Month: March 2019

A Thank-You Note

Dear Human Friend,


Your thoughtful gift gives me much happiness.
You see, I lost my companion a few weeks ago. I don’t know what caused her affliction. We used to hold tails together and swim with abandon.
There’s frequent talk about inhabitants in my world losing partners and family members. They too, like my love, choked up and left us alone. I was in a deep funk, much like Picasso in his blue, blue days.
You understood our plight. You send us gifts galore just to alleviate our sorrow. You try to make our world better. These gifts last forever, leaving a legacy for future generations. But the rate at which we lose partners, perhaps these gifts will last past extinction.
Last week, my friend got huge kicks going in and out of a six circle transparent exercise machine. It brought him so much happiness, he almost stopped being crabby.
Your incessant gifts make us forget losses. Is it a bit much to ask for instruction manuals? You see, some folks here just don’t get it right. The sea turtle wanted to imitate the little crab, but it got all wrapped up in that very same six-pack. I mean, there are age and weight restrictions, right? I gotta say, you humans think wisely before testing out equipment. One silly animal did not even know how to suck out of the colorful straw. He put it up his nose!

Flicker Image Courtesy Stefan Leijon


Your generous gift material endures long after you leave. Atop the food chain you may stand, but with your humble degradability, we see you’re really one of us. Human benevolence in spreading the “forever” wealth around is peerless.

The nest had bright blue plastic material, keeping the bird family safe.The other day, the mamma lost her spouse. Apparently, for reason unbeknownst to us all, his abdomen exploded. The devastated bird stopped foraging food. But your wondrous material saved the day, and the hungry family gobbled it greedily. The next time she visits, I will let her know I included her in the thank-you note. I thought she would get here by now, but something must have held her up.

Photo Credit John Cancalosi National Geographic


My friend the hermit crab found a new belly protector. He uses a plastic bottle cap. It’s harder than the scattered shells he once was used to. I happily align myself to your thinking; technology does mean evolution. He says you like to take those lowly shells for yourself and replace them with invincible bottle caps. Such stewardship is a human trait. Those incessant presents come thoughtfully included with plastic wraps and gift bags. Humans indeed are wise; they think of everything.

Photo Courtesy Shawn Miller supplied to news.com.au

We would like to invite you to our own Thanksgiving. While you have your cornucopia, we have a version too.

Photo Courtesy India Times, Representative Image


I love the pink, shiny stuff you put out for me. She comes as a crutch to replace the love I lost. She had promised to be by my side, but left me way too premature. I was lonely, looking for comfort. Your gift came just in time. Now I feel like Picasso in rosy days. Swimming together, I sing La Vie en Rose with accordion playing in my mind. I feel like that giddy teenager in love for the first time. The world is so much nicer through rose-tinted glasses. I grip her with my tail, and we cavort along the once clear waters. Long after I’m gone, she will serve another, until to serve there’s no other. Such is her eternal promise, all thanks to you.

Gratefully yours,

The Once-Lonely-Sea Horse

Photo by Justin Hofman / Wildlife Photographer of the Year

©IK 2019

House Guests

I’m considered quite hospitable, but sometimes, no matter how loving, guests can be destructive

Picture 1

I agree, the world is my family, but you have not met my ravaging guests. They strip bare my plants and shrubberies with a vengeance.

I closed off their egress, but kept the driveway open. But now they feel safer, and visit me even more.

Oh,  they’re sneaky! Sometimes from the distance, I see something moving strangely. Those rapacious chomping mouths are back!

Roses and nasturtiums are like candy, and full bloomed hydrangea like lollipops. A curry leaf plant I nurtured through years was left outside briefly. I returned to see twigs stripped of leaves.  Fruit trees stand no chance.

They’re this family of mom, dad, and kids. They look so loveable, but they are destructive little monsters. Of late, I chase them out every time I see their presence. They know the drill.

I see them on this misty spring morn. I quickly wear garden clogs, and start tracking them. The earth is wet, and it provides clues. The fresh hoof prints betray  them like the turned on location app.

There they are, munching on the tenderest, youngest spring greens. Poor plants do not even have a chance with these avid chompers.

Video 1

Shoo-shoo!

I make my presence felt, and I begin to witness my patient training. Obediently, they gather immediately to climb down the steps, go past the fence, skirt cross the meadow, and in a single file leave the driveway behind the safety of oleander bushes. This is how I have routinely trained them.

One last time before they disappear in line behind the bushes, they pause to look at me with plaintive doe eyes, hoping I will relent. Sadly for them, I do not. With my stentorian voice, I think I’ve convinced them who’s the boss.

Video 2

The Challenger

But the  pesky little rebel always challenges me. He likes to peel off the family fold, and go back. The others do not leave, they patiently wait till he gets back. In the past, he had made me go in circles, but now, I am well aware of his tricks. I successfully manage to make him toe the line, and off he goes with the family.

Video 3

I stand to make sure they leave, and I even say a loving goodbye to them. Upon seeing them leave, I can at least offer an “olive branch,” by dropping my gruff exterior.

Video 4

I go back, satisfied at my alpha femaleness. With my cup of tea, I survey the view from my windows like a colonial conquerer.

There’s no breeze, but something’s moving. I peer closely, and see the monster masticators are at it again. They look at me, and their noses twitch, betraying a smirk perhaps. But the little one has a look that screams, “Sucker!”

Memory

The plains are verdant after the rains, and the adventurous foraging is on.

