PIGEON SERIES PART 12 : THE PIGEON'S PLOT MUSHTAQUE B BARQ
MUSHTAQUE B BARQ
Then, heaven knows what cleared the air, and a pair of pigeons perched on the clothesline, undoing my wife’s two hours of grueling laundry labor.The kids tried to hide the mess, scrubbing furiously at the freshly washed clothes.To my utter confusion, none of the children’s clothes were soiled; it was only my shirts and hers that fell victim to their uncalled-for act. Was it a message for adults to take action, or was it simply a protest against something that we were not able to decipher? Intriguingly, I summoned my rational faculties to find a ready-made answer as to why the birds had ruined the adults’ clothes and left the kids’ untouched.
Coming up empty-handed from the deity of logos, I called the attention of my better half, the pulsating deity of my family for she possesses an uncanny knack for figuring things out faster than anyone else. She often reads our faces and, at times, accurately exposes us on the spot, without ever getting caught in the act of her powerful guesswork or practice (who knows?).To be honest, I never tried to unveil her so-called mysterious powers before my kids because, many a time, it would scare them and end the endless discussions at the dinner table.
From the balcony to the dining table, and even at times on my reading desk, this bird was being debated. My daughter would often reach for my diary to read if I had mentioned anything about the little bird. Now that my journal had even been captured, I at times found my fort being taken over.To keep my personal entries safe from being exposed, my better half sensed it before I did. In place of the routine diary, a new one was placed on the table with the title Pigeon Series. It was thoroughly read, discussed, debated, and even underlined, aided by footnotes.
As I watched my children labouring hard to rub away the mess, my little daughter paused, surveyed her surroundings, and after scrutinizing the area, slipped away, returning moments later with a jug of water and a brush. Both toiled with their tiny hands to purge the shirts of the mess. I marveled at how these children, who would never deign to carry their mugs to the kitchen counter, were exerting themselves to shield their beloved birds from the tempest of adult wrath. Love indeed teaches more than hostility.
Realized this, and without much ado, I stepped in and assisted them in returning the clothes to the clothesline. Never had we imagined that our cooperative endeavour would be captured on film. She had secretly recorded our collective solidarity. As we exchanged a furtive glances,praying hoping not to make it public, she summoned us for a cup of tea.The tea in our cups went cold as stagnation when she forced us to witness the footage she had captured.
My son was the first to react: "Mom, you should have zoomed in to capture my hands in action." A heavy silence fell.Then, like a discerning critic, my daughter critiqued the framing, noting the jarring wobble in the scene. I alone stood in suspense praying nothing should come to me for analysis. Yet, they engaged their mother in technical intricacies that she became entirely engrossed in mastering the art of the perfect shot.
Much of what I learned from the children after that episode was how to help the ‘home ministry’ cool the restless lava she sometimes carried within. Pigeon became a guiding force, helping my children grow into mature, responsible members.
Before the conversation could drift away the tension she was carrying regarding the clothes on the clothesline, she lined us up. Like a traditional schoolmaster with a cane in her hand, she began to probe into the situation and examine my own complicity in spoiling the children. We all watched her with innocent eyes, gradually realizing that her labor deserved to be honored. We accepted our folly. She dropped her stick and smiled: my daughter took her hands and kissed them repeatedly, while my son threw his arms around her neck in a warm embrace. Standing slightly apart, I was left alone to capture the quite beauty of the scene. Even a bird dropping can bring happiness to a family if we respect each other's roles and responsibilities. As the scene was being shot, the pigeon returned to the empty wire and brought the camera back into the balcony.
But the biggest question that was being asked by the children, why the bird only choose our shirts, leaving behind their clothes. As my better half that night summoned her aunt on phone, she without second thought warned that clothesline must be removed from there. I asked for the reason, she scolded me that why men always need reason to satisfy their ego. I could not decipher it, neither my son, but then my daughter reached to the conclusion that grand aunt may be hitting at the overload in daily chorus of mother.
I realised that this little bird has brought in so many fun in the family. Birds that perch may look agile but those who stay in balcony may in disguise plot too.
(Dr Mushtaque B. Barq is a noted writer, poet, translator and currently serves as an English Mentor at Cambridge School. A recipient of several honours, including the G.N. Firaq Memorial Award and the Kalidas Literary Award, Ahad Zargar Award. He is known for his poetic finesse and for promoting Kashmiri literary heritage through his work.)
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