A Grey Matter

Dear Paranormals, 

I despise horror. 

Yours truly,
Fattu.*

P.S.: No, I’m not afraid to admit that. Don’t get me wrong – I love an adrenaline rush, like parasailing. Or watching my portly watchman Golu rise from his perpetual napping to open the gate. Both are worth a good 20 mins of horrifying yet thrilling entertainment. You feel the satisfaction of a task accomplished, even if it’s not your own. 

But horror is gory, it’s scary, and it’s scarring. Since I have been raised a Gujju*, I’m forbidden from paying for anything that makes me pee my pants. And, since I am an independent, self-sufficient, middle-aged, wonder woman in my own right, I am not permitted to have someone check under my bed for monsters every night. Practically speaking, aren’t we inundated with too many daily horrors already? Like, people who wear Crocs, the dehatis* who pronounce ‘cay-been’, the spitters, the slurpers, the close talkers, the loud chewers…you get the drift. 

But. There lurks a horror that plagues all the major cities in the world, and it has acquired the legend of They Who Shall Be Ignored. We’ve grown up suffering through their frenzied scratchings on our window ACs. We still suffer through their neurotic fluttering dance, like a DJ on speed at Hilltop*. If you haven’t guessed it by now, maybe it’s time to take your ADHD meds. 

The Scourge of Pigeons deserve their own horror movie. A movie cast with frantic producers and neurotic actors. Oh wait…that’s not a plot twist! Perhaps they can remake Bird Box, in which there’s a box full of ugly doves and Sandra Bullock can be glad that she and her children are blindfolded for eternity. After all, everything’s relative, you know?

Thinking rather relatively, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Being the intrepid thinker that I am, I take the time to sit and list all the things I’d rather do than be tormented by this indolent freak of nature: 

• I’d rather listen to a baby crying incessantly on the plane. 
• Have a hangover 
• Pose for a selfie 
• Eat pani puri* from the street in the monsoons. 
• Wear Crocs!! 

If only this incorrigible monster could read my list, go into a fetal position and cry itself to sleep. But it persists in sounding like an old man with bunions and a loose hip spending all morning trying to stand up. That muted and stretched ‘nnnn, nnnnn, nnnnnnnnnnnn’ sound. It not only looks grey, it sounds grey!

There’s a romance built around the pigeons from circa the middle ages up until Maine Pyaar Kiya*; carrier pigeons toting around love notes between estranged lovers, and covert messages between warring kingdoms. They’ve even had cameos in DDLJ*, and every magician’s tricks. At least they made themselves useful back then. Dumbledore can tell you a few lores. Sadly, now all they do are ‘droppings’. No picking up nothing for these Majesties. Not even the subtle bird flippings of ‘get away from me’ urge them on to greener pastures.

But, being the optimist that I am, I refuse to believe that they are thoroughly useless, to themselves or to our microcosm. These klutzy rascals are the trifecta of dumb, ugly and dirty, but I believe it may all be a pretext. What if…just indulge me…what if they exist for a more sinister purpose? What if they have an agenda? What if they worked for someone or something else? What if they are extra terrestrial double agents, aka ’stool pigeons’ from another planet, here to spy on us!? The KGB from the dark side of the moon!? 

Before you roll your eyes, allow me to make my case.

1. Have you noticed that these aerial rodents are not arboreal? These metropolitan villains prefer concrete over trees! They are the reasons why all our window ACs have become extinct and our balconies violated. Only humans choose the artificial over the natural. But these audacious critters exist shamelessly, in open defiance of God and Farmers Markets! How can a creature like that be natural?
2. Their red eyes can be the perfect camouflage for surveillance cameras. Since most birds come pre-programmed with ultraviolet vision or night vision, these grey hounds make for ideal moles (all puns intended).
3. Having been the forefathers of FedEx, no one would suspect them as messenger drones.
4. These ratty transgressors make for the most efficient bioweapon system, already having infected us with TB and ennui*.
5. Their indolent sounds are a smoke screen, having been programmed to make them sound like nap time at a nursing home. 

Channeling Phoebe in a debate with Ross about science vs faith, I ask you, don’t you think there’s the teensiest possibility that I could be right? 

While there’s really no point to my theory, and like a pondering Bengali Aatel* holding a chai* by the window, all I can do is philosophise; I do have a harrowing anecdote to share. 

