Ruth Sequeira

Photo by Ruth Sequeira 

While Noah found reassurance in spotting a dove carrying a twig, I knew tough times were heading my way when I spotted a twig carrying pigeon in my balcony. By reflex I shooed the pigeon away and decided to ignore the incident and act like it never happened. What’s the big deal you might ask, well allow me to explain. While it is no secret that I hate cats, only a few close friends and the security guards outside the Bombay Stock Exchange know of my immense disapproval of pigeons. I would rather read a Chetan Bhagat book than feed a pigeon, on second thought; ignore that last bit about me reading anything by Mr. Bhagat.

The next morning when I opened my balcony door to breathe in the new day, I was greeted by the unwelcoming sight of a couple of pigeons building a nest in my property. I spent the day disturbed by the dilemma before me. Should I continue being hostile or should I give the birds a chance? After all they were just parents looking out for a secure home for their innocent unborn bird-child. Me being me, you know, the good Christian that I am, I concluded that there was enough hatred in this world between the Blackberry boys and mandroids, Coffee lovers and tea-drinkers, Beliebers and non-Beliebers. I would end all hostilities and make my contribution towards a better world; I would find the strength in me to love these grotesque creatures and treat them as my own.

Unlike certain members of our Government who say they are working towards peaceful ties with Pakistan, I genuinely wanted to befriend the pigeons. We all know that relationships are built on trust and it was crucial that I make amends with the pigeons for all the previous unkindness, hoist the peace flags and reassure them that my sea-facing balcony was indeed the safest place for their little baby. I started off by sharing the same balcony space with them without scaring them away, you know trying to pull off the same trick like that guy we studied about in psychology who had a hungry dog and an electric bell. I did this several times a day but the dim witted birds never seemed to get the message and always seemed a little uneasy in my presence. 

The series of events that took place a few days later are still engraved clearly in my mind. It was a warm Sunday evening and I walked to the veranda to check on the well being of my feathered guests, seeing that they were all snug and happy, I went back in to pour myself a cup of cold milk and scrape out the remains of my Nutella bottle. Little did I know what was going through their sadistic minds, I walked back into my bedroom to witness an act so cheap that even Poonam Pandey would think lowly of it. A breach of trust, a betrayal of friendship, an act of shame – there right in the centre of my bedroom, caught red-handed; the bloody bird pooped. And not your ordinary white bird shit, but the greenish-yellow vile variety that makes one’s head fume and blood boil. After all my goodwill and efforts for peace, they had the gall to enter my sacred territory and poop! The phrase ‘all hell broke loose’ falls short of the wrath that followed. Running with the same rage that Thesues (Immortals) experienced on witnessing the murder of his mother by King Hyperion’s men, I went after those pigeons, arms flapping, veins bulging and abuses flowing in English, Hindi, and Parseltongue. Alas! I didn’t catch the bugger or else the next day, I would have had pigeon biryani in my dabba and PETA filing an unnecessary lawsuit against me! 

Bless the man who called pigeons the rats of the sky, because that is exactly what they are! I have tried in vain to find an explanation as to why I ever sympathised for those horrid creatures but I guess in a world where Chetan Bhagat is invited to literature festivals and Justin Beiber is considered hot, some things can never be explained.