Comfortably Numb

Sheila Kumar's Storehouse

Published on: 08/1/17 2:27 PM

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Feature: Crows, a love story

                                              

                                           Crows, a love story

 

 

They come together every day, around 1 pm. They fly to the Tree that Bears Yellow Flowers when in Bloom, the tree which encroaches boldly and delightfully onto my balcony, settle themselves on the one chosen branch and sit there calmly, peacefully for about an hour. Nary a croak out of them, would you believe it. Then they fly away, without any fuss.

Indeed a pair to pique anyone`s curiosity. I started to watch them inspite of myself because, truth to tell,  I’m no fan of crows. But it has been over a month now, and I’m becoming quite fond  of these two, my two.

They are about the same size. One has a glossier coat but both look healthy. Both have gleaming eyes but here`s the thing: their eyes lack the darting quicksilver curiosity usually found in crows. These two clearly love each other`s company.

They sit and commune silently in their set timespan. The only time they look up, alert, is when I try a stealthy approach to click a better snapshot of them. They hate being photographed; a guilty air steals over them the moment I train a lens on them.

And with my curiosity piqued, with my early afternoons spent watching them, my imagination, too, is slowly unfurling. Just what is their backstory? Why are they thus inseparable?

Are they mother and daughter? Has the younger one eloped with the roué of their neighbourhood and thus put herself beyond the family pale, the community pale? Is the mother sneaking off every day to meet her, spend some time in her daughter`s company? Will she get into trouble if her partner, the father of the younger crow, finds out about this clandestine tryst?

Are they lovers in a settled romance? Because  they seem to be very fond of each other. They look at the same things together. One of them looks into the middle distance, and the other one immediately follows suit.

I catch them stealing sidelong glances at each other. Once in a while, one reaches out and lovingly nibbles at the soft feathers on the other`s neck, their form of nuzzling perhaps. If they are lovers, they are ideal lovers because they seem to celebrate each other`s company in silence.

Perhaps they are therapist and client. Once every few days, I watch what clearly looks to be a cheering-up process in motion. One of them, always the same one, I have observed, sits in a sort of sunken apathy, then tucks its head into its chest, and stays that way for a longish while.

The other one steals concerned looks, then gently tries to prise its companion`s head back up. When the affected one seems bereft of all energy to sit up straight, the first one settles its head on the depressed one`s shoulder, seemingly comforting with touch, and thus they huddle together.

After a bit, the one in low spirits seems to regain some of its equilibrium, and the two move apart and look about them once again.

Or, and this seems more and more plausible as I crow-watch, they could be friends of a certain age. Done with all the excitement of their younger lives, the raucous chatter, the crazed directionless flying, the territorial squabbles, the kleptomania, they now meet every day to just sit by each other quietly, watch things happen around and below them in the afternoon haze, conduct a mind- to- mind discourse perhaps, then go their own way.

Are they siblings? Since they now live quite some distance  away from each other, since their family home has been taken over by others, since they really cannot stand each other`s partners, maybe they meet in solidarity, reassure themselves of their deep bonds, and depart, to live their separate lives.

Community elders who have found their Zen space. Petty criminals out on daily parole. These two could be a lot of things. What they cannot be, though, is teacher and student. Because no lessons are imparted that I can see, in this hour-long interlude.

They cannot be the local gossips, either. Because, these two chew the fat, if indeed that is what they do, in complete silence.

They cannot be on a date. Because then, it would qualify for the dullest date ever. Think about it: same place, same time, no outside stimulation, no overt coochie-cooing, nothing to eat or drink.

My crows are really a pair quite unlike any other crows.

Featured image pic by Ajay A Ghatage.

a pair of crowscrow-watchingcrowscrows on a tree

Sheila Kumar • August 1, 2017


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  1. LK August 1, 2017 - 2:43 pm Reply

    Fabulous tale! Love all your theories! Me, I like the parole!

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