So. Greyson was perched on top of a balcony opposite my window. I was napping and dreaming of pizzas and fries when slowly the guttural ‘nnnn, nnnnn, nnnnnnnnnnnn’ invaded my dreams and took the cheesy toppings away like a predatory falcon. I woke to see 50 Shades of Grey fluttering its plumage with all the grace of a sneeze, for no particular reason. It was neither pained nor parched. I wondered why I, the aristocracy of the food chain, must be subjected to share my air with all the Shades of Cray. Hmmph. 

My dream of fine dining rudely interrupted, I flew into a rage and tried everything to get rid of him, but budge he would not.
I mocked him. I went an octave higher and stretched; imitating his ’nnnn, nnnnn, nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn’. His eyes simply stared back at me like brush steel.
I did the chicken dance to boo him away. ‘Nyahnyahnyahnyahnyahhhh’. He stood steadfast, incognito on the unpainted concrete.
I threw bread crumbs at him, hoping to scare him away. But he ate them without gratitude.
I even tried singing ‘Kabootar Jaa’*, invoking more of an Amrish Puri* than a Lata Nightingale*; but His Greyness would not stir. 

Just then I had a lightbulb moment! I found a child’s water gun that I had hoped to gift my help’s son. But he had shunned mine with a look of disdain. So there it was, biding its time in the closet. And as I went to get the gun, it came alive with purpose, hoping for a field trip to the NRA headquarters. 

The water gun and I, holding hands, walked in slow motion back to my window, turned on Rang Barse* in full blast on the speakers, and commenced the Holi* detonation at the pigeon. It was a watershed moment – for the pigeon obviously; and off he flew…to land only two feet away. 

Dejected like Charlie Brown and my grey matter completely spent, I slumped into a chair, and did what opposable thumbs do best: I wrote a sonnet for the pigeon, expressing my Emotional Attyachar*. Here’s an ode to the greatest of horrors. 

An Oye to Pigeons!

Oye pigeon, nails you’re on the chalkboard!
Countenance alike a feral alien,
Coo akin a moo, much too tired and bored,
Fluttering, muttering, stuttering on.
Vile tuberculosis-wielding vermin!
Tainting aircons by your scratchings, droppings.
Casting gloom, bestowing doom ‘neath heavens;
Biophobic brats in concrete dwellings. 

Dare you not be from the Earthly gene pool!
Discarded drones from galaxies unknown;
Pestering every human and ghoul;
Colonizing our abodes as your throne.
Your slothy existence a grave travesty,
Your extinction will aid humanity. 

My vengeful verses having crestfallen with a feathery demise, Greyson and I carry on, to marbled droppings and pizza toppings respectively; but perhaps not yet respectfully. 

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

– Fattu – scaredy cat

– Gujju – Gujaratis, the community that is equivalent to the Jews in the Western world. Rich but financially thrifty.

– Dehatis – fresh off the boat (or FOBs as we were affectionaly known in American colleges).

– Hilltop – a hilltop in Goa. A place for ravers to rave. Ragers to rage. Haters to pop some E and wake up anywhere but at hilltop.

– Pani Puri – street food in India that is the most delectably the best way to get diarrhoea.

– Maine Pyaar Kiya – just another Bollywood love story. But with carrier pigeons.

– DDLJ – just another Bollywood love story. But where pigeons are metaphors for deep yet awkward conversations.

– Ennui – a French word for malaise or melancholia. Opposite of ennui is off-wee.

– Aatel – a faux woke Bengali. Talker, not doer.

– Chai = tea. Not chai-tea.

– Kabootar Jaa – a popular song from aforementioned Maine Pyaar Kiya

– Amrish Puri – the best villain Bollywood has ever had and the most baritone a man has ever had. More than Morgan Freeman too. Yep.

– Lata Nightingale – Lata Mangeshkar who was the most popular falsetto singer of Bollywood in the 90s and nicknamed ‘The Nightingale’.

– Rang Barse – a popular and the only Bollywood song about weed and water fights in the 80s.

– Holi – the festival of water fights and colours, where we legally consume weed for a day. And then pretend we’re afflicted with it for the rest of the year.

– Emotional Attyachar – a popular Bollywood song about emotional torture. It became one of the party and wedding favourites for the year.