Open door meetings of pigeons. On one particular branch or around one particular puddle of water. Discussing shit and pooping it at the same time. Do you wonder what they are chattering about? Do you think they discuss rents and whether their postal savings will generate enough to cover inflation? Do you think they talk about how difficult it is becoming to find twigs? Do you think they are disgusted with the way the “new generation” is turning out?
You think they mock humans? Mock the way we talk, and more importantly, the way we walk? Do you think animals can feel scorn? If they did, and cared to observe us, they would be feeling a lot of scorn. That is for sure.
Pigeon terrorists. Infiltrating the meeting, with a tiny bomb wrapped around his neck. Going “You infidels will die” before pressing the boom button.
A flash and a not too loud “kaboom” followed by pictures of smoke and feathers in the air. People wondering what the fuck just happened. A mysterious voice heard on the walkie talkie – “The gooter goos have been goosed. Over and out”
Too much anthropomorphic shit it seems.
Then then what you did?
What was I thinking of the other day. Let me see. It was something to do with kites (the paper ones not the birds) and that rustling noise they make when you hold them in the hand and there is a breeze running all around you.
It is very particular kind of rustle, that kite rustle. Cant think of anything else that makes that sound.
Oh no, that wasn’t what I was thinking about. I was thinking about what happens when you tear a piece of paper and whether that sound of paper being torn is actually millions of paper particles (atoms) going “naheee” at being bodily separated. Like you have all these bonds and ions and shit and they are all holding hands and when you tear stuff up, they can’t hold hands anymore so they all go like “naheeeeee”.
Cant decide if my brain works too much or works too little.
Finally (and I do mean finally) went to Yazdani bakery. After all these years in the city, to think that I would bump into it the way I did. Beautiful little place. Smells of bread being made you know. And you can sit there on the cramped desks and slurp away at the chai.
Or you can have the biscuits or the mawa cake or the rusk or anything that catches your eye.
I suppose if there were only so many places you could go to in this city, that bakery would be one of them,
Kanta bai and the cook have decided to jointly fuck me over. So not only is the house a mess but it is inhabited by an unbelievably grumpy kro.
Hungry kro equals grouchy kro.
Chal be bahut ho gaya hai.
That one pigeon who refused to show up for the meeting, refusing to bow down to peer pressure.
That pigeon be like: