Who is that birdy on my window??

Confined to my home in a foreign land with no buzz of the telephone … nor the maid briskly working whilst talking about this that and the other… nor the sound of horns and barks and vegetable vendors or fish mongers yelling in the street …nor the doorbell ringing several times a day (either the gas cylinder service or courier or cable wallah or dhobi or newspaper boy or the store delivery boy)In the dead silence that envelops me day after day, a small little birdy makes its appearance…. 

N can you imagine my JOY when I spot it on my window….i lie still at first, lest it fly away when I move and after a few seconds tick by I slowly sit up and watch silently at my little friend…what beauty in simplicity…a small tiny birdy with a yellow beak and yellow feet and an irregular shape of the yellow freckle around its eye….it hops about on my window sill and makes a small but quite a loud chirp….first one chirp and then two and then a few more chirps…it hops a bit further …peeps into my apartment….my heart longs to feed this new found friend…puffed rice?!….but alas!…i guess my fried must have had its fill already and didn’t even let curiosity get the better of it…my puffed rice lay unpicked….I guess its happiness just lay in chirping to me….n off it went….where to I don’t know…two days and I have started looking out for my friend…. 

May seem silly to you who is reading this…but I can’t tell you what a pure and heartfelt joy it is to have its company in this foreign land ….in my space where no phone rings all day…no doorbell rings several times and no maid talks away all day and no street hawker cries out…Lil birdys like my new found friend are a blessing…a gift from the skies…

The very idea of a bird is a symbol and a suggestion to the poet. A bird seems to be at the top of the scale, so vehement and intense his life. . . . The beautiful vagabonds, endowed with every grace, masters of all climes, and knowing no bounds — how many human aspirations are realised in their free, holiday-lives — and how many suggestions to the poet in their flight and song! – John Burroughs

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