The Statesman, 4 February 2004
I noticed them after a couple of days of my moving into the flat on the ninth floor. When I opened the door to the balcony, I found a pair of pigeons reposing calmly on the railing. With their tails to me, they were surveying the sky above and the ground below with quick movements of their heads. Occasionally they looked at each other, like lovers exchanging side-glances in a crowd.
They didn’t seem to be afraid of me and I also let them be, so long as they didn’t cross the Lakshman Rekha of the balcony to come into my house. But one of the pigeons couldn’t resist making a foray into my living room, obviously en route to the kitchen. She stepped softly over the carpet, moving her head this way and that. I watched her from the sofa for some time. But, realising that I couldn’t afford to let her waltz on my carpet for long without running the danger of her spoiling it, I sprang into action.
I let out a shout and ran after her, prompting her to turn tail and fly away. In the process, she dropped her parting gift for me on the balcony, as if mockingly telling me, “Take that!” Quite annoyed, I wanted to catch hold of her mate. But he too joined her in flight.
I knew I had not seen the last of the pigeons. Next day they were there, on their usual perch. While the male continued to look at the sky and beyond, the female turned around and looked me up and down, sizing me up with her keen eyes. May be I passed her test, because she cooed and pranced around on the balcony for my benefit. In return, I gave her a few grains of rice. The male promptly joined her for a share of the spoils. He was not ashamed of living off her toil!
This became our daily routine. The offering of food kept the pigeon away from my kitchen —and my carpet. They frolicked and preened themselves and, when they thought I wasn’t looking, tried to kiss with their beaks! Our bond grew and possessed me.
I started cooing like a pigeon to placate Sita, which made her eye me quizzically with her piercing gaze. Perhaps she found my cooing to be off-key, an insult to the art of cooing. I promptly desisted from the practice in deference to her wish. Then, one day, the pigeons failed to turn up. For days together I waited for them, in vain. Where could they have gone? Was it to build a nest somewhere else and lay their eggs? I realised then how empty one can feel when a loved one suddenly departs, be it a human being or a mere bird. I wished I had allowed them to build their nest in my flat.
When they did return after quite some time, it was as if nothing had happened in between. Our old routine was resumed. Though I had felt the pang of our separation, the pigeons had completely forgotten about it. A bird is blessed, for its memory is mercifully short. I am planning to remove the carpet and put some twigs and torn newspaper in a corner of the loft, to facilitate the couple in building their nest without having to leave me. I cannot afford to lose them again.