Cirkut - In Memoriam

Come this Friday, February 8th, it'll be two months since a Shikra snatched my baby bulbul away. It still hurts to see his empty basket and his little dish that he will never peck oats out of anymore. He loved bananas and still liked being hand-fed like a fledgling. I miss the fluting cry of greeting he gave me when I came home after a work weary day and the way he would come eagerly to chirp and peck at my bangle by way of welcome. And the way his feathers felt like warm silk when I held him close to my cheek. Or the way he would flutter in and out of his bath bowl and later, sit preening and fluffing his little feathers. I miss the months of following his routine of letting him out in the sun and onto his favorite blanket. Not to forget the way he would lift a wing and air it gravely in the sun with so much pleasure. He loved bright things and would peck happily for hours at a piece of wrapping paper. Who knew a bird could do all that?
If to love and be loved is what all life is about, Cirkut certainly wrote the book on that one!
He was truly a pet in every sense of the word.

Now, I feed the pigeons on the terrace and smile at their idiosyncrasies but it doesn't fill that hole Cirkut left in my heart. The turtle doves come waddling now when they see me in hope of food and the little birds in the mango tree know I mean them no harm. When I see them, I marvel at how much Cirkut changed my life and opened my eyes to the multitude of bird life around us - bulbuls, drongoes, parakeets, kites, doves, pigeons and other avians that we routinely share our lives with. If I had the choice to pick up that little brown bundle of half grown feathers that was Cirkut all over again, I would take it. And endure his insistent cheeping, his clamoring to be fed, clean piles of poop, spend hours agonising about his poor feather growth and experience all the sundry aches that come when you lose your heart to a pet. It's the price you pay when you let a little magical being into your life.