Mourning upon a Birdie’s Death

I am still sat wearing my white T and denim skirt.

So..? I had gone out. I haven’t changed to my frock yet; those which I wear at home. I have definitely washed my feet. I do whenever I step inside my house. Since today, I was sat inside the car, I din’t go for wash. That’s yet another pattern. I run for shower the 1st thing as I step inside even if it’s for grocery shopping that maybe only for a couple of hours.

I am barely able to type. I am still disheveled. I am sober- Thanks for asking. My day was peaceful too. It was spent posting invites as part of my Jingle Poetry Community assignment. I got to read some really beautiful poetry. I had clicked so many pigeon-ic snap- shots. It was week- off too.. Then what happened..?

It has been as spooky as could have been!

There was this pigeon I had been watching since the last few days. It had a big puss around her upper beak. Poor birdie. It couldn’t even join its beaks. Her claws showed that she was old. She had looked dirty due to feathers color change. It had kept flying from one veranda to the other. I even got an opportunity to look at her from a very close angle. I had felt sorry looking at her.

After what had happened the other day, I have hardly been able to keep my mind off. It was only a few days back. But why was I thinking of that now? Wasn’t it over..?

23rd October, 2010- 5.30pm

I noticed that particular birdie sitting just outside My Computer Room veranda. How did she know I was there? This was just how the other one had known that I would head towards the kitchen. She barely moved. One another had come flying and after sipping water, it had fled away. It was getting darker. Why wasn’t this one leaving?

The next second she wasn’t there. She had hopped inside the bird bath to sip. Or had she fallen inside failing to perch the rim of the bowl? I noticed that she had desperately tried to come out of the tub and failed. I had opened the veranda glass door and stepped out. The birdie didn’t seem to notice. She was too feeble to. She had failingly tried to escape beside the barren pots. I had caught it by its tail.

That poor birdie had been throwing up. Holding her, I realized that she was no different than that one. She had been breathing heavy since morning. He limbs were lame too. She had barely resisted. I had seen her falling flat by her beak while in the tub. My releasing her would have dropped her straight down on the floor. He wings had given up on her.

Not knowing of anything better, I had placed her inside one pot and stepped in. I couldn’t seem to think of anything else still. She had not even adjusted herself to sit. She was at a worse stage than that other one.

10 minutes later, a peculiar thought had hit my mind.

I had stepped out again and tried talking to her. She seemed to have responded by moving her head. I had known by then that she wouldn’t survive the evening too. That voice over my shoulder once again yelled in my mind another set of words. I had stepped inside the house with that birdie in my hand and ran to my bedroom. Looking at my mom’s framed photos, she had as if comeback to Life.

She had lifted her head and flapped her wings. She had moved herself as if identifying what she saw. I knew she would go.. and then, she was gone.

Picking up the main door keys, I had locked my house and gone down. Decent Burial is what I had wanted to give her. I had dug up a place in my garden and made her rest there. I had frozen thereafter. My limbs could barely take my weight. I had walked with weary steps as if was beaten up. I had dragged through the garden back to my apartment. I had kept dropping the digging bar. I seemed to have been unable to take its weight. I used it as a walking stick to balance myself.

I panted through the stairs as if had escaped my own death. It’s blurred now how I made myself walk up the stairs.

I had headed straight for wash. A head- wash it would be! Cleaning of the loo was also included. I was as if hit. I had needed a distraction. One of my old friends and now a writer, Ranu once said that a Writer should clean the loo with a toothbrush instead of writing! Although that was in reference with something else, that seemed to be the most valid thing then. Shampooing my hair, I had started that unplanned cleaning of the bowl. I did that as if for My Life.

I was hardly able to control my hysteria. At times it’s a blessing that I stay alone. Had someone been around- I won’t have been able to cry out that loud. This is when she wasn’t my pet. Think of the intensity of the veracity, when mom had died the same day 15 years back!

That’s what I have been thinking about. I couldn’t cry the day she had died. If I had, it would have distracted me from the things I had to take care of. Her death has not been mourned about since then. Is that why that birdie had come over? To make me howl and sob? Digging her grave had taken the entire strength out of my body. Who was that birdie again?

I had stood under the shower wanting to get drenched from inside too. I felt as if I was too unclean. I would have perhaps emptied all my perfume bottles at that thought- had I not been under that wash. I may have.. Actually, I would have. I had a call on my cell to return. I prayed that that call should take me out of the house. I had badly needed to look somewhere else. Her wounded beak was piercing my mind harder than I could bear.

Half hour later, I was walking down the same stairs to go out. I walked like a zombie. As I write about it now, I have still not been able to compose myself. I am shivering still.

On a spiritual level; did she come to me so I fulfill my Karmic duties of being born as a human? Since I am completely on my own, I have no deaths or anything else to attend to. Is this how it’s being taken care of?

Of all, why did it had to happen today..?