So here I was, waking up today morning to find out that the unusually hard pillow was actually Nick Drake's 'Tutankhamun'. It was a really good book, but by the time I'd finished it, I was too lazy to even pull out my favourite blanket. It had been decided unanimously, that my friends and I were going to bunk the seminar that was on at the college. And 9.30am found me surfing TV channels aimlessly, post-breakfast. Around 10, I hit upon Bhansali's "Khamoshi" and decided to watch it despite mom's dire warnings.
But an hour later I was roused by mom's shouts from near the gate. I ran out to find she had a tiny bird in her hand and was cursing crows in general. There started our grand rescue mission. Timmy was all over the place, getting under our feet and acting the siren. I ran, got an old shoe box with a hole, tore up an old saree to line it with and put it under a light. Mom dripped some water into its mouth, checked for breakages or bleeding(nil) and put it in the box. We kept checking every ten minutes if the poor thing was still breathing. And every time we found the little guy fast asleep in the box.
Around 3, the bird suddenly stood up and started flying around the room, perching on the TV, the charger and so on. When mom and I tried to feed it, it nibbled us rather affectionately. Poor chap didn't know his little beak's sharpness; mom sustains a small puncture in her left palm! As soon as it found a way out, it flew outside, back into the dangerous skies from where we'd rescued it. Mom, Timmy and I were beside ourselves with worry that the crows might chase it or that it might still be weak from its ordeals. But the silly bird didn't seem to think that way.
Which brings me to my point. Remember the 'happening' I mentioned at the start? I didn't mean a day of adventure, I didn't even mean a bird rescue. I was referring to the kind of unexpected revelations that might occur. I am intrigued by the carelessly adventurous spirit of the bird. Less than a day since it was thrown out of the skies by attacking crows, it flew back into that very danger again.
I wonder why we never do that. Throw fear to the winds and fly out of the window. Of course there are worse things than crows out there- bigger birds, thunderclouds and lightnings. But does this frail little bird care? No. All it does is fly, no matter the predators or air currents or random flying bolts of electricity. I wish we could fly so fearlessly too, no matter what others might think of us, no matter if we are not understood or appreciated. I wish we were stupid birds who fly from safety to brave dangers.
