The Bird of Paradise Only Pecks the Hand of an Idiot

Or

I Hate Parrots

It was one of those weekends, you know, where you appreciate the fact that you can enjoy the night without having that cold realization that you’re going to have to go home early and sit down to glare at the ghastly textbooks filled with useless garbage that  only sadists can write and course book toting professors can understand. At any rate, I was elated. The exams were over, the new James Franco movie was out, and right now, a delicious dinner of lasagna oozing with tomato sauce and mozzarella was awaiting me at Pizza Hut. As a result, I didn’t even bothering listening to the rumble my stomach gave when my brother suggested a detour to a nearby pet store. Entertainment before dinner.

Consequently, I found myself in a small, but bright pet shop, with gleaming white walls and cute wall-hangings. It was filled with cages that housed white rats and hamsters that resembled those small, warm, butter-colored cookies you’ d find in a prosperous supermarket in Oman, sniffing at the cage door or cozily burrowing in a bale of straw and snoozing away peacefully (how I envied them!). In the corner of the shop was a storeroom with a glass door,where miserable puppies lay in their respective pens, their tails barely wagging when they saw us and their round, brown eyes full of unspeakable longing and suffering. Trying to curb the impulse to wrench open the door, grab a handful of heart-wringing, furry sweetness and vamoose, I turned to the man behind the counter, and found a beautiful Sulphur-crested cockatoo perched on his arm.

It cocked its head at the people gazing at it, allowing its bright-yellow crest, almost insolently curved at the end, to dip gracefully at the side of its pristine white head. Everybody oohed and aahed as they tentatively stroked its lovely plumage, while it clicked its shiny black bill impatiently.

I watched, as the man offered the bird his finger. It began nibbling the end of the fingernail gently, almost affectionately.  Thoroughly fascinated, I extended my finger, and was overjoyed when it began doing the same to me.

‘Look, Ma!’ I cried, gesturing wildly at her. ‘The bird likes me!’ Later, when I looked back at what happened after that, I realized that calling it a “bird” was probably not the best thing to have done just then. The cockatoo, after all, seemed like a feathery egotist- His Highness probably did not appreciate being given a common, lowdown name like “bird”.

Anyway, I turned back to the bird. The nibbling increased in fervor. Lulled by the rather pleasant sensation, I missed the baleful glare the cockatoo gave me, and the next moment, it clamped down on my finger, boring a hole with its sharp beak.

I let out a yell that had the lifeless dogs howling for the dead, the fish bumping into each other in their tanks and the little guinea-pigs squeaking with terror in their baskets. ‘Ow-ow-ow-ow! Lemme go, you stupid excuse for a parrot!’ This had the cockatoo biting my finger again, and the owner finally had to yank it away from me, lest I broke one of the window panes with my sonic screams of pain.

Nursing my poor finger, which was spouting so much blood that it looked like Old Faithful at Yellowstone Park, I was ushered out of the store by my parents who were laughing so hard (my own flesh and blood, no less!) that they were bent double, my brother who had gone into hysterics at the sight of the blood-filled crater in my finger, and an extremely apologetic shop owner (who promised a 25% discount on all pet birds if we ever wanted to buy any. I was never coming near his store again, let alone contemplate buying anything from it).

As I was sat down in my car, with assurances of Band-Aids (I loved Band-Aids with Winnie the Pooh patterns) and rocky-road ice-cream positively melting with chocolate sauce and marshmallow, I turned back and narrowed my eyes at the cockatoo. It stared back very innocently for a second, and then turned its back on me, but I could have sworn, if the door of the store had opened just a little wider, that I’d heard a very distinctive, rasping chuckle.

The Ennui of Being Studious

There’s still time,

It’s ages away

There are things to do, places to be,

As long as the sun shines, I’m going to make hay.

I have not changed; I don’t see the need,

Why is everybody in such a rush?

The future cannot be foreseen, it is not ours to map out,

Let’s enjoy the scenery, while it’s green and lush.

I’m going to make every moment count,

The days may trickle away, like sand in an hourglass.

But I don’t care, I won’t care,

I’m still a kid; I’m going to remain as I am and as I was.

