When I was in 6th grade my Marathi teacher gave me a beautiful yellow budgie. It had no zebra marks like the normal budgies do, it looked more like a canary. Its previous owner had been a student of my teacher too. And she had named it Flora because it was a pretty yellow budgie with a pink nose. One day Flora's partner flew away and they gave it to my teacher asking her to find a new home for it. I had my own merry band of budgies at home and when my teacher gave it to me, I was really excited to add this yellow budgie to my collection.
Flora got along with the rest of the budgies pretty well and soon had a partner - it was a thin blue budgie. One day the blue budgie laid eggs - and thats when we decided not to call Flora, 'Flora' anymore. And I named it Cucoopen.
Cucoopen was the best pet I ever had. Even if I kept its cage open it would never fly away. I would let him fly around in my room. When I was in the 11th grade (or junior college as we call it) I became more of an outstanding student ie. a student who was rarely visible in class. Me and and a bunch of my friends spent most of our time at the Vidyavihar railway station or at the campus coffee shop. Every week we would go to Bandra, Churchgate, Worli seaface and watch movies, have fun. I spent less time at home.
One day when I returned home, I saw that Cucoopen's cage door was open and he was missing. Knowing that Cucoopen wasn't the kind that ran out of his cage when the cage door opened, I got upset. Despite questioning my Mom a zillion times, she replied that Cucoopen must have escaped. I was distraught, moreover cause I was afraid that a big bird would eat it. That day I told my Mom, "You killed my bird." I didn't speak to her for the next two weeks and this upset her a lot. She decided that I should never have another pet ever again.
Last Thursday, the ITEC secretary came in and said,"There is this bird dying on Harvard and Columbine. Somebody has to go rescue it. It looks really sick. If it stays that way in the sun its definitely gonna die." I took up the task of rescuing the bird. The secretary had instructed me that it was this tiny blue bird.
I began walking towards the location in the sweltering heat. I had a plastic bag and a tissue paper to pick it, in case it was too dirty. This reminded me of the n number of times my Dad and I had gone to rescue birds or tiny animals that were injured.
I was on the lookout for tiny birds on the road and just when I was about to cross the intersection I saw this large little ball of blue feathers stand right in front of me. It was no little bird. I saw that the bird had hardly grown its wings.
It was probably just a couple of weeks old and had fallen off his nest. I took the bird back to school where the secretary gave me a cardboard box to keep it in. Next, I asked my room mate if living with a bird would freak her out. She seemed much excited about the prospect.
So we gave this baby blue jay a home and I called it Baby Jacques (French, cause of his blue feathers). That night we guys went to PetSmart to get it some food. I tried to feed it however it didn't eat much. It was at around 10o'clock and I went to check Baby Jacques who had been standing on his feet the whole day long. He seemed slumped to the side of the box. I thought he was in deep slumber. But I didn't see his body breath and so I touched him, his one eye was half-open. I said " Wake up Baby Jacques. Wake up." Now I was scared. So I dipped his head in water. Still no sign of movement. It was too late. I went to my room mate's room and said, " He is dead."
That night I felt a deep sense of guilt - it was as if some one inside me had died. Had I killed him by saving him. Where does a bird actually belong? Where does a sick bird belong?
The next day my room mate and I buried him under a tree in our backyard. Baby Jacques R.I.P.