From cows to crows

Even shock is relative. What shocks me, doesn’t necessarily have to shock you. And vice versa. For instance, when I walk or ride the scooty, I always duck when a crow is flying low. I get incredulous looks from passers by. I even screech to a halt sometimes. That particular action has provoked swear words as well a couple of times. But that doesn’t mean that I am crazy. For, to be hit by a flying crow is a very real threat in my life. When I was a student (not that I am not one, now) in Manipal, crows were the biggest problem beyond all possible imagination. If you had to go out, you had to keep some spare time in mind, in the unlucky, but likely event that the crow decided to dump the remnants of the ‘gourmet’ lunch on you. In which case you would have to go back and shower again. I know a girl on whom this lucky ‘event’ occurred twice on the very same day. It also happened to be her first day at Manipal. I have also had the luck of having samosas snatched away from my hands, which led me to believe the story I once heard my grandmother say. She told my little brother and sister when they were 4 years old, about how the crow flew into the house and snatched away their feeding bottles, which was why they couldn’t have them. My brother and sister believed her, didn’t shed a single tear, and went on with their life undisturbed, albeit feeding bottle-less. I, on the other hand, being six years older, and considerably much wiser, as I so preposterously presumed, laughed at their innocence and continued to look on crows as part of the harmless fauna. 15 years later, humbled by my experiences with the said species, I now look on them with grudging respect, and a bit of dislike. For after all, they are scavenger birds, and they did soil my clothes many a time. However I do admire the crow’s resilience, exemplified by this one instance where in the crow attacked a girl who had a sandwich in her hand. The crow hit her on the head with its beak. Now in more than 99% of cases, the natural instinct of any human being, would be to drop the eatable and jump away. This girl, being a girl, with heightened startle response, jumped, and screamed, in the characteristic high pitched voice, but for some unknown reason refused to let go of her sandwich. This action must have exasperated the crow so much, that it multitasked. It flew up, and then dived down again, this time attacking the girl’s head, sat on it, and cackled. All this may seem impossible, because in an attempt to describe completely what happened, I’m using a lot of words, and making it sound like a step by step event. But all this happened in a matter of seconds. This time, the girl was defeated, she dropped the sandwich, and legged it. The lucky crow got what it wanted. The first thing that came to my mind when I witnessed this spectacular incident, was a mental picture of 2 crows lugging my brother’s feeding bottle. 15 years back. I can so believe that it may have happened. I also believe that crows are very greedy. They seem to think that any object in person’s hand, which appears to be of a particular size is eatable. Whether it is pure gluttony, or a genetic defect that involves the visual pathway, I refrain from comment as I am not well aware of crow physiology or anatomy. And I have no interest in learning about it, either. I say this because I spent a lot of time pacing the garden studying, with papers in my hand. I have been the victim of numerous attacks, which always led me running back to my room. There were times when I ran seeing a pigeon as well. All said and done, if you see me ducking the next time on the road, you know why. And I request you not to brand me crazy. For I am threatened by crows. And so should you be, infact. And you remember the story of the crow and the pebbles? That tale that was told to us in kindergarten? Don’t underestimate the crow, and put it down to just a figment of someone’s imagination. I believe it is true.

Emote

I feel like a cow. Or what I assume a cow feels like. Evidently I wouldn’t know for sure. For if I was a cow, I wouldn’t be me. And since I am me, I am definitely not a cow. All said, all explained, I still think I feel like a cow. I guess its analogous to the inability to make a ruling on whether labor pains are greater on the pain scale compared to getting kicked in the balls. For if you had balls, you will not go into labour, and if you’re in labour, obviously you don’t have the balls. Whatever. That’s the beauty of it all. Mutually exclusive.
But coming back to the cow, its inability to move, its ability to move rather slowly and with no grace, whatsoever, oodles of saliva dripping from its mouth unhygienically, and rather unsightfully as it chews on grass crudely, it still gives a picture of being sort of intellectual. Ruminating. That slow rhythmic movements of its mandibles up and down, sort of equates with the brain waves it possibly could have. Even if we attached electrodes to the portion on its head between its distastefully red painted horns, we still wouldn’t know what the cow is thinking or feeling. For all we know, it could be reflecting on how it feels like a human. I haven’t examined or inspected closely on a live cow in situ, but its eyes are probably glassy, the glass part of it misting and hiding away what could be emotions lying underneath.
Timid creatures, they are, who else would let a different species touch them and milk them? Have you ever seen them run? Probably not, because they don’t. Atleast they don’t, unless its an absolute necessity. I don’t see any reason why they should either. We don’t see that many tigers or lions on the streets these days, anyway. What will they run from? Cows are color blind, with a limited vocabulary. Life becomes so simple then. Its either black or white, moo, or moomoo. Its all about maintaining the right pitch, and at the right time. Lesser association between the two cerebral hemispheres.
Cows don’t have to worry about becoming fat. Fat becomes them. Cows are universally fat, and fat is cow. Mutually inclusive. When you have all the ugly characteristics already, that kind of becomes you, defines you, and is you, you don’t have to worry about anything. Because it cannot get worse. It can only get better, and in this case, better moves both up and down, eventually cancelling out, leaving a neutral state, square one, the place you started at. Which is anyway fugly. So why bother? Be a cow, fat and fugly, inert, and immobile, timid and flat, eat your grass, smoke it, step on it, try and dance for all that anyone cares. And silently meditate, as the bitter taste of raw, dirty grass gets to you, with all the salivary glands rising up to the challenge, overworking in fact, on why the sun rises in the east. And suddenly life seems much simpler.
All said and done, the cow is a sacred animal. Pray to it, and maybe the sun will rise again tomorrow.