Maturity will come when it will come,

Why won’t people stop nagging me?

So what if I’d rather sleep than study, play than plan?

Time will not leave me behind, just you wait and see!

I want to laze around and stare at the clouds,

I want to count the curving petals of a daisy, to toss a Frisbee with my dog,

I’d love to wrap myself up cozily and watch a movie, anytime, anywhere.

Is this desire to be free so wrong?

The deadline is but a speck in the distance,

I’ll be ready when it’s in clear sight.

When the future arrives, I’ll surpass them all.

But I want to wait. There’s still time for me. Right? Right?

Who are you, and what have you done to my parents?

Gone are the years when your dad and mum were the loving, jovial parents you knew them to be. When they willingly allowed you to do what you wanted without a word of dissent, laughed and immediately forgave and forgot when you screwed up and took you out for chocolate ice-cream by means of consolation.

Now they seem to channel the spirit of the Fuhrer himself, yelling at you for no good reason, questioning you as though you're some kind of runaway prisoner when you go out, and restricting you from anything and everything.

Yeah, you're probably right: your parents have been replaced by evil alien clones of themselves. And millions of kids are probably going through the same thing right now. In fact, there might as well be a full-scale invasion of the normal people (that's us) on Earth by the Dark Forces (the parents, or rather, their villainous replacements).

The good news is, you still have a chance of getting your real parents back. You see, putting aside all the alien replacement jokes, the real reason your parents act like the twins of Voldemort is because of a very simple thing- you're a teen. And your parents realise that this is the time you start acting out, and because they expect you to do so, they begin all the scolding and restricting early. For example, an innocent outing with a guy friend will have your dad assume the position of a stern headmaster, and a return home just a minute after your curfew will have your mum cut off all your TV privileges for a month.

Despite all this, you know your parents love you, and do all this because they have your best interests at heart. So, in order to restore peace to the household, you must use the healing and diplomatic power of compromise. Start by explaining how you feel to them, because, (hard to believe, yeah?), they have gone through the same thing. Be patient and emphasise your point clearly, there's no reason to get all worked up over nothing. For example, if you want to come home late from an outing, list all the valid reasons for doing so, wth a promise to be safe, not wander and to always have your phone with you. After all, parents are suckers for the whole maturity act. 

Rein in your protests when they say no and listen to their side of the argument. Your parents may turn out be right in the end. You don't want to be on the other side of the "I told you so!" lecture, do you?

So keep calm and fight your way out with a straight face. Get your normal parents back while you still can! :-)

Travel to Tirupathi

Travel to Tirupathi

An unpleasant surprise sprung up at me, late in the evening of the 5th of this month, when my mum told me that we were leaving for a day's trip to visit Sri Venkatachalapathy's temple in Tirupathi. The surprise was particularly unpleasant for me, because the last time we went there (I was about eleven years old) we’d had a bad experience. In fact, whenever the word 'Tirupathi' was said in the vicinity, I had blurred visions of shaved heads screaming and pushing us in their eagerness to get close to the Lord.

Nothing, however, could be said in protest when my parents made their minds up to go. The following morning saw us getting up at the crack of dawn, sleepily and reluctantly bathing and conducting various morning duties, then travelling by car to our destination, which was located on the border of Andhra Pradesh.

Upon reaching, we had a tasty breakfast, courtesy of the Bhimasena restaurant and decided to continue our drive uphill. However, my mum, who seemed to have a penchant for giving me nasty shocks that day, wanted to travel by foot up the Tirupathi pedestrian path, which she had never tried before. This suggestion, nay, command, was unanimously seconded by my traitor of a brother, my dad and my dad's friend, while I silently seethed in the background.

Ironically, I turned out to be the one who enjoyed the climb the most. The Tirupathi pedestrian path consists of around 3500 steps, through the hill. It is widely believed that if one mounts these stairs with the Lord’s name on their lips, all their wishes are fulfilled by Him. The weather was favorable for us as we walked up the stairs- not too hot, and not too chilly. Thousands of devotees were our companions, ranging from men in sweat-soaked cotton shirts, dhotis and the occasional pair of jeans to women in pastel colored saris, carrying baskets and children. Many people brought turmeric powder soaked in water and kumkum, which they dabbed on the front of every stair they climbed. Stalls hawking refreshments like cool drinks, chips, bhelpuri, coffee, etc. lined the border of the path, often the only things separating us and the mounds of grass and rock on the other side.

