Birds of feather

-

Birds of Feather
flock together

A crow surrounded by peacocks – a deep abyss of darkness coated with the varnish of jealously flits amongst the iridescent eyes of gold, blue, green unblinking and staring.

He crows. They crow along with him. A stray feather plucked off an unsuspecting wing, another surrendered by reverence for the scratchy crows – so simple yet apparently filled with meaning and the secret of life. Rubies, emeralds, gold dust and diamond sparkles on the sharp, black beak and the circlet of holiness on his head.

He pecks the ground. They pretend to find fat, juicy worms, slurp in delight as he closes his eyes in a state of supreme satisfaction. More feathers, more unblinking eyes perch on his short stubby tail.

He flies away one day and they watch him. The long, silken tokens of mental servility hang off his dark tail as he flaps his wings, far above them. They come off as he traverses the miles. Diamonds and dust fall off the slick texture of his wings and the painted adornments remain just on the surface – underneath, still the dark abyss and still the sheen of envy.

A single feather falls in their midst as he takes off. They blink at it, cock their heads and peck it. It gleams and glitters – the trinket of folly and insecurity, glazed by beauty.

Their eyes are heavenward, waiting for the next one like the one who left, to deliver them from their impression of self imposed doom.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tess of D'Urbervilles

-
Image
It has been a long while since a book has tortured me. Pride and Prejudice evokes the same warmth in me as the sight of an old friend and the well-read first line of the book, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife"  makes me smile. I have empathised with Lizzy Bennet and I often identify myself with her. But I have never felt tortured by the ebb and fall of her emotions. I like to think that I share her scintillating wit (:D) and become Elizabeth at times, and never do I feel that I am outsider in her world. I live in Meryton, I take tea at Pemberly and I'm a fly on the wall - or a bee in the bonnet as the case maybe - in Pride and Prejudice. I began reading Tess of D'Urbervilles (Thomas Hardy) precisely two days ago. Between the compulsory breaks for sleep, lunch, dinner (my mother abhors the sight of a book on my lap as I try to shovel food down so I may read unhindered) an...
read more>>

This year's colours

-
Rangapanchmi just passed me by. This year, I was one of those sad, desolate faces hanging around by the window, spying on the people playing colours in the street below. I got up as usual, and dragged my economics text book on the table, and spent ten solid minutes looking up at the sky. And then there were shouts and giggles, and of course I had to investigate the source (rather than accept the inevitable and read about Planning in India). There was a small group of people in varying shades of maroon, blue, green and yellow on the street and were shrieking with laughter as they drenched each other and threw colours. I will not deny it. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Was it really so bad, that I was cooped up in the house on a glorious March morning, while all my friends from school and my sister were off gallivanting with their friends from college. It is understandable, really, and I do want to be all mature and grown up about it, but sometimes, I feel like an outsider. They go ...
read more>>

Arbhaat short film club: 11th session

-
Image
Having missed the last two sessions of Arbhaat, I was quite eager to head over to NFAI last Thursday. The theme was 'Sound and music'. I have begun to love the first Thursday of every month. It is a much welcome break from the monotony, and to some extent, decides what I will be immersed in the rest of the month. In almost every session I have been struck by some of the films that are screened - so poignant, so simple yet of such breathtaking complexity, films that tell the truth and the films that lie almost lovingly.  I do not claim a deeper understanding of this visual medium - indeed, it is words that I string around myself - but over the past year, I have come to realize the advantages and shortcomings of both the media. I cannot ever forget Telephone, a film by Shabnam Chopra, which had been screened at the 9th session. Based on a short story by Gabriel García Márquez, the film was a psychological thriller which held me spellbound and terrified me to my very core. When...
read more>>