Pigeon: An anecdote
I love building castles — in the air. It’s my childhood hobby and I have pursued it sedulously.
A few days ago, I was standing in the passageway outside my flat in Jodhpur, when I observed a pigeon lying on the floor just a few steps away. It was still. Curious as I was, I kept staring at him for few minutes and then it dawned on me that it has lost the ability to fly. It made me kinda sad. I imagined if I were him, what would I experience — waiting for my imminent end. Worse, with no other of my kind to comfort, to listen to me, and finally to deliver a eulogy when I am gone. Alone — with maimed wings and little hope of being revived, I will be there forever.

Thoughts teleported me to 1990’s at my previous home in Calcutta — city of joy — where I am looking through a window overlooking a small square hole, observing two pigeons making love. I am armed with a toy gun — one with small rounded yellow bullets loaded into it — which if aimed accurately can cause substantial damage to those blissful lovers. Shots are fired; it hits one of them; I grinned.
I am back to Jodhpur, I cringed. I want to expiate my past sins but I can’t, I can never imagine myself holding any animal — living or dead — with my bare hands. I am not a vet, I am a vegetarian. I can’t save anyone’s life. I possess him again, getting critical of every passing figure, judging which one might step on me, crush me. I am sweating. Deep breathing isn’t helping me much, I try to fly but I can’t, I look around for help — not a single helpful soul. I curse every single species surviving on this planet. I wouldn’t have lasted this long, I assure myself. He is certainly more courageous, I don’t deserve to be a pigeon.
Lunch is ready, quick, it’s 2'o clock — yells Mom. Aye, I am coming. Today, my favorite vegetable— lady-finger — will be served.