One Flu over the Bird’s Nest

On an average each chicken weighs approximately two kg and is sold anywhere between Rs 58 to Rs 80. That’s chicken feed if you are a chicken lover. Chicken vendors, poultry farmers and egg distributors, are not worried about the bird flu as much about their sales and reputation, dismissing the subject as chicken poop! These people have all their eggs in the same basket, and so are waiting for the consumption rate to shoot up. Bird flu is terrorizing the poultry farmers and distributors all over, literally making them flutter around!

Bollywood stars, armed with tandoori legs and eggs are promoting poultry products and trying to revive the sale of chicken and eggs as clean chick. Sanju baba and Sunil Shetty are holding up eggs with deadpan expression on their faces, “Mamu, bole to, anda khane ka aur body banane ka, kya?”

Word is, people and vehicles crossing the thin red line of borders are being screened, and nobody wants a chicken in the bus like in Bombay to Goa. Media is having a field month, ruffling some feathers with skin ripping headlines.

Reminds you of the Bulrovian fairy tale, The Sky Is Falling, where Chicken Little thinks the sky is crumbling down.

Nearly 1000 million chickens are born every year, turning into endless dishes for the gastronomes. A matter to ponder on, if roosters lend on the palate then why aren’t the dishes dedicated to them? A menu is yet to be seen where it says rooster soup, rooster biryani or chili rooster. The beating doesn’t stop here. Almost 33.5 billion eggs are laid every year, turning into half fries with sunny side up, boiled, scrambled eggs, omelets, pastries, etc.

Cockfighting

All said and nothing done, India is free of bird flu, no case has been reported in the country till date, no need for people to chicken out from having their favorite food.

Majority of people aren’t worried a bit about the ridiculous avian bird flu, they are still flipping their omelets. Khansamas (cooks) are still ruling the roost stirring chicken biryanis in the bottomless cauldrons. Sunny side up.

Youngsters are having an egg ball making fun of the silly false alarm and the tiny apprehensive section brooding is fast becoming the chicken butt of all jokes. Simply called the boneless chickens.

Chicken Run

It’s splattered everywhere; you are bombarded with the news. At the end of the day you resemble a stuffed chicken, heavy and about to burst.

At the crack of dawn you are awakened by the rooster’s call, while the alarm clock’s stand on snooze.

An egg delivery guy forlornly rode his bicycle through the lane, as I was preparing breakfast I opened the door to pick up the newspaper and there it was, the egg beating headline about the bird flu. I ran my eyes over the rest of the news for a bird’s eye view before dragging myself back to the chicken – sorry, kitchen.

On my way to the city I stopped my car as the signal turned red, a tempo full of chattering chickens pulled up next to me. Later, I caught up with some friends at a café.

My friend’s brother was thrown out of the class for posing the big question in his philosophy class, “What came first, the chicken or the egg?” His teacher, a strict vegetarian and a very finicky health food fanatic, faced the chicken attack from the kid. The fellow placed a chicken sandwich on the teacher’s desk during lunch hour, called one of his classmates an egghead during lecture and cooked up an idea for the college newspaper. The content goes something like this: Cutting egg news, Chicken update, the flu report, a chicken column (Idiot with an egg) and Chicken chat.

Conversations at campuses are peppered with poultry related phrases and jokes. Somebody lost all his money on a bus as a result of pick pocketing, advice started pouring in, never put all your eggs in the same basket.

After listening to more such stories, we reached the conclusion, bring poultry in your conversation and watch the chicken conscious lot shift and fidget in the long awkward pregnant pauses that follow.

Back home, during channel surfing I came across a Friends rerun, where Joey leaves Chandler’s apartment to live on his own at his new place, but Joey gets jealous when Chandler finds a new roommate. The fight erupts when the new roommate makes eggs for Chandler, Joey asks him to choose as to whose eggs he likes best, Joey’s or the new roommate’s. Another rerun, both get themselves a duck and a chick for pets.

Well, maybe an old classic would provide a better change I thought, Hitchcock’s “To Catch a Thief”, as fate would have it, the chicken followed. Cary Grant and Grace Kelly had a picnic of chicken leg, chicken breast and beer.

The rooster was still calling out when I turned in for the night, the next morning I got chicken pox.

It Remains!

