I used to write about birds and deduce parallel conclusions in relation to our lives. Lately, it’s been the other way around. I have been focusing on our dreams. The love we borrow. Some of the obstacles we face. The evil we are capable of.
I have shared a lot from my personal life too. The little things I do that makes me special; whatever I have been through that makes me so precious. Ugh. I just want to hug myself so tightly. So eagerly that I fall off the bed, or down a flight of stairs – like a panic-stricken Smeagol, and collapse into a smoldering heap of pain and despair.
But I will be okay. I know that karma can be cruel. I shifted the subject matter from birds to human beings. It’s only fair that now I have to drink soup through a straw for two weeks.
It’s not as though I am disinclined to write on matters unrelated to birds. It has been fun to notice how little can be concluded in life. I recognize the goodness in people too, as much as I distrust them. Some even bewilder me with their kindness.
I don’t want to write about them. I won’t let the secret out. There is hope. I can smell it. But I am afraid though that the Twiteratti may hashtag it. AR Rahman may sing about how Mother India represents it. Americans will be outraged over how Donald Trump wants it out of the country. Israel won’t like it because someone’s been a naughty boy.
It will be all messed up.
Life just seems like less of a catastrophe when I focus on how messed up people are instead. At times though, I tell myself to let it go. I am not Atlas to be hesitant in shrugging off the weight of the world. I could walk away from it forever. The world will be just fine, and so will I.
For instance, today was International Women’s Day. I didn’t want to say anything at all. I can’t help it though. I have to point out that I find it awkward – the comfort with which women celebrate identities that epitomize gender inequalities. And how wretched it is – the shamelessness with which men portray themselves as being sensitive and liberalized.
Women should start talking a lot more on oppression. And men should stop treating them like zoo animals after March 8. Also, cooking contests should be saved for World Food Day.
I ought to write more about birds.
Call me a dreamer but I think we are all going to make it. For now – here are some more feathered ladies from the wild.
She took with her
some pickled love and
a few other precious things
that she could use
to grow herself
a fresh pair of wings.