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.