The journey was long, but mercifully not too tiring. Our driver was waiting for us at the top and took us to a restaurant where we had some questionable food for lunch. Then, as it was getting late, we hurried to the area outside the temple where hundreds and hundreds of people had already lined up.

The queues to the shrine of the Tirupathi are the worst places to wait in. The people are so excited to be so close to prostrating before Sri Venkatachalapathy that they jostle, push, prod, poke and do anything that is humanly possible to make others in the queue feel as uncomfortable and at times, as scared as can be.

That is precisely what happened to us. I, in particular, had to endure three whole hours of short women nudging me painfully in the back, men giving hoarse yells of “Govinda, Goooooovindaa!” (At one point, my dad joined in as well) and an annoying kid who made it his business to wail and sob every five seconds.

Thankfully, three hours went by pretty quickly, and after much shoving and pushing, we found ourselves in front of the Lord’s shrine. I have visited Tirupathi only once before, and have no memory of ever glimpsing the idol of Sri Venkatachalapathy, so this was my very first sight of him. And what a sight.

He was smooth obsidian black, dressed in new silk robes and ornaments that shone and glittered beautifully in the soft light of the lamps, a mysterious figure at the far of the shrine. For a moment there, he looked almost...alive. Caught in the moment, I quickly bowed my head, and said my prayers, resolving firmly that I would be a better person to make Him proud of me, before being swept away by the priests.

We did our pradarshan around the temple (which is said to be more than thousands of years old. Although a few modern mechanisms have been added, the basic foundation consists of smooth cool stone and weathered figures carved on the walls), collected our prasadam, the famous Tirupathy ladoos, and began our journey downhill towards Chennai. As we clambered into our car, I thought about my day at Tirupathy. Sure, I’d had a long day and tiring day. After an arduous climb of around 3500 stairs, having food that would probably not pass the test for consumer approval and being tossed around in a crowd of extremely agitated devotees like heedless insects, I was understandably exhausted and more than willing to return home. But, as my grandmother said, it was all for Him above, who protected and watched over us lovingly. And after what I’d seen in the shrine, I sure agreed with her.

Imagine scores of these bobbling up and down, a sea of turmeric-painted eggs.
It can scar you for life.

The Quirks of Stubbing a Toe

 One of the most amusing things of being a human is to observe the strange reactions of our fellow-beings, to the most ordinary things. Take, for example, the brushing of a tree-bough against a low window-sill at night. Only a handful of people will recognize the sound for what it actually is. Others may leap up and scream, thinking that it is a ghost, covered in a bloody, white sheet who has passed by their house. Some, especially the more paranoid beings who have something to hide, will have their bread-knives and saucepans and what-not, ready in their hands to beat the brains out of their biggest fear in life - a burglar.

                                                  Err...'scuse me, I seemed to have lost me way...

However, I find that a very ordinary situation, the kind that happens at home all the time and yet draws the most bizarre, albeit hilarious reactions from people, is the stubbing of one's big toe. Now, I know what you’re thinking ‘Oh yeah, that happens all the time, but I’ve never noticed anyone pulling off a weird reaction - it’s mostly just screaming out an obscene oath and biting one's lips.’ But last week, I, in a manner that would please my Science teacher enormously, decided to conduct a research on the type of response people gave to the stubbing of the big toe. And here it is.

It began on a Saturday, a quiet evening, an evening when usually, after sleeping and not doing homework, I’d flop on the sofa and watch reruns of Rules of Engagement. However, on this evening, I opened a notebook, and nibbling the end of my pencil, kept vigil at the table near the door. My first subject, and the one I relished watching the most, was my annoying nincompoop of a brother. He was watching TV, a very intense (and incredibly boring) episode of Kick Buttowski, and was walking backwards, all his attention on the pixelated screen. Suddenly, as he turned, he slammed his big toe into the door. He stopped, stared at the offended toe for a second. Then, without warning, he screamed so loudly that I jumped, and he ran (or hopped) to the kitchen to my mum, with tears streaming down his face, which, incidentally, had taken the color of a rotten tomato, all pulpy and gooey with mucus and tears. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I recorded this first piece of my findings in my notebook.



