An Ode to My Old Friend

 

An Ode To My Old Friend

 

It takes an ‘experience’ like this to realize what it really means when we say we are all a product of our experiences. The more colourful and lively our experiences are, I suppose, the more interesting we can be. But over the last many weeks & now counting in months, once the initial amusement over household chores, virtual meetings, even amusement over the feeling of being jailed within those damn walls and constantly jostling for space with fellow inmates, it finally dawned on me that my life has become pretty monochromatic… oops, that’s an oxymoron, very monochromatic. Even my dreams have become boring nowadays and in black & white - not surprising when our search for variety ends with us looking for perceived differences between zoom, bluejeans, teams, skype, duo, whatsapp, slack and a few more! The real proof of this is that the daily messages that I used to send to friends and family to share experiences is now down to zero – there’s clearly nothing new in washing dishes, mopping floors, nothing new to cook and I unfortunately, can’t even manufacture an experience of a haircut – there’s nothing much left up there.

So here I am at my favourite place (nothing new here as well) in the world, my window and today is a good day to write an ode to a friend, an Old Man I met early in this experience, one who remained loyal throughout this stationary journey, sharing his wealth of wisdom and keeping me sane. Before I found this old but new buddy, I tried a lot, though unsuccessfully to make friends…. first, with the fellow inmates of our jailhouse… while we still exchange some cursory smiles and even a few occasional words that don’t mean much, the moment I move an inch from my window, I get the looks that kind of shout “you are encroaching, don’t you dare come here!”. The youngest inmate even says it in so many words – pleasantries certainly don’t mean much to her. I then tried going back to the walls and the ceiling. We used to have some very interesting conversations in the past but these days, they’ve grown so big, are so vulgarly ‘in your face’ and throw their weight around so much that they are the dreaded white now in my black & white nightmares. I also reached out to my long-forgotten clothes and accessories. The belt, their ringleader, who keeps a tight leash on their girth, wouldn’t buckle and quipped that they’d all rather gather dust than let me wear them down. I tried befriending those dirty utensils as well but they are worse. Like fair weather friends, they let you sob a bit while they get themselves preened and cleaned but run back to their racks and drawers to hibernate till its time again to eat.

That’s when I had chanced upon this Old Man and we took to each other like long lost buddies.

Not surprising because we have a lot of things going for us, in common. In a sea of lively green, jostling for space at the toes, he’s the lone man standing tall but completely lifeless. He’s inanimate, nothing moves him. Of course, just like me, there’s not much at his top to talk about too. We always seem to look in the same direction and silently see the world… remain still. Our similarities though end there.

 

 

The Old Man - Lifeless but much sought after – April 10, ‘20

The Old Man’s got his arms wide open, he’s very welcoming and he always has great company. In fact, it almost seems as if there’s some unwritten schedule that allows visitors to come by at the appointed hour. There’s an effortless sense of order that he seems to command from everyone as long as they are in his vicinity. No one overstays their time. Not much of a talker himself but everyone’s eager to catch his ear.

 

Thoroughly impressed, I silently, through hours of fawning attention, befriended him and spent days in a fascinating stationary journey. First, he tested me with his regular friends and then, once I subjugated myself, he introduced me to his many more interesting friends.

To start with, there are of course the most frequent visitors, the crows, sometimes one but often a mob. They can harass all, from a tiny dragonfly to the queen of these local skies, the eagle. They murder too, in broad daylight. Crows, the Old Man tells me, are creatures of conviction. Their every act, the look, the caw, the flight feels like they know what they want and they will get it.

Then there are my close cousins, the pigeons. They are just the opposite of crows. For them, the world is coming to an end, always tomorrow. They nod in agreement even before you say something. Clearly, they excel in feeling helpless. So, they sit & brood. Watching brooding pigeons is the quickest way to death by boredom.

Parrot in her dandy cloak – May 4, ‘20

There are also the parrots, who mostly, what else but parrot. They get away with that, all thanks to their dandy cloaks. If parrots just parrot, spare a moment of pity for the gregarious common mynas. They live their life trying to mimic the parrots, squawk a lot but don’t make any sense.

 

 

Common Myna – No Cloak but All Dagger Personality - May 4, '20

The difference between mynas and parrots is mostly a matter of hues – between reds and yellows, greens and browns. Mynas obviously have not been endowed with much of a dress sense. Or so I thought…. But the Old Man guided me to look beyond the Myna’s cloak to see a personality that’s just as attractive as the Parrot.

