Twitter Of Nostalgia

today my heart echoes the collective chirping of domestic sparrows who woke us up each morning and brought us homeward in the evenings... hop and skip like playing hopscotch she would enter through the door turn her neck in all dierections as if to greet the guests(?) sometimes she would slip into the room with her characteristic ease through the window bars with bits and odds tightly clutched in her beak to reach the roof of our rented tiles and we would hurry to switch off the whirring fan for years she and her friends woke us every morning with the tiny wings flapping and the small voice box twittering every evening the twitter would drive us homeward from our rustic games every summer afternoon was a spectacle as she would swoop down or come hopping to hang on the edge of the small earthern pot dad would arrange for the winged friends they would take their fill and flip-falp the wings in the small puddle as if it's nobody's business in rains they would settle under the slope of the roof with watered feathers looking still browner... we grew up amidst their chirping sometimes in the afternoons a ticktack would wake us from our siesta, my little wings amused at the other in the mirror every cozy corner, including a book rack was befitting enough to breed her clan eating like a sparrow, grandma would say as we snatched tidbits from their hidden counters they're so much part of our lives making the roof their home at times a small ball of cotton or a handful of grass or an egg or a baby sparrow would dropp on the floor or on the beds how my pillow would soak my tears as i every night recalled the tale of a gentle sparrow that lived in a cow-dung home with the proud crow as the neighbour living in a nest of twigs when the rain washed away the sparrow home the crow refused to give her any shelter... i would imagine how the lonely bird flew alone with the babies trailing after in that rain... i would sob uncontrollably... where are you my sparrow? 'what's this picika gola! ' ('picika is sparrow...'gola' is mischief) we would be shouted at when our voices lost control and when we shifted to an urban habitat how we missed the twitter and the chirping we all silently carried them concealed secure in the several folds of our hearts as we now wake up each morning to a jagged silence ringing loud from our empty hearts... where are you dear friend? some seventeen years ago she hoisted our spirits when on a fine morning when i was feeding my toddler she hopped into the room and made sure i fed him proper... 'tha! ' the little boy would greet her with food filled mouth with the twinkle of a toddler that reflected in my eyes what time sense you've, my winged friend! pesticides robbed her of her food chain deforestation deprived her of her habitate supermarkets stole away her grain concrete jungles cut her off from everything else modern day life, communication networks and the ensuing radiation pronounced a death-sentence... whenever brute force is applied on the innocent and the hapless 'picika meeda brahmaastram' (a thunder bolt employed on a sparrow) goes the idiom in my mother tongue and that's exactly the injustice meted out to these meek creatures my lovely little sparrow hidden secure in our hearts how much i long to see you, hear you... tell me, will you gain your wings back if i offer my heart on your altar to fill the world with your twitter and chirping? 20mar2010 21.55hrs