This is pretty much what my brother's face looked like. Ew.



The second subject was, surprisingly, my mum, because she’s usually watchful of her surroundings, not like me. In my case, I see a table, chair and an armchair in front of me, and I still manage to bump into all three on my way.  Going back to my research, this happened on a Friday morning. I’d kept watch for over a week now, and nothing had happened as yet. I was nodding over my notebook, when my mum’s sharp voice suddenly jolted me back to reality. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asked, eyeing the blank page suspiciously. Hastily, I covered the page with my hand and said in a fake, jaunty voice that made me cringe. ‘Nothing, Mum! Just…uh…some Economics homework.’ She narrowed her eyes and turned away. Sighing, I decided to give it up for the day, and just as I was closing the book, an abrupt hissing noise startled me. At first, assuming it was the pressure cooker from next door, I resumed putting my things back together, but as it sounded again, I realized it was Mum. Suddenly delighted, I turned to the door, and there she was, clutching her toe in one hand and hissing most venomously at the offending door. Biting down a chuckle, I ran to my room and proceeded to record my observation with glee. Then, as Mum swore loudly, I ran to the first-aid kit. It was either some soothing lotion, or my life.

                                                            



My mum and me. Notice our manner of spending 'quality time'.



But it was my dad who won an Oscar for the best performance. This time, it began with a huge family row between my dad and me. We were arguing about my lazy manner regarding the cleanliness of my room. I yelled that it was a teenager’s birthright to keep the room as messy as possible, and he just wasn’t buying it. Still shouting, he moved and jammed his toe into the poor door, which had received more than its share of hits these past two weeks. An ominous silence descended, and we all held our breath. My dad stood still, his eyes closed. Then, as though in great consternation, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed very deeply for a minute. Looking up, he gave me a most scornful glare, before turning on his heel and stalking to the main bedroom. It was very beautifully done, a lovely, subtle performance. I almost felt like giving him a resounding round of applause.



And the Oscar goes to...



Thus, based on my research and findings, I quickly wrote down my conclusions, that firstly, human beings had a tendency to stub their toes, and stub them badly when they were either too absorbed in something else, or were too filled with emotion to see where they were going, and secondly, they had the most peculiar reactions in such circumstances. Smirking at the results, I was satisfied, and convinced that, with these conclusions, I was surely a lot wiser and would definitely look carefully before moving anywhere. Very pleased with my cleverness, I walked out of the room, my head high and my back straight with pride. That is, until I rammed my toe into the door which almost groaned in exasperation now. OUCH!

I think He was trying to tell me something.

-Just a lil' something I'd written for Friendship Day, way back. Ah, but who doesn't need a little get-me-back-on-track every now and then? Love, Kai :)

Dear Friend,

I remember how we met. It was at the practice for Sports Day, and a mutual girl friend and I were arguing about the hotness of Cristiano Ronaldo. You stepped in to say that it didn’t matter how hot he was, according to you, he was simply the worst footballer ever (strange how everything you say contradicts me, huh?). That got us arguing, and in a bizarre way, the grounds for our friendship had been established.

A week later, you saw me in my worst state. My hair was unwashed, my clothes rumpled and there was a distinct stench of loneliness around me. Unlike my other friends, you didn’t rush over and demand an explanation. You didn’t put an arm around my shoulders and console me. No, all you did was to simply give me a big, cozy bear hug which made me feel better straightaway. You also helped me get over my depression by offering me a shoulder to cry on, and treating me to the largest chocolate sundae I’d ever seen. What more could define a good friend, than someone who’d bought me ice-cream as the cure for helping me out of my rut? You practically read my mind there.

After that, we had a wonderful friendship. We hung out practically everyday, competing for high-score positions in video games, royally making fools of each other during April Fools’ Day, fighting over the capability of various football players, arguing over the silliest of things and generally having a humungous load of fun with each other.