I cleaned the other kitchen just now, what a mess! This kitchen is like no other, a store room is a more suitable title. Initially made for culinary activities, it could only enjoy the status for 3 months. Soon, the junk began creeping in, turning the once beautiful kitchen into a dump. I am amazed how much junk one can collect in a year. It starts innocently enough, one small insignificant object, and huge boxes, plastic bags, bottles, clothes, shoes, and newspapers suddenly appear as if by magic.

Every empty space beckons to be filled with things you don’t need and will never use. While clearing away the boxes, folding bags and sorting through dozens of things one often comes across stuff that brings back old memories, a birthday gift wrapping paper or a plastic jewllery box, and once your eyes fall on such things you should know that the moment of impending insanity is upon you.

Here lies my weakness, I find it hard to throw away my old stuff. Everything brings back memories no matter how withered or damaged.

The used gift wrapping paper suddenly acquires a crushed look as you pick it up, “how can you even think of throwing me away”, it seems to implore, “I am the same pretty wrapper you so carefully unwrapped from your birthday present”. My hand freezes in midair as I struggle with my emotions, to throw or not to throw, is the big question that even the Bard couldn’t possibly have imagined. I sigh, the crumpled wrapping paper goes back into the bag, maybe I could use it to wrap the presents this year, I thought to myself, knowing that I am not going to remember it even exists. And most probably won’t see it again till I gather all my courage to clean up the room next time, in the next 10 years. Now I know why Archie's store is still so popular.

Other objects don’t act so innocent; they are manipulative and have sinister approach. They try to entice you into keeping them, “you may need me tomorrow, if you throw me away now you’ll be left in a lurch”, an old clock stares back at me with a glint, “I may come handy at a time of crisis”. It, too, goes back into the box and up in the loft. A time of crisis would never come when I would need this old sticky clock, which by the way, doesn’t work and is quite filthy to touch! Next comes my old torn t-shirt, “good heavens, finally your eyes turn to me – I suspect the room is bewitched – now be a good loving thing you always have been to me and put me back somewhere safe, away from that awful garbage bag you are holding”. That’s it! Stop being such a wuss, I say to myself, and put that dirty little cloth in the garbage right this minute! With shaky hands I threw the t-shirt into the garbage bag – I swear I could hear weeping. There you go, the spell is broken, I congratulate myself. The work is almost done, the room is looking much cleaner and neat. As I was getting ready to leave I saw an old ribbon lying in the corner, ah the one I bought from the Amarsons store as a kid! The once bright red pattern is faded now, I pick it up, roll it and gently put back it in the box. So much for the bravery, some habits die hard, I guess.

Celebrities' Fright!

- It Happens…Even to Ghosts!

After a long boring day I decided to doze off early, little did I know that I would be having a side career in counseling ghosts instead. Just as I pulled up the covers to my chin a heart-shattering angry cry chased my sleep away. "Who's that"? I asked, feeling quite stupid. Nobody cries like that in my family. "That's it, man!"! "I've had enough, I have got to leave this world for sure before I go insane!" came the screeching cry.

A colorful form, dressed in hippy clothes, sitting against the center table erupted in anguish. "Are you the result of an extremely dull day or am I dreaming already?" I asked, squinting my eyes in the dark. "No, I'm a result of an extremely dull dead life", the form mumbled. "And if you haven't figured it out by now, I'm a lost soul". "And a sad one too", I laughed at my silly mind-games. "I don't believe in ghosts, I do like seeing them in the movies but that's as far as it ever goes.

"This one is new", I said to myself. "Yeah, I'm getting some reaction from a living human after a long time, this one is, like, definitely new, man", the self proclaimed ghost shook his head. "So, why are you sad? Aren't you supposed to scare me or something?" I decided to play along with my abruptly active imagination. "Oh, you think that's funny, girl?"

In a blink the form came and sat next to my bed, staring me dead in the eye. "No, it's unusual", I said. "You seem to have other major issues, more serious than scaring me". "You think I have issues? You should see the others, they are thinking of committing spirit suicide, if that's even possible", he snapped. "Why, your colony, if it exists, can have all the fun. You know, being dead, spooking people and all, is pretty cool", I said. "Not anymore, it isn't cool, and yes, we do exist. Being teenagers, geeks and having weird hairdos is what's cool now", he replied. "Come on, it can't be that bad, there must be hundreds of people out there waiting to be petrified by you" I said feeling sorry for him.

