Death before breakfast

Several weeks ago a pigeon found a way to build a nest in my balcony. In a couple of days I saw it had laid two eggs. Chasing it out of course was not an option and for a week or two I tiptoed around the nest and one fine morning saw the eggs hatched and two little pigeons very helpless living in my balcony.

I wish the story ended there.

Few mornings later I opened the balcony screen to a bloody scene - I shot but a glance, still enough for an indelible image of two wings broken brutally and blood splattered all over the white tiles and what could be the left over mangled remains. Much later, with no guts to go there, I asked my driver to help me. He called to ask me what to do with the other one; turns out one was alive. I asked him to leave it on a safe tree somewhere below - my mind dwelling on the horrors the other pigeon must have gone through - how it must have been filled with terror all night that the brutal assailant might come back. It must have been a cat - I have always hated cats with their cruel cruel eyes.

My driver looked pityingly at me, after cleaning and dutifully depositing the pigeon on a tree, almost smiled and said pigeon blood is good for those suffering from epilepsy, his village upbringing mocking my city-bred urbane sensitivity.

In some ways he is right - while superimposing my human emotions on the remaining pigeon and dwelling on its misery, what I really failed to see was the remaining pigeon was alive despite being an easy prey.



That thought made dinner possible that day and makes this blog writable.

Familiarity breeds..

For about a year now, while waiting in at least three of the prominent traffic lights I cross to work, I have been noticing transgenders begging for money. They would typically stand very close to the driver of the vehicle and occasionally touch them as they moved from one vehicle to the other.

There were usually four or five begging - their clothes predominantly in good condition, their face made up, including a dash of lipstick. When it started, I'd see folks, men in two wheelers mostly, giving money fast - it seemed to disturb them and they wanted to be rid of those begging as soon as they could. The men in the car did the same if their window was down - otherwise they rolled it up hastily. The indifference with which one ignored a crying baby or a deformed old man was not there. Business was brisk. As in everything else, we had more inflow of transgenders and possibly men who became temporarily transvesitites due to the money inflow.

In the process they became too familiar.

Now I see less than 30% of the men reacting and the rest are back to behaving the same way as they would behave with any other beggar. The number of transgender beggars at the traffic lights I cross are dwindling.

Familiarity breeds apathy.

Seven - Spoilers

I saw the movie Seven late evening two days ago, a very dark movie with no ounce of hope [When Kevin Spacey gets arrested it is already all over]. It was very stylish, but I thought the ending was convenient. Granted it is not glib as some of the alternate endings that are listed in imdb and is very very powerful but I felt the movie had not built up to the ending. I am making a somewhat contradictory if not confusing statement. But here is my theory - the profile of the killer does not fit with the last killing. And the fact that he is envious of Wills is sudden and convenient. That is why while the ending is stunning due to its shock value it is not stunning due to its intelligence. How about an alternate scenario of Somerset being envious of Wills - after all the younger man has all the things Somerset does not have - and the killer playing it up during the last ride in the car to evoke wrath in Wills. That could have been worked into the plot right from the beginning subtly without it being sudden and it also would be logical for the killer to use it once he did research on the detectives.

Painting

I have decided to take up painting again. The sentence implies I have extensively painted some part of my life which is not true. I have dabbled in oil painting off and on with about three or four still lifes and a couple of landscapes and a single portrait. But this time I was going to try water colors. Easier said than done. After struggling with it for a couple of hours, I am feeling extremely incompetent. Maybe I'll try a couple of pencil sketches to soothe my bruised ego.

Statues

The dust has settled down around the statues of thiruvalluvar and sarvajna. So has all the mutual back scratching. The real achievement is - now both cities have statues to disfigure in times of turmoil.