nest.

it was a blessed impulse of sorts when i got the two birds. 

i usually never thank it. the impulse. 

usually, it is never good.

usually it is a revolt against the loose threads that tie me to this family. the ones that tighten when i cannot see.

my grandparents' house has always been a place where my threads cannot reach me. for me it is home.

my parents did not wish to give me this home.

their idea of home was different.

one with a father

and a mother

and two children in pigtails and frocks

and white walls

with a large label reading

family, where life starts and love never ends.

they later realised that they had found their homes in different places.

and i had found mine too.

although they treated this as a soulful regret, i never thought it to be one.

it has been a few years away from home.

i have left my childhood there to come to the place my parents wanted to call home.

starting to live somewhere new is a challenge.

adapting is a challenge.

i had flown from my nest.

i decided to find my homes in people.

perhaps, i thought, they would be permanent. 

i remember asking didun when i was younger, what she liked most in the world. again, not much convinced with the answer, tui (you), i had asked her again - hinting at a materialistic object i could perhaps convince ma to buy.

-oi toh gaan. radio te shuni majhe majhe. ar golap ful. ki shundor bhabe phote ! (music, of course. the estranged tunes my ears catch on the radio. and roses. they bloom so beautifully !) 

-tinte holo toh. arekta bolo. (three down, one more to go)

- ar baby.

-baby ? mane babies. plural hoy.

- hya re babies. shishuder shathe thakle anondo hoy. (i find joy around children)

-ami tomake golap debo.(i will then gift you a rose)

- accha dish. ekhon odike phire ghuma.

- (hums in an old gentle voice) o jonaki kon shuke oi dana duti melecho...

(oh dear firefly tell me, what has delighted you so, to flutter your tiny wings ?)

-

i have little memory with my parents. 

as a child, i did not enjoy interactions with them.

perhaps it was because i did not understand them.

or because they did not understand me.

the barrier that was birthed, still stands. weaker.

-

as i write this, a fear exists. a fear that my parents will disagree. more that they will bring up a few instances where they have been there. or have helped me. or say that i am inherently ungrateful for all they have done for me.

i learnt dealing with their emotions at an early age. 

unfortunately in the process of parenting them, i never learnt to deal with myself.

-

i later got to know that one of the birds had died. 

it was strange how i had involuntarily expected immortality. 

not literally, of course. but, death is not something one keeps in mind, or subconscious.

i felt bad.

mostly because it felt like i had invited death into my nest. 

i thought no more of it.

as they say, avoidance- although not preferable, works wonders.

didun and dadan never thought of telling me that they had passed.

they simply replaced the bird with another.

they had somehow illusioned the fact, that death now lingered like a pest.

a comforting illusion of,

hey, we're still here.

-

another bird died. then, another one. one flew away.

every time they said : na ar kinbo na er por. (no, won't purchase more, after another mishap)

they did though. now in the cage lies a yellow budgie with a brown highlight, and a green budgie with yellow highlights. 

often, they are seen to be cuddling. 

ominous uncertainty of time treads around their cage.

-

the feeling of belongingness does not persist in places you do not call home.

and it takes some time to realize, i think. that love does not build a home.

all the love in two painful beating hearts cannot forage the sticks for a nest.

-

my nest lies in the yellowish apartment.

with the old man and his kind eyes and soft smile and a soft belly.

with the old woman and her tired eyes, tireless heart, and gentle singing.

with toys strewn across the floor.

crayon on the walls.

the innocent joy of knocking raw mangoes down the neighbour's tree.

they have made me more human than anything my parents could have done for me.

however harsh my father's curses may hurl.

-

"shonai, bhalo meye hobi toh ?"

"uff didun shotti."

"na age bol."

(grabs her shoulders and sings the inox theme with funny face)

(old lady laughs, covering her mouth with her palm. she is not fond of her teeth.)

"accha thikache baba reeeee"

"orom shur kore bolbi na. thik kore bol. hat rekhe promise kor."

(keeps hand on old lady's upturned palm)

"yes bhalo meye hobo."

"mone thake jeno diduner ei promise ta. almari te chotobela ekbar likhe diyechilish ekhono rekhe diyechi."

-

edit: there were many birds bought post the deaths. many replaced..

death, now familiar.

now

another one at the dinner table.