Morning, and crows start flying into the balcony. Their cries of caw caw awakens us to a new dew filled day. It has become a ritual to sit in the balcony with our first cups of cheerful morning tea and biscuits of assorted tastes. All this laced with mild conversation, smiles and affections of our little grandchildren. We see the crows join in , with their speculative gaze and expectant gestures.
It is a time of sharing and mutuality between us and nature, as we savour the music of life: green branches of the amla, neem and coconut trees, bending and swaying in the light breeze of the morning, sending waves of inquiry about our wellbeing. Their intrusion into the family togetgerness is welcome but discretely so. Caw , caw,the crows ask, politely eyeing the box of biscuits a little appolegetically, drawing near.
One by one they pick up the pieces of biscuits, and fly away to perch on the branches of the trees, and return again for more.Caw, Caw, they callout loudly to their brethern to join in their feasting.
But the weakest among them all, a little grey round the neck,a little gasp in his voice, a little limp in his crow hop,and a little shy about his incompetence, waits with a little more patience on a higher perch unnoticed.
When the morning rituals are over, Roma, my grandaughter softly calls: aaa, aaa,aaa.He comes down on his timid wings and pecks delicately at a piece of cadbury chocolate she saves for him till it is finished, then flies far away. She looks after him for some moments, then turns her back to resume her imaginative game among her Barbies.
It is a time of sharing and mutuality between us and nature, as we savour the music of life: green branches of the amla, neem and coconut trees, bending and swaying in the light breeze of the morning, sending waves of inquiry about our wellbeing. Their intrusion into the family togetgerness is welcome but discretely so. Caw , caw,the crows ask, politely eyeing the box of biscuits a little appolegetically, drawing near.
One by one they pick up the pieces of biscuits, and fly away to perch on the branches of the trees, and return again for more.Caw, Caw, they callout loudly to their brethern to join in their feasting.
But the weakest among them all, a little grey round the neck,a little gasp in his voice, a little limp in his crow hop,and a little shy about his incompetence, waits with a little more patience on a higher perch unnoticed.
When the morning rituals are over, Roma, my grandaughter softly calls: aaa, aaa,aaa.He comes down on his timid wings and pecks delicately at a piece of cadbury chocolate she saves for him till it is finished, then flies far away. She looks after him for some moments, then turns her back to resume her imaginative game among her Barbies.
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