The Cuckoo’s Calling

The title has been borrowed from the book by Robert Galbraith, more famously known as J. K. Rowling. Unlike the book, this blog post isn’t a murder mystery.

My morning started as it does every day — with the alarm clock. After quite some deliberation, I decided to stay at home due to the fear of violence due to Bharat Bandh.

In the quiet of the morning, I heard a cuckoo’s calling and it reminded me of the days when that very sound was the reason I would wake up. Drawn by this, I proceeded to do something that I hadn’t done in what felt like ages. I stood in the gallery, rubbing my palm against my upper arms, for 10 whole minutes (not that they went by real slow or were dreadful, but it was probably the longest duration for which I had stood there).

In those 10 minutes, I saw magic.

Once the cuckoos had finished their round of coos, began the chirping of the tinier birds – the lovebirds, sparrows, and mainahs. The grey cat with soft white feet and a blue ribbon tied around her neck started on her hunt for breakfast. The early-morning maid walked briskly across the street holding up her light brown saree in one hand and her purse, perhaps accompanied by her phone, in the other. She was followed by a man on the bicycle carrying a big beige duffle bag who had, in all likelihood come to deliver something. A few moments later came the college girl in her blue hoodie and black leggings. With her earphones plugged in, the morning walk seemed routine. A senior citizen too crossed her with a cane in his hand and slowly strolling through the gated society.

As a scooter sprung to a start in the distance, I heard the indistinct chatter of the middle-aged lady in the next building talking over the phone and simultaneously clanging together a few steel plates in search for the one to eat breakfast in. Looking in the other direction I saw an aged lady tending to her plants on the sixth floor and right above her I caught a glimpse of a man in black, jerking back up from his bent position (no he doesn’t have plants to tend to). People began to advance to their workplaces (or probably their gyms).

I also happened to notice the broken pupa of a butterfly hanging by the branches of the Gulmohar tree. Turning around to make my way back to my desk, I heard sirens wailing in the distance and thought to my self “It may not be a happy day for everyone”. Had I stayed longer, I’m pretty sure I would have heard devotional music and seen the newspaper man drop by each house.

In those 10 minutes, I witnessed magic. I witnessed the world waking up.