When Doves Cry

There has never been a more apt title for a blog. And never have I felt the need to blog about something more than today.

Today is Diwali. Deewali. Divali. Deepawali. However you spell it or pronounce it. One of my favorite festivals. It’s the festival of lights. I feel good about this festival.

An early start to the day, new raiment acting like new skin for the old body, lots of laughter, sharing with cousins, some shopping, some gifting, listening to ma from distant Khajuraho, hajaar text messages in response to mine, lots of calls and a general feeling of the world being a delightful oyster happily making its pearl even as we take a large bite of yet another savory.

So the day progressed. And then I lit the lights. The clay lamps, diyas as we call them, soaking in oil, with a cotton wick and some of the fancy hand painted, wax filled lamps, all adorning my home. My abode came alive with lights. I love it when it’s bright, warm, inviting and seems somehow to say, ‘hey life is beginning, life is calling and life is beautiful and your oyster, come make light of it.' Yes! I do love it.

So while I was crossing swords with a playful breeze hell bent on making me work for the light to light up my life, there was a silent, frightened, observer l'affaire humanite. Askance at the noise, the fireworks and gaiety that it was mute witness to. Surely wondering if the world was being ‘blasted’, and probably a witness to D-day…:)

I almost recoiled when I first espied it. I was taken aback. By the sheer contrast that it presented. The quiet, almost serene quality in direct opposition to the mood prevailing over the starlit sky, clothed in the mist of pungent and acrid smoke, wrapped in sounds which had distinct rhythms of their own – ddddd da da da dooom! Tac tac tac tac tac tac tac! Whoooooooosh! Whoooooooooooosh! Peeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Crackkkk! Tadaaaaakkkk! DDDDDDD dummmm! I thought this was probably a 'sign'. For me, as well as for the world at large.

There it sat. Unmoving. Till I started talking in soft hushed tones. Talking as if it understood every word I spoke. I was as frightened as it was. I confessed to it. It must have wondered if I was cuckoo. Little did it realize that I was just an ordinary human. I wanted it to hop on my finger. I proffered. It refused. I then got a stick for lack of anything else, thinking it’d hop on to it and I’d bring it inside to a safer, quieter haven. But it flitted and moved. Dangerously close to the edge of the ledge. And the flames started licking its breast. I almost started howling. I hustled it. I fretted. I cursed as I saw its plume in fumes (well not quite, but almost). It moved again. I let it be. The fire hadn't consumed it and I was able to douse my own, albeit temporarily.

Dinner done, an hour or so later, I checked on it. It’s still there. I watered the plants. Then I decide to keep a small plastic container with water for it to drink. I coo and bill to it. I whisper sweet nothings. To no avail. It doesn’t budge. I finish watering the plants in the other balcony and check on it, again. It's overturned the little plastic container of water. I go fill it again and put some grains of rice and lentils in it. I coax it, urge it to have water and not be frightened. I gingerly put my hand out and start patting its tail. I talk. It cocks its head as if listening intently and trying to decipher my strange tongue. I entreat it to use my finger as a perch. But I’m not a good saleswoman and I can see that I need training in how to win friends and influence people. Dale Carnegie might have done better. I crane my head to see that its breast is singed. I cry and I beg for forgiveness. Helplessness cloaks me in its warmth and I have no clue what to do. I know she’s frightened out of her wits (I’m presuming it’s a she). I know she’s upset, disappointed, mistrustful, probably enraged, homeless and fatigued. She wants the day to come to an end. She wants us to have our celebrations, but she’s also questioning Him why does it have to be so, er… so boisterous. She’s wondering if man couldn’t have devised a saner, as beautiful and perhaps a sound-er (?) way of celebrating this festival of lights and cut out the crap.

While she ponders over questions that have turned her universe alien and dark for the day and she sheds a few silent tears, trying to fathom the answers which are not forthcoming, I let her be.

Yes! I’ve left the dove in peace.