The weekend is here! So is the family picnic with parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and the grand folks of this close-knit extended family. The little boy Pachy, he stays close to the mother listening to adult conversation. Great Uncle teases him much to his dismay and everybody’s amusement with a new moniker, Mamma’s Boy. Pachy does not like this, but his eyes grow wider upon hearing about those big moving things; circles make them move to different places. Pachy thinks his circles only keep him in one place, and that is close to his Mamma.

“Those moving things often come in files,” continues Great Uncle, “I would be careful to stay out of their way. They have creatures hanging on them. Most seem benign, and they just want to know our way of life, while the others….” he trails off.

“What about the others?” Pachy asks. But everyone’s mulling over the inquisitive folks, and they voice their opinions..

Mamma is used to curiosity, and she likes living and letting live despite the intrusion. After all, close to home Aunt Ellie is the most curious one, and Mamma does not mind. She knows how to guard her privacy. A few other family members mind the invasion of privacy very much. But the benign creatures in the moving things like to watch their ways, and they harmlessly get excited just looking at this group of picnickers. Some family members feel flattered to watch the creatures falling over themselves in adulation.

Then, it is time for the jumbo salad of the rarest greens.

Pachy repeats his question, but gets no answers. Today, this family of vegetarians has gathered to feast. Pachy grumbles silently that food has taken precedence now for all except him. He only wants to know about the others.

Mamma reaches closer to lunch. Pachy, somewhat bruised with his recent title, decides not to follow.

In the near distance, he sees the slow roll of the things approaching. The day is here, and he is no longer going to be Mamma’s boy. If no one’s going to tell him about the others, he will find out for himself. He slowly inches away from the group. Mamma is oblivious, because she does not think Pachy will ever leave her.

A plume of smoke and a hint of dust suddenly obscure Pachy’s vision. He feels something whizz past him, and it nearly clips his ears. That’s when he hears Great Uncle warning voice like a loud trumpet, “Get away Pachy! These are the malevolent ones, Move!”

On his fours, Pachy hurries to his mother, as she rushes to protect him. Together, they all get deeper and behind the green to continue lunch as though nothing happened.

Despite the warm sun, Pachy remembers the creatures with a shiver. Some hung out of windows, while others popped through a roof. Their appendages held something long that made loud staccato sounds. He admits to himself that these creatures scare him a bit with cold and cruel expressions.

Pachy and family continue to socialize, although they stay cautiously hidden. The big things with the hostile creatures slowly roll away, He recalls the sounds he heard and can imitate them perfectly. After all, it is genetic. His whole clan is well renowned for their mnemonic skills.

Then Pachy goes to the wise Great Uncle for understanding and perfectly mimics the sounds, ” Bang, Bang!” He continues after a brief pause,”Terrible marksmanship! You missed a baby elephant!”

©IK 2019

 

The Bride

Photo Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

One by one she collected her trousseau items, as she lay waiting for the day that never came. It disappeared under the sun, the falling leaves, and somehow got buried under.

The blanket, it suffocates and squashes her every thought. He left without a word but took away her everything. Daggers hang on eaves, and she’s in a deep freeze mode. She no longer responds to the slightest rustle. There are no more footsteps, and the callbacks are frozen in her throat. She is tired and worn.

Stark, cold, and spartan..that’s her world now. The Glory Box has morphed into the blanket chest with fuzzy, pristine white blankets. The desert-like hoariness hurts the gaze. Her skin feels cold as alabaster, and the bones ache.

A sanguine youth feels locked away from her reach, and there’s no memory of how it once felt. No creature visits her, neither a butterfly nor a bee. The road yesterday is no longer familiar, and there are no comforting spaces. She has buried everything. Where is that park bench they sat together as one? Where is that park? The old landmarks are gone, along with their angles and familiar paths. Is her memory fuzzy, or is it a temporary squall? It covers and stifles everything she sees, and the fog in her mind rises like a shroud.

There is no glow in the embers, and it mirrors how she feels. Dull, ashen and cold, she is like her desire within. The fight made way to temperance, followed by restraint, and now it is securely locked in abstinence.

The rebellion first rolls in like a silent cat. While she sleeps, golden mustard flowers bask in the gentlest sun. She remains unmoved, but a slow thaw has begun.

Something hurtles down in full force, nearly knocking her down. It blasts the icy shell with a wrecking ball. Confused, she is forced to stir out of an imposed immobility. The glacial heart betrays a vulnerability in front of Life’s virile force. Armor shattered, she lets the twitter, buzz, and sights take her captive! This much profusion after much parsimony, it feels unbearable! That candy floss of pink stages and orchestrates a prolific rebellion against everything she long denied herself. Puffs of mini roses pop like fireworks. They climb chaotically everywhere. Unsteady, she tries to hold ground, but an inebriation takes over, ending that long abstinence.

The invasion of brides in their white wedding cake gowns make her yearn again. Dizzy blossoms like confection and candy, in riotous colors with their fresh fragrance, and buzzing honeybees unsteady her gait. The scents, the sights remind her about something, but she’s not going to reason. Frenzied and feverish, she does not notice new stirrings within. Renewed, she rushes to act without remembering. What could it be? WHAT IS IT? It does not come back fully, but she knows she must throw something out to dig something up.

She opens the blanket chest. The white snows have all melted away, leaving behind bunches and bunches of jocund daffodils that gloriously toast, “Here’s to Hope!”