 

The Old Man tells me that he is also visited occasionally by the Cuckoo but strangely never offered an introduction. He’s ultra-protective of her. For a singer of such exceptional quality, the Cuckoo apparently is incredibly shy. She needs a leafy veil to hide behind to let her vocal chords break into a song. I think it was with the cuckoo that I finally won the Old Man’s trust. My willingness to pick song over sight and immerse myself in her music finally made him let his guard down. That very day, the Old Man and I spoke and spoke till late into the evening and I learnt that there’s an entirely differently world around the Old Man that exists in plain sight but invisible. And to see that, one needs to open one’s ears and slowly learn the language of his many friends. And what a world it is!

 

I was first introduced to the now familiar Coppersmith Barbet. She’s quite a charmer and carries herself with the self-assurance of a social butterfly. She’s well-travelled, can hold a conversation on any topic, but none at depth. Happiness is all she wears on herself and no wonder it shows, for she’s quite a head turner. She gets bored in a jiffy and flies off, making almost perfect sinusoidal waves in her flight. Over the past few weeks, she’s become a regular visitor to the Old Man and has, of late, began to notice my keen interest in her. Alas, I suppose, just to put me in my place, the very next day, she brought along a new beau to the party, merrily performing wavy waltzes with him! I got the message and accepted my place in that hot evening sun. Thankfully, the Old Man

Coppersmith Barbet & her new beau – May 11, ‘20

understood my plight and sided with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Red Vented Bulbul Couple – May 2, ‘20

I turn my, this time purely platonic, attention to this middle-aged, good-looking Red Vented Bulbul couple that has outgrown the need for putting in appearances. They always visit the Old Man together, the lady leading the way, take their respective seats at a safe distance from each other and engage simultaneously in independent conversations with the Old Man. Even when they get together fleetingly, they hardly exchange glances. I thought, for a while, that maybe the Old Man has been counselling them into continuing togetherness but I got that completely wrong. I gather they are mates for life and just like any other couple, resigned to permanent companionship, they take cold contemptuous comfort in familiarity. So while they can actually finish each other’s sentences, they prefer prolonged, though not awkward, silences.

 

Magpie-robin - Colorful in black & white - June 5, '20

Oriental magpie-robin – May 16, ‘20

Slowly I now find my ears trained to catch the finer nuances of the Old Man’s guests. The Oriental magpie-robin is endowed with a mellifluous voice. Higher pitched than a cuckoo’s  and sweeter too. The magpie-robin is also someone who can make black and white look colorful. She’s a delight in sight and sound. She’s not shy either. Whenever there is an open invitation to sing, you can count on the magpie-robin to be the first to get to the mike, confident that her voice will hold sway over the audience. Sadly though, a magpie-robin is a wannabe cuckoo that never met a composer. Her sweet voice and raw talent can never beat a cuckoo’s years of meticulous training….. Or so I thought, until the Old Man called for more patience before I announce the winner. As days passed by, I had the good fortune of listening to many back-to-back concerts of the Cuckoo and the Oriental magpie-robin and there’s an interesting contrast between the two. The Cuckoo, the shy one, came out with its first song only after years of training and but that song turned out to be a chart topper. The Cuckoo unfortunately has been cursed by her early success. All of her songs, wonderful no doubt, sound just the same. The magpie-robin, on the other hand, continuously struggles, experiments, an improvises, imbuing along the way a breath-taking repertoire of ragas. She never found popularity, remains ‘unsung’ to this day, but she’s a timeless favourite of the connoisseur.

Common Tailorbird - May 19, '20

The Common Tailorbird must be pretty common, given its name but despite its bright appearances and loud calls, it takes a keen eye, a patient ear and dollops of direction from the Old Man to get to know him. This little man…

Mends some leaves with a delicate stitch,

& makes a nest, with not a glitch,

Plant fibers for thread, beak for a needle,

builds for its littler ones a tiny cosy cradle.

No wonder, he’s referred to as the Darzee in Mr. Kipling’s Jungle Book.

Purple-rumped Sunbird (Female) - May 18, '20

If there were to be a Miss Bandra contest, Miss Purple-rumped Sunbird will be a very strong contender. But, Mr. Sunbird, if he were to participate, will win it hands down! The Sunbirds have no desire to contest, however. Mr Sunbird keeps his best, always at his back but rarely shows that side of his.

