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10

Prose

The Great Bird Housing Crisis

vishakha khetrapal

Of all the birds in the sky, the tiny sparrow has a special place in my heart. And I like to think, standing at a humble 5 feet 1 inch myself, that in some past life, I must have been a sparrow. That must be why I’m so drawn to their petite size. Maybe that’s why I even decided to send an open invitation to my avian “family” to my new apartment in Pune.
Now, let me tell you something about this place. My building—and every other concrete behemoth that’s popped up in the area—was built at the expense of a hill that used to cradle a green ecosystem. That hill slowly withered under bulldozers, sacrificed on the altar of ‘development.’ People like me found shiny new homes, while the birds, well... they lost theirs.
There are still a few defiant trees left, standing tall on plots that haven’t been sold yet. These trees became the last refuge for the birds that refused to leave. And it was to these feathered friends that I extended my humble hospitality.
With grand intentions, I set a bowl of grains on my balcony and waited. Nothing happened. Undeterred, I thought, “Perhaps they need something more delicate.” So, I ground up rice and dal to cater to their refined sparrow tastes. Still, nothing. “Well, they must be thirsty,” I reasoned. So, I set out a little earthen pot of water for them to sip from or take a refreshing dip in. And then… I waited some more.
But my balcony stayed conspicuously empty. No chirping. No fluttering wings. Just the silent, stony gaze of the neighbouring buildings. Then, one day—whoosh! A flurry of feathers. But not sparrows. No, my balcony was overtaken by pigeons. Big, bulky, and completely unbothered by my carefully prepared meal. They plopped down, gobbled up the grains, took a sip from the water, and, to top it all off—left their “appreciation” on my freshly laundered clothes!
You can imagine my disappointment. Here I was, trying to connect with my sparrow-kin from another lifetime, and instead, I got pigeon poop as my thanks! My husband, amused by my plight, teased that maybe I had been a pigeon in my past life—explaining my tendency to meddle in his affairs. I laughed it off, but maybe he was right…
Despite all that, I haven’t given up. The balcony is still a little sanctuary—well, more for pigeons than sparrows at this point. Yet, every now and then, when a lone sparrow happens to perch on the railing, I feel a fleeting connection. Like a message from that untamed world that still exists, if only we’re patient enough to notice it.
And so, amidst the hustle and bustle of the city, my balcony stands as a reminder of our shared bond with the wilderness outside our windows—even if that bond is sometimes interrupted by a stubborn pigeon or two.

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