BLOG : MUSINGS
By ANANYA MOHAPATRA
It was a lazy Sunday morning. I was relishing my morning cuppa in the balcony with the newspaper on my lap. After a while, a crow came and perched itself on the ledge. I am no Maneka Gandhi, so I ignored it. But not for long as it started crowing in its raspy voice. Maybe it was hungry, I thought. Perhaps it had woken up late and had failed to catch the early worm. Crows deserve a Sunday too! It gladly accepted my offer of left-over chapatis and let me read in peace.
After a while, a few more crows joined it. It seemed like my hungry crow didn’t mind sharing. They ate together like one big happy family. So far, so good. But I had spoken too soon. For out of nowhere, a ruffian looking crow swooped in with its rowdy gang and began snatching scraps from the happy crows. That was the end of happy mealtime. All hell broke loose. They all started scratching each other and screeching at their hoarsest. The cacophony that followed sounded like an old, run down grinder screaming at Himesh Reshammiya to stop singing. I suddenly realised why exactly a group of crows is called a murder.
I tried to play peace-maker by scattering biscuit scraps on the other side of the balcony. A few compromised and migrated to the other side but the feisty ones refused to budge. They continued their war and refused to acknowledge the food before them and the fact that there was enough for everyone. I finally had to hose them with water to shoo them off.
The crow-fight gave me a funny feeling. Don’t get me wrong. I am no sadist who chuckles at others’ misery. But there was something familiar about their scuffle. My eyes fell on the newspaper that I had been reading. It was filled with election news and the rhetoric and tactics adopted by political parties to snatch the largest piece out of the voter-pie. The mud-slinging matches and the conspiracy theories regarding each other’s intentions without really making their own motives clear. I had an epiphany as to what the weird feeling was. It was déjà vu.