There are two kinds of people in the world (maybe more, but two suffice for this post) – those who would spring to action at the slightest provocation, are extremely domain sensitive, and others who are more laid back, and would read into the current situation before acting.
But, while your domain is being breached, the stuff inside the domain does not have a play day. ItÂ’s horrible for them. They suffer. And while you are doing stuff to stop the intrusion, itÂ’s all so tacit that your domain never gets it. They feel you are a useless oaf, who does not care about his domain. This is a severe problem. You could end up loosing the faith of your domain. Suddenly, you will yourself realize this, and since it is too late anyway, youÂ’ll give away your domain to the intruder, just like that. You simply will care no more.
The following was penned by me, on the 19th of May, 2003. It is a real life incident, that happened at my old residence. Happy reading. Comments welcome.
This is what could happen to you, if you live in the proximity of a real tree in an urban jungle Â–
The old drumstick tree has stood the test of time. While we enjoy its drumsticks, it toils in the sun and the burning concrete, providing respite to the numerous sun-birds that flock to it in its bloom. This summer saw another guest Â– a crow couple. Having someone in the house interested in animals and birds meant regular updates on their nest-building status. After numerous attempts and equal failures, they finally did it! Built a nest right outside the balcony Â– where the branches spread out.
And so it began. Talking to the crows. Listening to their Â‘caw cawÂ’. Feeding them. Cursing them when they did not take what we gave them. Advising them to build a stronger nest. ThatÂ’s the beauty of human nature. And then there were those young crows; crowlets maybe? The parent crows would take turns to feed them; right into their crowing mouths. The ritual would continue and they would grow, with the parents maintaining a constant vigil. Day and night. Week after week. WeÂ’d help them too Â– shooing people we thought were disturbing them.
And one fine morning it was no more. No baby crows, no nest, no branch Â– just the wailing parents. Last seen sleeping in the comfortable nest just ten minutes before, they were now lying dead on the ground. With the nest crumpled besides them and the branch horribly twisted. There were speculations Â– some idiot must have been tempted by the drumsticks. Human nature at work again. Little did that rascal know that drumstick branches are weak, and they crack, and fall down; bringing with them what was the start of a new life.
It was all over. We could do nothing. Except to clear the road of the branch; and provide the new-borns a decent burial; away from the vultures and the rats. And curse in the name of the unknown who did that. Even if we believe in natureÂ’s natural selection, it is human tendency to sympathize Â– so what if it was for some crows? Those poor crows kept flocking back, as if some miracle would turn back time; and restore their nest, their efforts of an entire month. But that was not to happen. Or was it?
It did happen. But it was another nest, another pair. And the world goes by, to begin all over again Â– where it all ends lies the root of new beginnings!
There is no drumstick tree at the new place. But we have planted one, and it’s growing just fine. Crows, they are here too, and at this given moment, two nests are visible, bang outside the kitchen dry balcony, alebit on the mango tree!