely in our houses – except for a vague and a nagging thought not asserting itself strongly enough yet to cause loss of sleep.

**

So here I was on the following day into my midday nap. A blissful escape – for, a man at my age can only take so much of not-so-amusing series of nature’s capers.

And then just when god and everything else seemed to be in their place and peace reigned, well, it was not to be.    

A persistent…rrrr…rrrr….rrrr…that refused to go away, loud and strident sure to wake up a hibernating animal in mid polar winter.

 Man had taken the baton over from nature, it looked.  

I woke me up with a humour not unlike of a man tapping on the back of a mama bear in the forest and asking it to shush its bawling cub.

It must be from the accursed neighbour’s flat across the street, I suspected. For some 6 to 8 weeks, they – mason, carpenter, painter, plumber…were making such a racket every day from morning to until late evening. Appeared to be doing some major make-over. And then the lock-down came about restoring the tranquil. So it was mercifully for several weeks until partial lifting of the lock-down was announced and today they must have returned to continue with their mayhem and murder. Don’t know how it is elsewhere, but here in our country the building and repairs industry is one of the worst offenders guilty of high-decibel noise pollution and quite unconcerned about the same.

Got up to find out what was happening…and a target for my ire.

It was the municipal staff, arranged by the quick-thinking secretary of the complex, sawing off the precariously bent-down sections of the Ashoka trees. Like decapitation on execution blocks in medieval times.

Uncovered by the branches lopped away, a crow’s nest showed up on the neem tree, now open to the elements.

Suddenly the nagging thought surfaced and struck me.

It’ll be several months before the trees grow again from the stumps they’re cut to now. Sawed off it had to be, only I wish it was done a little higher up on the trunk leaving some foliage as leafy cover for the birds. May be it was considered and found not feasible.

With their homes gone here and now, where would the sparrows rest, sleep and breed?

The only comforting thought is: it had happened before and they survived. Fervently hoping they tide over it once again. Though didn’t hear them chirp two mornings last:-(

End

Image: Jayashree Kulkarni,‎ House Sparrow Waraje, Pune Dec – 19