Hospitality
By Deepankar
Published by Deepankar at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 Deepankar
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author.
It all started with my leaving the kitchen window open when I went to office one December morning. I had been drinking the previous night. I woke up late and had to rush to catch the office bus which resulted in that careless mistake. Therefore, I’m not sure, if the moral of the story should be ‘don’t drink on a weekday’ or whether it should be ‘daren’t be hospitable’, but that is something the reader can decide after learning about my plight.
When I returned from office that evening, I heard a strange gurgle in the apartment which nearly made me jump out of my skin. I switched on the lights and looked around the house. I didn’t see anything. I wasn’t afraid of burglars since my possessions were few and there was hardly anything worth taking. ‘It must’ve come from outside,’ I told myself. I ordered dinner and was settling down to read a book when the sound reached my ears again, a distinct gurgle mixed with a sort of clucking. It was becoming mystifying and slightly irritating too since at that point I was not able to identify whether the noise was coming from an animal or a human being. As I was not able to concentrate on reading, I went on a second reconnaissance mission. I traced the source of the nuisance to the unlit kitchen and was greeted with a pair of glowing red eyes. Surprised, I hit the switchboard and the lights revealed a healthy pigeon sitting quietly behind an unused table fan. The cold breeze from the open window showed me the access point of the intruder. My first instinct was to shoo the bird and close the window but the absolute humility and agreeableness of its face made me stop. There was innocence, a sort of pitiable look one sees in those who come seeking refuge, about the bird. It had found sanctuary in my flat. I looked at it and the pigeon clucked as if promising it wouldn’t inconvenience me at all. I should’ve known better, learnt from the problem of nations struggling with the immigration problem. The ramifications of being generous were many and not pleasant always.
I’ve to admit I didn’t think much about the pigeon or what its presence in the house could mean. I presumed the bird had come in for a little warmth. I should’ve known that the mild Mumbai winters are hardly anything for the animal planet which consequently should’ve warned me that the bird might be having an ulterior motive for coming to my house. Assuming it will be gone the next day, I went about my business. The next evening, a few scattered feathers and a twig or two, made it evident that the pigeon had stayed on. The mess was of reasonable proportions, expected from a less intelligent being, and nothing which the maid couldn’t handle. I told myself I would close the window the following morning, once the bird was gone, but I forgot. It was still there when I came back. Imprudently, I was getting used to its clucking and hiccoughing filling the silence at my residence.
Towards the second half of the week, I was bombarded with work at office which ensured I came home only after ten in the night. I’d directly go to bed having eaten my dinner at office. It was a tougher than usual week and I was looking forward to a relaxed weekend. The sun was high in the sky when I woke up on Saturday morning. I was in for a rude surprise. I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water and witnessed utter mayhem. The floor was covered with feathers, twigs and straws. ‘Where do you get straw in Mumbai?' was my first thought. I was dismayed to notice the bird droppings. They were splattered all over the kitchen. The picture wasn’t encouraging at all. The pigeon had managed to build a nest in the few days I hadn’t paid attention. Perched nicely inside the nest, it was looking at me with complete admiration for being the benevolent host. I figured the kitchen sink would’ve become an excellent source of food for the bird, allowing it to focus its energies in building the nest, and not worry about foraging. The kitchen was littered with raw materials which didn’t meet the nest’s quality requirements, and were discarded carelessly, for the host to clean up. The worst was the foul smell of bird droppings confronting me in its full magnitude. Hurriedly, I took a glass of water and came to the living room, desperately wanting to cling to the good humor that the weekend usually brought. Patiently, I waited for the cleaning maid to relieve me from further stress.
Even though I was a bachelor, I prided myself on how I lived and kept my house. Without being punctilious about it, cleanliness was a habit I had inculcated over years. It gave me peace of mind. The pigeon had been unfair with me. It had no business building a nest without my approval. Having been allowed to stay for a few days, it was not right on behalf of the creature to invite itself on a permanent basis. On top of that, it had abused my hospitality by dirtying the kitchen. I could’ve still excused it for littering the floor with different specimen of flora, but not having the manners to do toilet outside was inexcusable. I made up my mind to remove the nest, put it outside, the moment the flier left the house. I was no bird lover. Even though I loved nature and was inspired to do my little bit towards its preservation and continuance, I couldn’t possible persist in the face of deteriorating living conditions. Enough was enough.
The maid came and immediately threw a tantrum after discovering the state of the kitchen. She didn’t mince words saying bachelors were careless, didn’t keep clean houses and were mostly not worth working for. ‘I should’ve never broken my oath and taken up this job,’ she told me. I tried to assuage her with promises that the bird was going to be shown the door the very day and the flat would soon retain its former order and splendor. She kept grumbling as she cleaned the house and washed my clothes. All the while the pigeon looked at her innocently and refused to budge in spite of the din that she created, even when she went to the extent of waving a broom in its face. It was at peace knowing the maid was a visitor and would leave soon enough. My heart was threatening to melt at the bird’s confidence on my hospitality but I held strong. The nest and subsequently the pigeon had to go. The maid left with a clear warning that she wouldn’t clean such a mess a second time. The onus was on me to keep the house in order else she would leave notwithstanding her long employment of four years in my house. Her threat made removal of the pigeon imperative. It wasn’t just a question of my tolerance or love for the animal planet, it was about my survival. I was suddenly on the verge of losing the smooth functioning and delicate balance of my household.
