If science could grow wings!
Why shouldn't it!
I was watching this bird, a pigeon who laid eggs on our balcony. I don't know why they keep coming back. They just love our balconies infact all four of them with a ledge. They are small and not so easily accessible. Almost each balcony has hosted one to two set of pigeon lays with the quota of dirt and pigeon crap.
Today while enjoying a Saturday to myself I came out to find a ruckus. The sheer curtains were closed to the sunlight and I could see only silhouettes. When it didn't stop, I thought of checking. There was a crow waiting and the piegon sitting there trying to protect its prodigy.
Like an idiot I shoo-ed the crow away rather than taking a video of this act. Being a spectator with a camera has always been easier. I especially keep recording memories, moments and keepsakes. Even the most weird moments, love to record embarrassing moments of people to have laughs in future. I feel am creating a video of our lives which we can watch in our old age. The laugher, the dreams and the moments captured forever.
So anyways I should have recorded the pigeon saving his kids - one small bird and one egg. But like a good Samaritan I decided to act and flew the crow away. I wonder why the egg hasn't opened till now. It's been atleast a week for its sibling's birth. It can't be so late. Oh! Is it a dead baby probably a dead foetus. Only if life was easy. And happiness was just a baby away. The joy of holding a child.
I have discouraged these girls many a time but they keep coming. Even with the net covering doesn't bother then. Once a bird got caught in the net and died. Since then I worry that they will come inside and won't get out. I don't want to kill any bird. But that's what happened. On Holi morning one pigeon got stuck in the balcony and unknowingly when someone opened the door it flew inside the house and cut itself on the fan. There was blood on the floor, on the wall, on the window ledge. I wanted to take it to the vet. But it flew away. The same evening the mother took its baby and egg too. I felt sorry and I if I could I would apologise and take care of them. Will they come back? I didn't want yo hurt. Why do they keep coming back? Why can't they get it that this is a trap. You can come inside but you can never get out. You will die there.
When they were there I used to watch the baby bird and the egg. He used to get hassled in harsh sun light when I came to see. Not because I brought the Sun, but it's mother left him alone whenever she saw me. So I started watching it from behind the sheer. In the mornings, I used to feed it boiled rice, just spread it, hoping it will eat. But probably he was too small unable to chew or nibble. The little baby bird was bony and black with a thin layering of yellow hair. I wondered if this is what wings are made of. Then I looked at the pigeon mother, what a rich layer of shades of grey feathers. The shade so beautiful, so soft yet so strong. A subtle camouflage in the grey concrete city.
The interesting thing is that these birds are born with these feathers. Their body produces these feathers. If only science could research what it is and give us the same gene as serum in injections. Then we would grow wings too. Sort of mutants. To know how to fly, to jump from the window, into the sky. Just fly away in easy clothes. No coats or pants, a night suit or a nice flowy dress like Alladin and Jasmine.
Have you wondered why are the wings placed under your face just next to the mouth, on both left and right sides, why not front and back or around in 365 degree. I figured the answer. You see your mouth is where the wings swoosh the wind and with an Aaaaah you can taste the chilling wind in your mouth. And it's delicious, the joy of flying, taste of freedom.
Not in AC cars, bikes or aeroplains but plain flying in the sky. And then one day you just die while flying. Over the sea, flying and flying and then just stop, descending slowly, swaying in the wind, landing on the surface of the ocean, sinking in the water, a soft blanket wrapping me softly, the tired and sleepy.
Happy to die, if the Death is so pretty!