A new battle!

 

Those who follow my blogs will know that one of my bete noires is the Pigeon! I will not go into the distant history of my various battles which began when I was a teenager but has begun in the last four years.

In our new apartment, we have sizable balcony (I believe they call it ‘the deck’ nowadays). A lover of plants, I have filled the perimeter with potted plants. In the monsoon they grow so well that it looks as if you are sitting in a mini forest. Not satisfied with this I have added lights and fountains and small Knick knacks which according to me enhances the whole atmosphere.

We spend our mornings and evenings and sometimes late night in this august space. We live on the thirty sixth floor which faces cloud and mist clad mountains so you can understand our obsession. In fact the children have named it “The Rapunzel Tower”. If I can help it, I do not leave it for days on end. I am self-sufficient! (though my hair is neither as beautiful or long or strong as Rapunzel!)

So the snake in my ‘Garden of Eden’ (I know I am mixing metaphors!) is the Pigeon. When we first moved in, we left our French windows wide open. The pigeons took this as an invitation to move in but lacked the IQ to figure out how to leave. Cue pandemonium: fluttering wings, frantic cooing, me switching off ceiling fans in terror of accidental pigeon homicide.

After multiple concussions (theirs, not mine), I was reduced to calling the guards to remove stunned intruders while they laughed at my cowardice. Eventually, I thought the Pigeon News Press (PNP) had published a warning about our flat being a trap, because the invasions ceased.

I exhaled too soon.

We had been gifted a lovely, large, faux stone, waterfall which was a little too large for the main living room so with my brilliant mind I put it on ‘the deck’. The rains had stopped and the sun was now burning down shamelessly, the little stream that passed by our apartment was becoming dry.

Then started the “Return of the grey force” … they came in twos, sat on the balcony rail strutted around, did a lot of cooing and fluttering. I ignored them, they were after all outside, I reasoned to myself. So I let my guard slip and the next moment one of them hopped on to the back of the sofa I had been sitting on and then another step on to the waterfall bowl and drinking away to glory. He was followed by his partner and there ensued a battle royale and my lovely clean space was filled with poop and feathers!

Thus began third world war and has lasted for the last three years and I have a feeling it will be called ‘the hundred years war’ (If I survive that is!)

First, we moved the waterfall to another location, did not work. Then we placed the head of a pharaoh with head gear and snake on the top most bowl, it did work for a couple of days but one of the young fearless ones flew and toppled it! End of episode two. Then we camouflaged it with real live plants, did not work. Draped it with artificial leaves, did not work. Put lights over it, did not work.

The only deterrent was to put off the waterfall during the day, but then that was not conducive to peace and harmony, so back to shooing and making noise whenever they dared to cross ‘The Laxman Rekha.’

We of course were given a lot of advice- “put those pokey things around the waterfall,” “keep a recording of loud noise”, “put a scarecrow figure”- believe me we tried everything. I remember scouring Amazon for anti-pigeon machines and even tried some sonic repellent. Then the ultimate advise “just take it off from the balcony, all your problems are solved.”

But this is like throwing down my arms and waving the white flag of surrender! Could I be so cowardly as that? How dare these birds even dream of defeating me? So I vowed to continue my war. There is ‘win some lose some battles’ but I will let these birds drink the dirty water from my waterfall over my dead body! It is now a ‘do or die’ and a continual MOP (Military Operational Plan) is being created second by second.

The last ammunition is a string of flashing lights fitted onto a revolving wall mounted side fan falling over the waterfall continuously and has lasted for four days!

There are of course the couple who come over to do a recon once in a while but no bird has come into my arena! God willing this battle is mine!

Q.E.D. "Freedom = Discontentment?”

ecosocialismcanada.blogspot.com

The world is in turmoil, every direction you turn to, there are people fighting for the elusive thing called “Freedom”! People want political freedom; they want intellectual freedom; desire for social freedom and yearn for freedom of speech! There is of course the longing for freedom from corruption, freedom from poverty, freedom to traverse our own chosen path.... 

 

This sylph like figure- a little out of focus-, dressed in white (for all good is supposed to be white!) stands beckoning at the end of the dark tunnel. It is bright and golden and the energy emanating from it is blinding but filled with vigour. As I reach out my hand, it stretched out its extremities yet I am not able to touch it. Why? 
  

Am I a true lover of freedom? Do I want to be free? I love the force that binds me to my parents, to my husband, to my children and my friends.  I love the power that makes me feel hungry and I am able to indulge in gourmet delights. I love the mirror which controls my emotions. I love the shackles that chain me to my daily routine so that I have the freedom to write this blog! So where is this freedom that the whole world is fighting for?

 

The wind is blowing in from the sea. The small, crippled figure is slouching on the wheel chair hoping someone will give him a pound so that he can have some hot tea. He is religiously at this position; I see him every day when I go for a walk. Who brings him there? Who takes care of him? He is dirty; his clothes have not been washed for a month at least, is he always there? What are the thoughts that pass through his dumb mind (He is actually dumb) Does he want to be free from the chain of disability? (Otherwise- abled! Such a euphemism!) I go by, give him two pounds against my better judgment and feel a little better. I am such a hypocrite! I think I can buy peace for two pounds! I can’t! I think about it; feel about it and curse my fetters, unable to do anything to alleviate the Man’s pain.  It’s not actually that I can’t do anything it’s just that I am fettered by my mind to even want to do anything!

 

Most of us are like me, we see suffering, we suffer for a moment and then other important events take over and are pasted over this, effectively erasing the small discomfort. How simple and effective! Buddha gave up his royal life to meditate on this – about life being a continuous struggle against suffering – he is believed to have attained Nirvana, is that complete freedom? Did he really win over suffering? Did he solve his problem by running away from his responsibilities?  I am not sure, are you?

 

Freedom is like desire. The more you fulfill it, the more you want. The more you want, the more discontent you become! Have you seen the contentment on a farmer’s face at the end of a tiring day? Whether he is just too tired to be discontent is another matter! Have you seen the contentment on a woman’s face after she has just given birth? Whether it is the thought that the pain is over that gives her peace is another matter! Have you seen the discontentment on a tycoon’s face? He has most probably lost out on acquiring yet another company!
 

When you are under the poverty line you desire to have three square meals a day. When you manage that, you need a good house then clothing and the list goes on increasing, for it is endless! You can never fulfill all your desires; it is against the law of nature! 

 

The spoilt rich are never content, for they have “freedom”. They with the power of money have the freedom to do what they want; then why are they not happy? Do I say Q.E.D. “freedom = discontentment?”  If I do say so, the whole world will jump at me! For which foolish person will want to fight for discontentment!  
 

But has anyone ever tried to analyse that most freedom movements have been started by the youth?  (Except maybe the Indian freedom movement). Is it because they have a life time ahead of them and they do not want to lead it fettered? Or is it because the old have “been there done that” and have lost the enchantment for this beauty? 

 

I am still wallowing in the throes of confusion that mists this terribly beautiful non-matter. I would love to have some erudite, eloquent and non-euphemistic entity clarify my doubts and qualms on this subject.