Santosh Bakaya decides to catch some parakeets, not with a net but with her phone. Their songs, their squawks, their chitter-chatter and cackle-cackle makes music. Only you need to have the ears. 🙂
Chirp-chirp, rustle-rustle gush-gush, chuckle-chuckle – so many sounds, so many meanings.
Why do we take the daily melodious symphony of sounds for granted? There was a time when one morning followed another with an unflagging monotony. When I resumed my morning walks a week back, a chuckle fell into my ears, a tree generously rustled a welcome, a bird chirped a merry welcome wiping away the scowl from my face. So used to the forced incarceration, it was as if I was hearing the myriad notes of multi-hued life for the first time, seeing and feeling it in all its glory. It was as if I was rejuvenated – resurrected from the dead.
What if there were no sounds in one’s life? No colours? How would it feel being serenaded by the sounds of an eternal silence? I wondered.
Imagine an eternal silence. You just sit cocooned in your own self listening to your heart beats.
Yesterday evening as I had stepped out of the house, I was mesmerized by the sight of a parakeet silhouetted against the setting sun. It was such a beautiful scene that I immediately captured it, while the people around wondered what I had found so riveting. Not too fond of being clicked, the parakeet flew away, not saying cheese, but just a defiant squawk.
Today morning, I could almost hear the whir of the sunbeam as it touched the back of the spunky squirrel, as it swayed past the feisty, furry frolicsome rabbit to finally settle on a grasshopper turning the fragile body into gold. Ah! A golden grasshopper! What colours nature has bestowed upon us, and we prefer to turn the other way, taking all these hues and sounds for granted.
Another flash of green!
It was a pesky green parakeet. Was it the same one I had seen yesterday evening? It screeched and squawked, deluded into the belief that it was singing! Ah, the delusions of a wannabe songster! Then it suddenly stopped singing, or whatever it thought it was doing with its red beak.
I was a tad unnerved as I found its beady eyes fixed at me in fearless curiosity. What was the reason? What fantastical speculation was it engrossed in! OMG!
Did it believe that I also belonged to its fraternity, clad as I was in a green and red ensemble? My mask was red, my suit green.
How I wished I did!
Then I would wing my way into the blue beyond – unfettered, unmasked. No fears. No phobias. No endless washing of hands, only the washing off of the constantly stalking paranoia.
Cacophonous thoughts created a din in my mind like a bunch of ragged Gypsies.
A man plodded by, masked and looking tired, even though it was early morning.
I could almost hear the apprehension in his heart beats.
Hope there is no third wave ….no third wave…no third wave.
The thoughts continued to jostle and elbow each other in turbulent confusion, in my brain too, but I walked on, trying to distract myself by the lines of a poem, The Parakeets by Alberto Blanco I had read long back.
‘They talk all day
and when it starts to get dark,
they lower their voices
to converse with their own shadows’.
I would never want to converse with my own shadows – never – so I smiled at a toddler looking at me who prattled something and flung himself into my arms from his mother’ s lap.
The mother was momentarily taken aback, but then she smiled with her eyes.
Our lips were silent and covered, but our eyes eloquent. They spoke volumes.
They spoke of the good times waiting in the shadows. And we listened with twinkling eyes.
(Pic courtesy: Santosh Bakaya)
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