Of Birds and Birdbrains

Last Sunday was a day of discoveries for us - one large bird, and a large number of bird-brains...

Just as we were starting our Sunday with an animated discussion on what was to be made for breakfast, and much more importantly, WHO was to make breakfast – the watchman informed us that there was a ‘chidiya’ stuck in our backyard, in dire need of being rescued from crows and stray cats.

An injured sparrow, thought we, and walked casually to the garden. Well, it wasn’t a sparrow. It was a full grown barn owl – a magnificent specimen! Not injured, but stuck in our garden and unable to fly away across the raised fencing in harsh daylight.

Hedwig, I presume...? Our Sunday guest

As we noticed the crows hovering overhead, we realised the owl needed help. And we could not do it ourselves, as it would just fly off the moment someone approached it.

Thus began Operation Owl Rescue.

The first call was to 101, because though an owl was a novelty, the fire brigade had in fact, in the past, helped us retrieve and rescue a snake that had got stuck under the inverter in our garage.

But clearly, this Sunday was not our lucky day. No answer at 101. It was 8 in the morning.

And then the hunt started in all seriousness – the hunt to find an animal welfare organisation that could help us out.

And oh boy... what specimens we found!

The first animal ‘welfare’ organisation we called informed us rather grumpily that they would not move their ass, or for that matter any other part of their body, until they received express orders to do so from the Navi Mumbai Municipal Corporation ward office. On a Sunday, we asked? Yes, said they. And off, went Sud. Leaving Ananya and me to watch over the owl like two protective mamas.

The NMMC expedition turned out, as we always suspected it would, utterly fruitless.

More calls, more specimens. One call, answered by a lady - in an accent that seemed to proclaim “I just live in Mumbai, but my heart belongs to Manhattan, you know” – informed us that while their organisation would not be able to help, we should try calling so and so...

There were others who we could almost visualise raising an eyebrow at having their Sunday disturbed for the sake of a mere owl... “Is there a leopard in your loft? A python on your potty? No? Then don't bother us!” their tone seemed to suggest.

(By the way, ALL these organisations had claimed in their online profiles that they did bird rescues!)

We even called up the Bombay Natural History Society, as some of the welfare organisations had suggested, to be told peremptorily – ‘It’s Sunday’, before having the phone slammed on us. So sorry folks, we will now revise the Animal School curriculum, to teach the animals days of the week, and caution them that they are NEVER to get injured, sick or stuck on a Sunday.

Operation Owl Rescue had turned into Operation Wild-Goose Chase!

On the verge of giving up (and resigning ourselves to the fate of guarding the owl till nighfall), we decided to try the fire brigade one last time. It worked! In 15 minutes, there were 6 strapping young men, dressed smartly in white bush shirts, shorts and gumboots chasing the owl from one end of our garden to the other, and back again. The distressed one was not ready to be 'rescued' so easily!

But finally, they did manage. The bird was captured and taken away to be released at an appropriate time and place.

And we returned, with a feeling of contentment, to our favourite Sunday pastime – arguing over who would cook the next meal...

Sarkar Raaj

A guest blog-post by Amartya Gautam

The Srinivas family, over the past few months has been hit by the shrapnel from the explosions of creative writing. The attack came from unexpected quarters as one of their own discovered the writer within, and thus through the ensuing blogs, reasserted her position as the supreme commander of the Srinivas forces, inspiring from all in her vicinity, the familiar feelings of awe, fear and respect all at once.

Battered and bruised, the victims approached the bravest soldier amidst them. And thus, I write this on behalf of all the unsuspecting victims, my fate as a martyr decided even as I typed the first few words.

(I must make my case as a brave youth, you see, for I am informed by reliable sources that the next post will seriously jeopardize my reputation as the same!)

The aging matriarch (this description alone carries death penalty), is often mistaken as a docile creature – my friends, for example, dismiss my accounts of our fierce battles. They insist that Suchi AUNTY is always smiling, extremely sweet and friendly. Little do they know that our clashes matched that of bhima and hidimba( she being hidimba, of course), except more intense perhaps. The skies and the earth have trembled (the rest of the family and neighbours too), as we fought tooth and nail, giving no quarter. Even my father’s harried attempts at being a peace emissary were of no avail. You think I exaggerate? Take another case, of her trying to teach Ananya maths. The mere mention of it sends the rest of us into fits of laughter, while the two of them exchange painful smiles, their eyes conveying to each other the burden of the tragedy only they must share. Typically, the maths lesson starts with utmost sincerity on both sides. The guru and shishya, ready to embark on their voyage of knowledge. Ten minutes into it, one hears a reprimand or two from the adjacent room, in a mildly exasperated voice. Ten minutes later, one can hear several more of these at a distinctly higher volume, accompanied with cranky protests from another voice. At this point, if there is no intervention by some peace loving being, all hell breaks loose and one is forced to consider that the apocalypse has perhaps, after all, arrived in 2012. The remainder of the family, while sensibly not engaging with this formidable force in battles of such epic proportions, are wary of poking the eye of the sleeping dragon.