"Well, Michael Jackson and some insects are doing the petrifying for us", he heaved a sigh. Just the other day a dead friend of mine went to scare Robert De Niro, he's into famous people. He picked the wrong celebrity, poor thing disintegrated screaming! Every time he went near De Niro, talking in his surround screeching sound, to add the digital effect, Robert would give him a side-glance and say, "You talking to me"?

"That's harsh", I said sympathetically, "why don't you try some new moves?". "What moves? Women have all the moves now; didn't you see Michael Douglas being terrorized repeatedly by Glenn Close, Demi Moore and Sharon Stone? A truckload of ghosts can't even come close to what these she devils did to that terror prone idiot!", my depressed ghost exclaimed."You are right, I didn't know how women could harass men until I started watching Michael Douglas's movies", I admitted.

"Take this blinking old baby, Richard Gere, boy, it's so difficult to frighten him. No success. He keeps blinking all the time as if trying to decide how to react, it is so distracting! And then, he goes into meditation, even then you can see him blinking with his eye closed. When he opens his eyes he'll start telling the ghost to take a deep breathe and think of Dalai Lama".

"I hate celebrities, man! They are unspeakable freaks!" My ghost friend vented. "Oh, they are not that terrible", I said. "They entertain people, make them laugh and forget about the worldly worries". "For a price", he retorted. "I'll never forgive them for what they did and are still doing, especially that witch of a woman". "Who are you talking about?" I asked.

"Cheryl Crow, she gave my girlfriend an inferiority complex, and now my girlfriend is afraid to come out of her grave! I'm telling you, these guys are becoming pro". I hardly get any time to spend with her, it's so stuffy and gross in her grave", he groaned. "I thought that doesn't bother you guys, you don't like being bloody and gross?" "No, we don't, at least not the new breed, unlike our ancestors we prefer staying as hygienic and fresh as death allows us. We are the clean metro-sexual generation, we find it disgusting walking around with decaying bodies the whole night, once in a while it's ok for effects. As it is, these celebrities have brainwashed all the ladies into being all sparkling glamorous Barbie dolls with Kens on their side. They are very much into appearances, cool threads, flashy eyeballs and red lips. "Ah, I see, it's nice though, all groomed and dressed up. A change from the old world's torn, stinking wormy bodies", I nodded.

"Well, it's time to go find people I can't seem to scare", the ghost got up, "It was nice talking to you, thanks, girl. I feel a lot better. "Sure, no probs, anytime. Glad I could help out", I smiled. "By the way, my name is Slash, it was nice meeting you", He extended his hand. "Always a pleasure", I shook it. "Can I ask you a favour? This could really help us", he hesitated

"What?", I asked.

"I have a friend, he is dead, of course. If you could just talk to him like you did with me, it'll really help, you know". “ What's bothering him?" I asked. "Oh, the usual, low self-esteem, depression, the works. Give him some confidence to get back to work" "Sure, I'll try, send him tomorrow night. Let's see what we can do", I agreed. "Thanks, girl, I owe you one. If you ever want to scare somebody I'm at your service", he offered. "I'll do that", you take care, be dead and drop in whenever you feel like chatting", I waved. "You are on, see ya!"

--

Standing by the Cliff

Life can be so boring when you don’t have any ambition to work on. No goals to beat, nothing to look forward to when you wake up in the morning. Why do this? Why do that? What’s the point? The moment you reach this stage it can only mean one thing. You are in serious trouble. Being confused from time to time is alright but not all the time. The ups and downs are part of life they say, but what if your stay in the Down Town extends and becomes an wanted vacation?

What do you do then? Slap yourself real hard! Or bang your head against the thickest wall you can find!

It doesn’t matter how you got here, what matters is, how are you going to get out.

This nudging thought inside my mind, a tiny skeptical voice matching every beat of my heart, urging me to see beyond the visible. Beyond all the hardship and sad moments, the emptiness of the abundant hours and foggy future.

As I stopped to acknowledge all this a tiny voice grew louder and louder bursting into a beautiful sonorous music. Stepping back, I took a long look at my life. The way one looks at the sea, calculating its depth and trying to see the life beneath the surface while standing safely on a cliff surrounded by taciturnity of rocks. Just as the conclusion is about to be formed the laughing waves greet from a distance, giving a reflection of its inner beauty.

That one glimpse changes the whole perspective. That one blissful moment wraps itself around the loner, gently guiding the stranger towards the twinkling waters.

Isn’t it funny how things change, giving new face to the familiar. Leaving you with just memories of bygones, and desire to relive those moments again. If one could go back in time, if only for once...