Of Pigeon-tales and Brain Freeze

This word document of mine is currently open, well, because my brain has stopped working. And any addition I might do to my work right now cannot possibly be a positive one. Hence, for the sake of my employers, and my employer’s clients, I am here, typing mindlessly, on this word doc.

It’s been some time since I wrote. Simply because for some weird reason I cannot find anything to write about. And that is mainly due to the fact that I have one huge-ass post pending on my super awesome trip to Goa, which is clearly over-shadowing any possibility of actually being able to think of anything else to write about. And I don’t want to write about Goa unless I’m giving it enough of my time and attention. And full brain power. So what you’re stuck with in the interim is mindless babbling like this.

Well, this week’s been nice, and kind of brain numbing at the same time. With mind numbing days ending in surprises so big that I didn’t recognize them when they were staring me right in the face. Literally. And enough to make me smile like a crazy woman for a looong loooooong time.

On a completely unrelated topic, but a highly important matter, I seriously believe that my life is in danger. Over and above the usual can-fall-from-the-train/have-an-accident/get-run-over-by-an-auto-rickshaw/get-trampled-to-death-at-Dadar-station/have-the-only-tree-in-Mumbai-fall-on-my-head type threats to my life. A slight background might be of use here. Remember cute little Earl who we had adopted in our little kitchen balcony? Ok, so we didn’t really have a choice but to adopt him since we found him sitting there staring up at us. But the thing is, while he was born all cute n fluttery, he just grew up to be a stinky mess. He shat everywhere, brought in weird worms to eat, and definitely did not follow a daily bathing regime. My roomie and I would look at him every day, sigh, and write him off as a bad decision resulting from some drunken night. What we hadn’t planned for however, was Earl selecting our kitchen balcony as his righteous location to raise generations to come. And before we could even figure out what was happening, we found ourselves staring at yet another egg.

I won’t lie to you, we did consider raising yet another impudent pigeonlet. But then memories of Earl’s days of teenage angst quickly made us change our minds. So one day, the nest was discreetly transferred from our balcony to the common terrace on our floor. More space for the young ones to play in, we told ourselves.

Now you’d think that all is well and good, except Earl and the Mrs. clearly did not adapt to this change too well. Now, when I wake up at 6.30 in the morning to pick up my towel from the balcony, they are there, sitting on my towel, staring at me. I come back home at night, and they are still there, staring right at me. Any time of the day, THEY ARE THERE….STARING DIRECTLY AT ME. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced it, but a pigeon’s eyes can be rather creepy things when they’re pointing at you. Especially when they’re looking at you in a weird Bollywoody-Naagin-I-know-you-murdered-my-family kind of way. And they’re shitting over all your washed clothes with a vengeance.

I-kid-you-not.

So if tomorrow, you find me dead in some corner of this city, in what looks like a freak accident of a random pigeon attack, do NOT be fooled. It would be Murder of the first degree, pure and plotted. This blog post shall stand evidence in the court of law. 

I.SEE.YOU.