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Musings of a Copywriter

El Condor Pasa or I’d Rather be a Sparrow…

By Devraj Singh Kalsi

Whenever I wear a new shirt or my favourite one, a bird flying overhead, perhaps jealous of my snazzy outlook, quickly drops something on it. When I notice the mischief, the miscreant disappears. I fret and fume, keep hurling invectives that make other people around me feel mighty impressed with my audacity and marvel at my ability to employ a bilingual vocabulary of expletives in public. Circumstances bring the worst out of the finest human beings. No wonder, I am also establishing the truth of this observation though I do not stake any claim whatsoever to being even remotely close to what is called finest. Victimisation from bird-droppings is an embarrassing experience to undergo for people of all ages, groups and genders across all communities and countries, and we end up airing almost the same line of thought: “Oh Shit!” 

The other day I had just put my favourite white T-shirt to dry on the clothesline. Promptly, a sparrow perched on it. I tried to shoo the bird away from the balcony, but my desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. When I finally went to collect it in the afternoon, I noticed a prominent yellow exclamation mark emblazoned near my right shoulder. 

Sometimes, I wonder how their surgical strike turns out so precise. Whenever I pass by a tree-lined street or cross the road, the droppings invariably choose me as an unwilling target. Is it a punishment of sorts for me? I do not know what makes the timing so perfect. One step ahead or one step behind, and I am saved. But no, it is always spot on. Nanosecond perfection. Perhaps I am destined to be the beneficiary and get back what I have delivered to others in this life and in previous births.

Apart from clothes, my fluffy grey hair and sometimes my spectacles have been the targets of avian ordure. As soon as I gather what has hit me, I dash off to the nearest tap by the roadside where I clean as much of the stuff as possible. It happens, especially on days when I am on my way to some vital assignment. It makes me a tad superstitious – as if it is an indicator that the denouement of the scheduled program is also going to be like the bird dropping.  

Imagine if you are partying with a group of friends, and the guano drops right into your cup of tea! They break into peals of laughter. You look up at the crow or any other culprit bird to identify if it has personal enmity with you and whether this outcome is nothing but plain sweet revenge. Having been through such multiple experiences since my childhood, I have become cautious of anything flying overhead. I did think of wearing a cap, but in summers, it becomes unbearable.   

Pigeons, sparrows, and crows are common in my area. I have decided to strike friendship with them so that their manners improve. I make it a point to set aside some rice from my lunch plate. The sparrows come to the windowsill around the same time, hoping for a treat. Their memory and navigation are incredible. They identify the window from where they can see me, and they start making noises to register their arrival. Their incessant chirping sends an alert, and I serve them without delay, or else they might spoil some trousers or shirt left out to dry. This strategy seems to have paid off as I notice an improvement in their disposition. These birds do not sit on my clothes and always prefer to occupy an empty slot.

The cemented floor outside my house looks snow white every morning. It is a collective output of several birds when they fly out of trees at the crack of dawn. It is an indicator about the numbers who take refuge in the tree in my home every night. The regular floor clean-up task offends the domestic help who seeks a raise for this extra chore. If this tree gets cut, they will be rendered homeless or perhaps then make the parapet their temporary abode or choose to fly into a neighbouring tree. On the flip side, I hear their early morning twitter at sunrise and wake up without the need of any artificial alarm clock. These birds gift me the wee hours to write and meditate. I cannot be so ungrateful as to deprive them of their home sweet home within my precincts. 

Sometimes their meetings turn chaotic during the evening time, and I wonder why such commotion prevails. What rattles them? But it is tolerable vis-à-vis the din emerging from the neighbour’s villa. The birds go silent suddenly, and there is absolute peace. As my lights remain on till late, their sleep might possibly be disturbed. I hear tender appeals in their soft cries, urging me to switch off the lights. I oblige before my tasks get over.  

As a preventive step, I have now started making it a point to stay away from trees. You never know when the birds choose to answer nature’s call. Bird-dropping is a common problem faced by all. It is a random event. Sometimes you are working on a presentation in the garden, and the laptop screen gets smeared. Sometimes the briefcase on your lap gets this smattering while you munch chips. Most of the time, a low-flying cawing bird commits this brazen nuisance and then spreads its wings as if in celebration of a victory and flies overhead in a tilted posture before finally settling on the overhead electric wires.    

Sometimes in a crowded place, after a long struggle, you finally find an empty seat but stained with bird droppings. To occupy the seat, you look around for a leaf to wipe it off if it is creamy or hunt for a twig to scratch it off in case it has gone dry. All the shame and hesitation turn secondary because you value the seat more than anything else. It is lucky that you find the seat and bird dropping is no reason to let go of it. Strange are our reactions and behaviour patterns. Sometimes we find it easy to brush aside all the crap, and sometimes we raise a fuss over it.  

Perhaps, the birds know how to gain our sympathy. Sparrows and crows come out of their hiding spots after a heavy downpour, vigorously shaking their feathers to get rid of water from their backs. They look so cute, and the colours appear brighter – black looks jet black. Seeing them thus makes me overlook their scatological whims.   

Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.  


PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

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