Dec 1, 2009

Death before breakfast

Several weeks ago a pigeon found a way to build a nest in my balcony. In a couple of days I saw it had laid two eggs. Chasing it out of course was not an option and for a week or two I tiptoed around the nest and one fine morning saw the eggs hatched and two little pigeons very helpless living in my balcony.

I wish the story ended there.

Few mornings later I opened the balcony screen to a bloody scene - I shot but a glance, still enough for an indelible image of two wings broken brutally and blood splattered all over the white tiles and what could be the left over mangled remains. Much later, with no guts to go there, I asked my driver to help me. He called to ask me what to do with the other one; turns out one was alive. I asked him to leave it on a safe tree somewhere below - my mind dwelling on the horrors the other pigeon must have gone through - how it must have been filled with terror all night that the brutal assailant might come back. It must have been a cat - I have always hated cats with their cruel cruel eyes.

My driver looked pityingly at me, after cleaning and dutifully depositing the pigeon on a tree, almost smiled and said pigeon blood is good for those suffering from epilepsy, his village upbringing mocking my city-bred urbane sensitivity.

In some ways he is right - while superimposing my human emotions on the remaining pigeon and dwelling on its misery, what I really failed to see was the remaining pigeon was alive despite being an easy prey.



That thought made dinner possible that day and makes this blog writable.

December 01, 2009