Miss Sunbird & her acrobatics – May 31, ‘20

 Unlike the Tailorbird, they don’t go by their name – always avoid the bright sun’s sauna, prefer instead to hide under shady flora. Thanks to the Old Man, I once got a front row seat to their amazing acrobatics, all done to suck their shelter of their nectar.

Mr. Sunbird, always in a hurry – June 6, ‘20

They are busy bees, competing with bees for that honey. Even when they visit the Old Man, it’s like a transit airport stopover with no time for duty free. They stop for no more than a moment.

 

 

 

Scaly-breasted Munia - May 29, '20

Maybe there really is a #MissBandra contest trending right now – the place seems to be buzzing with many potential winners. The Old Man received an unexpected visitor today, the Scaly-breasted Munia. The Munia is a country bumpkin but can give the city-breds a lesson or two in etiquette. The Old Man tells me that Munias originally belonged here but have migrated ages ago, like many other migrants nowadays, on just a wing and a prayer. The Munias have since found strength in numbers and remained in flocks. This lone Scaly-breasted Munia has apparently come to the Old Man with its muffled moans. Its only question - is social distancing mandatory for flocks of Munias? 

 

Greater Coucal - May 2, '20

The Greater Coucal is an angry bird. She’s literally a crow without conviction and a cuckoo without erudition. She’s actually more of a pheasant with ambition – she lived her entire life yearning and learning to fly and all she managed to be is like one of those Wright Brother’s early airplane models. Her flights are short, low, clumsy and each one seems to take a heavy toll on her. She’s never even been able to reach the Old Man to share her plight. The Old Man is too tall for her. Her coat is rusted, her calls are wails, loud but short, her eyes red. The Greater Coucal is an angry bird, period. The Old Man told me that when he was young, her calls were considered bad omens. I noticed that the angry birds’ calls were most frequent a month ago and boy, haven’t we seen some real bad days. She has since fallen quiet. So, are we in for some good tidings?

 

 

 

White Throated Kingfisher – Showing off his whiteness – June 7, ‘20

The onset of showers brought in a new noisy neighbour for the Old Man and me. It seems that the White Throated Kingfisher wakes up every morning and finds his partner missing! Early mornings are now filled with his screeching calls, searching for his partner. He is clearly the brightest dressed out there but never one to show off, taking pains to blend in. His attire, though, is hardly of any help in his desire to attract, for his partner is just as brightly endowed. So all he can do is to show off the whiteness of his white!

If his partner finds that good enough to form a partnership, the well dressed, newlywed couple get busy digging & slinging mud to make a long tunnel for their new home.

 

 

A Majestic Sight Indeed - May 5, '20

I spent days getting to know the Old Man’s friends, wondering how much happens in plain sight but escapes all our attention. The queen of our skies though is hard to ignore. She’s typically all around and above us, with her arms wide open, just like the Old Man, though not very welcoming. She doesn’t have much need for the Old Man too….seemingly. I haven’t seen her visit him much. But as days passed by, I realized that the Old Man is quite simply the seat of the Eagle’s power. The Old Man guides some, sides with some others and chides a few more as he maintains that effortless sense of order and lets the queen take her anointed throne to rule over her subjects.

 

Now you know that I got all this wealth of wisdom from the Old Man by becoming a subject myself. I have had him guide me, side with me but today it is my time to be chided by the Old Man. He said….

 

Its time you forget being a wannabe pigeon,

Or just parrot the Old Man’s wisdom

Its time you become a bit of a busybee,

Not just harp on talent like a magpie

Its time you acquire some courage of conviction

If you tailor your coat

and work on your throat

There’s nectar awaiting those that suck at even ambition!

 

Lesson heard, but unlearnt, with my tail firmly between my legs, the return leg of my stationary journey was swift and uneventful. Back to where I belong, at my window, I discovered new facets in my language – I now can manage a meaningful masked smile, my words to my fellow inmates, for a change, encourage a few more from them and I can even move an arm and a leg from my window seat without protest.

 

 

` The day after.. content from the discovery of a newish me, I go back to the window and check out my old buddy.. and I see this….

My buddy’s stitched a new cloak, there’s quite a lot on his top too and he seems to grow younger with time.

 

The Old Man - No Longer Lifeless - June 7, '20

 

I guess I’ll will wait for my winds of change..