Unfortunately the pigeon too seemed to have inculcated the habits of urban citizens. It was in a weekend mood, and refused to budge, the entire day. I ordered lunch and settled down to read Rumi’s Masnavi. Firm in my purpose, every half hour I would jump to check on the feathery being. To my disappointment and a shade of guilt as well, the pigeon looked at me as if it had read my mind. Having interpreted my ulterior motives, it was determined not to give me an opportunity to wrong it, waiting and hoping for my transformation. If it meant it had to go hungry for a day, it was ready to perform the sacrifice. The pigeon had not moved by nightfall. Its resolve was as firm as mine. I was moved to a large extent by its firmness to keep its home and out of pity I dropped a handful of rice grains inside the nest. No, I had not changed my mind. I was still firm on removing the nest and closing the window for good but didn’t wanted the bird to go hungry and die on my account. I had heard from my grandmother that animals, especially pets, could sense what human beings are thinking. I agree I’m superstitious and believe in such things but I also wanted to ease my conscience since I was going to do a misdeed by sending the bird out in the open. A game of cat and mouse ensured. I kept popping into the kitchen hoping to find the pigeon gone, for at least a breath of fresh air but alas my generosity had ensured that the bird was well provided for and had no need to move from its newly made home. Sunday was a similar story. The bird was at home and nothing could tempt it to leave.
I realized I didn’t mind the presence of the bird if it was static, at one place like an adorning on the wall or a sculpture, and not fluttering around in the house. The maid refused to concur with my opinion. ‘You just wait and see. It is sitting quietly today. But these things are always up to some mischief. You will soon found out,’ were her golden words. Once I had shared my resolve with her, she advised me to stay firm though refusing to do anything with the sin of rendering a poor creature homeless. The good behavior of the pigeon made me reconsider the drastic step I was planning to take. Things weren’t so bad after all. The good fellow continued to roost and the kitchen was not dirtied any more. I didn’t mind the occasional feather or so floating around. It was kind of quaint to see a piece of nature throbbing inside one’s house. I reasoned the initial mess and untidy behavior must’ve been the side-effects of hurried attempts of a single homebuilder to build a home in a concrete jungle where raw materials were scarce. It would’ve been very difficult for the pigeon to build the nest and it had behaved itself quite admirably once the task was completed. I wanted to give the bird the benefit of doubt but the maid’s warning and the prospect of washing and cleaning by myself held me back. I was in a dilemma.
Monday night an opportunity presented itself. I wasn’t looking for it but couldn’t ignore it once I saw that the pigeon was missing when I went to the kitchen to serve myself dinner. I decided at the moment to rid myself of this recurring dilemma. No nest, no bird, no thinking about the bird and no worrying about the nest. Conscience tried to dissuade me with a few arguments on duties of a host but I was reinforced. As I swooped on the nest with a dustpan, grim determination on my face, I received a shock. The dustpan had settled underneath the nest. I was on the verge of removing it from the kitchen shelf when I noticed two small eggs in the heart of the nest. This was a completely unprecedented development. I was betrayed! Not only did the pigeon make my house its permanent residence but also decided to raise its family here. The eggs explained its quiet behavior over the weekend, right under my nose too. I stared at the nest and the eggs trying to cope with this new uncertainty. My contemplation didn’t last long. Nothing could be done anymore. I wasn’t so ruthless as to put the nest outside and risk breaking the eggs myself or have them eaten by a crow. The nest had to stay till the eggs hatched.
It wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. The pigeon was quiet for the next two weeks. It went out during the day and sat on its eggs during the night. The kitchen remained moderately clean. The maid’s reaction was predictably cautionary. She saw the eggs and immediately advised me to get rid of them. When I expressed shock at her callousness she said, ‘Didn’t I tell you the bird was up to something? You wait and watch when the chicks come out. Not only the kitchen but also the house will be invaded by them. All your love and affection will be tested then.’ I figured she was exaggerating with her prediction of apocalypse. I was sure that the worst was over with the building of the nest. I felt an attachment too with the pigeon and its family since it had all started in front of my eyes. I left food in the sink so that the bird wouldn’t have to leave the eggs for long. A little tolerance goes a long way in building things I told myself. Also, curiosity to observe the pigeon family and their antics had got the better of me. My indulgence was going to come at a great cost.
The eggs hatched in the third week and then the mayhem began. My morning sleep was the first victim. An intense chatter pierced through the house in the morning and cut down my sleeping time by a good three hours. I woke up each day at five in the morning. Suddenly I had lots of time in my hand without the faintest idea what I should do about it. The hatchlings were two tiny brown hungry things that always seemed to be demanding food. The pigeon went into top gear after the chicks hatched. It kept fluttering around them. All of a sudden food from my kitchen wasn’t good enough for it. It would fly out of the window and keep coming back to its chicks thousand times in a day. The hyperactivity resulted in hundreds of feathers being shed. That was still manageable. Soon the chicks joined their mother. They fluttered in their nest which started to break and scatter its contents all over my kitchen shelf and floor. The amount of debris doubled in a matter of days. The worst part, as before, was pigeon droppings which were everywhere including the kitchen shelves, floor and stack of utensils. The smell of shit pervaded the house contaminating the very air I breathed. I convinced the maid to bear with the circumstances for a few days by offering her more money though she was far from enthusiastic at the prospect of working under such dingy circumstances. I think she stayed just to give me the ‘I told you so’ look than the money. She emptied entire phenyl bottles while scrubbing the floor but the smell remained. Eventually she got fed up with the lingering smell and left my service. I made a thousand appeals to her conscience but failed to reverse her decision. In all fairness, she had warned me beforehand. She kindly added that she would be back the day the pigeons were gone. ‘It shouldn’t be such a difficult choice for you to make,’ were her departing words.