At sharp 8.30 the crow caws away at my kitchen window, demanding his morning meal. In the midst of rushing between lunchboxes, breakfast, getting my daughter ready, I manage to keep something for him at the sill.
Of late, I had noticed that if I keep a slice of bread he glares at me and flies away to the nearby coconut tree and watches me from there. I feel uncomfortable, like the feeling you get when you are in a marketplace and you feel someone is staring at you, but you don’t know who.
On some days, the flurry of activity is too much for me to even pause to think; on the days I do, I change the menu for the crow, give a piece of roti, or idli or dosa. Anything is okay: but the slice of bread brings out the animosity in him!
On days I don’t give anything else, after about an hour or so he comes and flies away with the piece but letting me know in no uncertain terms he is doing it only as a favour to me and not because he wants it. Ah, yeah, I forgot, toasted bread is a definite ‘no no’.
Recently, I left a slice of bread, as usual broken in two to facilitate him to carry it away.
He came, saw and flew away to the coconut tree, leaving the bread behind. I took out idlis to serve my husband, and feeling guilty, as if we were having a good meal and leaving left overs to the crow, I left an idli on the sill. Before I could turn away, he was at the window, giving me an approving look after tasting the idli.
He then flew away to the coconut tree, his dining table, and holding the idli with his claws started cawing away. I was wondering what was wrong now: maybe the salt was not enough? Or it was too hard? I stood there watching. He took a couple of pecks, left the idli there and flew away. I understood then: he was calling out for his companion, who failed to turn up so he had gone looking for him/her.
Meanwhile, the squirrel that lives on that tree came out for a quick nibble of the idli. The crow swooped down and the squirrel darted back to its nest, peering out from between the palms, waiting and watching...He probably does not mind leftovers...
The crow made another trip around, but came back alone. The bread was still on the sill and he came and took one half of it away, and left it on the terrace of the next building, all along keeping a watch on his idli, and watching out for his friend. Maybe his friend preferred the bread, and would perhaps come?
More pressing matters of the day warranted my attention and I came away. After a while when I went to the kitchen I happened to glance out - the piece of idli had disappeared: and the bread on the terrace and the windowsill remained there - who had taken the idli? Did the crow finally eat it, not able to resist his hunger, temptation, giving in to his baser instincts instead of his more social leanings?
Or did the squirrel win, proving the maxim ‘survival of the strongest’ wrong, but instead that perseverance and cunningness win?
I would never really know; but I do know one thing. Man would chase away his own kind, if he were to be threatened by want, and hoard all that he wants for himself, even hoarding what he does not need.
The crow only chased away another of the species, saving up the possession for one of his own kind. Maybe there is more altruism left in the crow than in man. Otherwise, how would one explain the rioting and waylaying of relief measures for the tragedy-stricken by a few strong men, who want more than their share???
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