Mrs. Suchismita Srinivas (Suchismita Sarkar, before marriage), is much like Hippogriffs – you’re in big trouble if you mess with them, but if they like you, they can be really nice too. The trick is to dodge the occasional moments of wrath, and has been so far mastered only by one person, and he is married to her.

There is one thing that we all agree on, though:

In our household, there is Sarkar Raaj.

Kids Shids tey Chicken Khurana

At the very beginning, let me salute every fond Mama or Papa who has gladly suffered their kids’ birthday parties year after year - armed with a grin and a jar of Tiger Balm.

For me, it has been the same old story for the past 19 years... I have gotten all gung ho about celebrating the b'day of one or the other of my kids. But as D-day/B-day came near, my gung-ho-ness levels had fallen rapidly... and by the time the day had got over, I had been left wishing that I was elsewhere - maybe some serene place where wild dogs were tearing me apart, or a slobbering monster was boiling me in hot oil...

Because whenever I think ‘Kid’s Birthday Party’, a nightmarish slideshow flashes through my head: I am surrounded by about 253 open mouths – all yelling chaotically choreographed yells of ‘Auntie more cake’, ‘Auntie juice’, ‘Auntie toilet’ or some such thing. There are kids crawling out of the woodwork and tumbling out of every cupboard. And the noise!! 2-3 hours of non-stop, incredible decibel levels of NOISE! When the attack finally subsides, I am left with confetti strewn all around, unsightly coke and food stains on the sofa, maybe a few broken chairs or curtain rods... and of course, a bunch of recycled gifts.

3 years ago, I almost swore off kids’ parties of any type – after being under siege for more than 24 hours, by my daughter and her two friends who had come to spend a day at our place. Back then, I had come home from work to find that the three 9-year olds had massacred half of my wardrobe and cosmetics, left 3 huge depressions on my bed after having used it as a trampoline (WITH my high heeled shoes on, from the look of it), and used my best perfumes as air fresheners – spraying them indiscriminately all over the house.

So last week, when Ananya asked for a birthday party, I thought I would be smarter this time around, and take her out with a handful of her friends. Minimise collateral damage and all that, you know.

It was one of the MOST feather brained ideas I could have come up with. When I had asked her if she wanted to go for a movie with a few friends, the number I had in mind was 3, or maybe 4 kids. Gross miscalculation – I had neither factored in the pester power of siblings nor Ananya’s generosity when it came to handing out invitations.

Saturday, 10^th November arrived. And so did the kids – all 10 of them. No last minute no-shows (as I had half hoped)!

After they had stuffed themselves with home made namkeen and murukku (courtesy, my ma-in-law), loads of gooey chocolate cake and coke, we left for the multiplex to catch a movie. We had barely reached our seats, when a couple of kids piped up, ‘Auntie, Coke aur Popcorn?’ Of course! After all, it was all of 20 minutes since they had eaten! Rama (one of the parents who had accompanied me) and I shushed them, saying, ‘Later.’ But we knew we could not stall for too long.

And I learnt an important lesson in life... the hard way. Never, EVER take a gang of kids to watch a movie with a leitmotif of food... and farts. Luv Shuv tey Chicken Khurana is an enjoyable movie... but NOT if you are watching it with nearly a dozen kids seated in the row behind you. Everybody knows that kids turn into cola-and-popcorn-processing machines even while watching a regular movie - imagine what would happen in a movie where there is constant banter about food! And the less said about kids' affinity for fart jokes, the better.

Still, it was a novel experience! I don’t think I will ever again watch a movie where every fifth line spoken by an actor is punctuated by a dismembered voice muttering, ‘Auntie, khana kab aayega?’ behind me. And when I was not experiencing some spectral being breathing down my neck (quite literally), I was running outside to fetch water, or food, or haranguing the assistant at the food stall outside to hurry up with the food and save my life!

Finally the movie ended. And it was time for – what else, more food. This time around it was burger meals at a fast food joint. When the kids were ordering, I was certain we were ordering too much. 40 minutes later, looking at the cleaned up plates, I wondered if we had ordered too little...

Anyway, the party finally ended after dropping the kids back home. Ananya left to continue her party – at a friend’s place. Just as I was about to  change into my night clothes and fall upon the bed, my son asked which movie we had been to. “Luv Shuv tey Chicken Khurana,” said I. “Chicken! I miss chicken...,” said the lad, “Can we go out and get some... now?”

It was 10.15 pm.

But it was no point trying to... err... chicken out. There was to be no escape from food (and yes, chicken) for me that day!

45 minutes later, we were at a neighbourhood pub. As Amartya devoured chicken seekhs with gusto, I sat sipping on some warm cognac, my brain in a ‘time out’ state.

It was peacetime - after a one-day frenzied war. I felt content. The kids had enjoyed themselves to the hilt. (And though I simply hate to admit it in public, I kind of had a good time too!) My daughter, of course, was thrilled to bits with the party. 

And that, I guess, is why we Mamas and Papas of the world do it... over and over again, every year. Sure, it’s a lot of effort... but ultimately, that’s chicken feed when it's your child’s happiness at stake...