Memories from childhood pop into your head when you least expect it. They stay there for a while, make you smile, ponder, relive, and then disappear...while you pine to have them back.I was in the balcony when I heard the koel cry...a mellifluous, silvery koo-hooo. I stood rooted, as something flashed through my mind. Childhood holidays in my native place, far away from urban chaos, where apartments had not taken away tree space, where birds were not relegated to the suburbs. When the koel cried out, my mother imitated it. And then, my little brother and me followed.
A pause, almost as if the koel was testing us. But there it was again, another koo-hooo, and we followed,... back and forth, till either we tired or the koel...
Today, as I stood in the balcony, I didn't want to imitate. A relatively new neighbourhood, what if I embarassed myself? What if it didn't koo-hooo back, and I stood there, sheepish, with people from other balconies giving me the 'look'?
Nevertheless, it did cry out again, perched lightly on a high branch of the ashvattha in the park; I wondered, was it teasing me? Before I knew it, I heard a few more cries, and this time from the the ground. Children, cricket bats on the ground, stood looking up, waiting for the koel to open its mouth again. The moment it did, they followed, and then the bird shot back...this koo-hooo exchange was gaining momentum!
Vanity could take a walk, I gave in and koo-hooed along. And very soon, it looked like the entire neighbourhood had nothing better to do than play games with a lonely bird!
I couldn't make up my mind. Was the bird having a good time, or the humans? Maybe both. And for a brief while, they spoke one beautiful language. Koo-hooo...
