The Birth On The Kitchen Vent

Building a home despite challenges and creating new life is such a beautiful thing, something that the poet shares with us. 

In the old lanes of Bareilly
Lies a story
Not inside any book, not of a human
Neither any tale of dev-or-devi

The story takes me back
To my home
With big black iron gates
And an aagan with a gudhal tree

On a sultry summer noon
He came with a twig in his beak
Hopped around a bit
And placed it on the kitchen vent very carefully

Soon came she
Flapping her tiny wings around
Scrutinizing the verandah
Yes! we were about to have an extension in our family

I stood there
I watched them
Hiding behind the brown curtain
Thinking, “are they going to live here?”

The two architects were at work now
Raising an abode out of dried shoots,
Some broken roots, feathers and string
Even putting papers for lining

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She used to sit in her nest
He used to bring her some bread
An excitement filling the air
And their chirping became a routine

Then came the month of June
Thirsty earth tasted the fresh monsoon
But that night looked dangerous
As the boon showers turned thunderous

In that storm
I heard her a few times
My heart gasped
Were the two love-birds fine?

The next dawn was quite
Deprived of the song of the very first light
Still cocooned in my bed, I waited and pleaded
O please! cheer me with your chirr-up

The moments seemed to have stopped
As the time moved only inside the clock
And then a fine call broke the silence
Filling the moment with love, hope and innocence

The vigor of new souls
Took away the listlessness of earth
The next few days in my home
Were full of jollity and verve

In the old lanes of my city
On that roaring night
Life planted itself
On that kitchen vent of that pastel blue kothi

Image source: YouTube

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