Of course, in between, you were there for me when I got incredibly nervous for a speech contest, a 1500 m race and while putting forward a new proposition for the school to the vice-principal. You wiped the sweat off my brow, clapped me (albeit painfully) on my shoulder and whispered encouraging words. Self-confidence was gradually added in my dictionary, thanks to you, because you almost always teased me out of my apprehension and worry.

And one day, I got to repay everything you had done for me. That was the first time I’d seen you without your easy smile. You’d just been dumped by your vamp of a girlfriend, your parents had given you a hard time for something you hadn’t done on purpose and your position on the football team had gone down from star player to benchwarmer.

I did the same thing you first did for me: I gave you a comforting hug. I listened to you, I helped to you see things clearly and I felt so happy for you when you returned to life’s train which always moved on. I helped you remember all the lessons you thought me, the most important of which was that every blistering day has a chance of being cool and cloudy with a hint of refreshing rain.

I guess that with Friendship Day just around the corner, I just want to thank you for being such an awesome pal. Thank you for reminding me that life’s always worth living, that ice-cream and a hug from your best friend can always make you find every problem’s solution, and last, but most definitely not the least, thank you for letting me know that if I ever have kidney failure, there’s always someone around to personally find someone else to donate one for me.

Yours forever,

Me.

Shore Love

Shore Love

What is it about the beach that makes life seem so simple, yet so breathtakingly beautiful all at once? Perhaps it’s the very first step you take there, the moment you sink your feet into the soft granules of sand that makes you feel peaceful immediately, its warm, earthy texture assuring you that you are well-grounded, you are home. Or maybe it’s the aquamarine vastness of the sea and sky, both so far apart, and yet so similar in their other worldliness, that suddenly seems to make all your problems disappear into thin air.

When you take a whiff of the strong, crisp salty air, you find yourself slowly letting your breath out, easing all the sore kinks in your body. It’s Nature’s best form of aromatherapy, immediately relaxing and rejuvenating you. It works best with your eyes shut. When you open your eyes, make sure you register the entire vista of the beach.

For beaches have parallel lines of color on each side, a rich, heart-warming gold on one side, the hue of Mum’s freshly baked cake, and, a deep, mysterious turquoise on the other, full of intriguing, unexplained secrets, the waves swirling invitingly.

Look down, and the sand is spotted with an infinite number of things- pink-and-white speckled shells, slimy green seaweed cruising in with each passing wave, the occasional starfish lazing in the snowy foam, its arms nonchalantly waving in the air, driftwood, crabs, you name it. The sand is just as mystifying as the sea on the other side, its layers providing shelter for those who wish to keep to themselves, away from the glare of the sun.

The wet, sticky sand receives the waves rushing in. It’s perfect for building sand sculptures, castles, pits, dams, you name it. To let go of all your principles of hygiene, to dig in with your fingers and feel the gooey moistness collect in your hands is to let go completely of any stress, anything that causes you to hold back. And then, of course, is the sea itself.

All you have to do is to wade in the water, and the waves do the rest, beckoning you, pulling you in to taste the sharp tang of the salty water. When you duck your head in the water, and open your eyes, you literally experience a whole, new (although somewhat blurry) world.

You are immersed in ever-changing shades of blue; you enjoy solitude of a different kind. All round you, everything is silent, and yet life exists here. Brightly colored fish gently wave their fins, as though welcoming you into their world. Here and there, in the ocean bed, if you can just manage to spot them, are the spiky black sea-urchins, happily nestled in the sand. Rocks, when lifted, disclose aquatic plants, so different from the ones on land, fleshy and weird, all dressed in exotic apparel. The sea world fascinates you with its ‘live and let live’ policy, of minding its own business in the midst of busy surroundings world, something that you wish would be followed back where you live, too.

Pop your head out of the water, lest you die with too much to see and too little to breathe. Right now, you can do anything you like, float lazily with the waves, with an I-don’t-care smirk on your face, or you could swim back and indulge in some delicious Popsicles, kick butt at beach football and have Frisbee fun with your dog. The beach is your hideaway, your zone, where you bring out the vibrant person in you. Lean back, and enjoy.