Lonely lunch without the little guests
Gurupdesh Singh
In the brief spell of a sunshine that this winter conceded us, I came out of the comfort of my bedroom and pulled a chair to the lawn to enjoy my midday meal, as we all love to do on a warm winter afternoon. As I sat to eat, I realised that I was eating all by myself. As a matter of routine, it should be nothing unusual, as I do it every day at the dining table inside my house.
But that day was not every day. After a long time, I had found time and the weather to sit leisurely in my lawn, and discovered to my dismay that it was not the same lawn that I used to sit in, not long in the past.
We had recently moved in this new house and the memories of our old house on the university campus were still fresh in my mind. Our house had a large lawn, surrounded on all sides with lots of greenery, shrubs and trees, small and big; full of seasonal flowers and fruit. Eating an occasional lunch on that green patch on a sunny warm winter day was a party — pleasure of a different kind.
As soon as I would walk into that lawn with a plateful, a mynah couple would swoop down from the mango tree where they had their home and park themselves close to my chair, waiting eagerly to be served. As I took time to make small pieces, their impatience would show in their shrill but pleading cries. The moment I put some morsels on the slab, a host of their other kinsmen such as sparrows, parrots and bulbuls would also descend from their perches. But their movements were timid and cautious, as the mynahs had monopolised the place and would not allow others, until they were fed full and proper. A predator crow would sometimes try to intimidate these gentle guests, but then, I would come to their rescue.
The most endearing sight, however, was that of a couple of squirrels who lived in the thick foliage of our ‘madhumalti’ creeper. They would not bother much about lunch, but would scamper up soon enough when I would open a bag of peanuts, our favourite winter snack. They have developed a wonderful knack of standing on their hind legs and holding a peanut with their front, and then nibble at it furiously, jabbing at it with their front pincer teeth. Their agility and precision was a treat to watch.
How I missed them all on that day! My eyes kept looking around with bits of food in my hand for my guests to join me, but sadly none of them showed up, because not many of them are around anymore. Not even that intruder crow who I would now like to welcome as much.
