Letter

                                                                                                                                                                                                    The Ashoka Tree

                                                                                                                                                                                     Near Instrumentation Centre

                                                                                                                                                                                                  University of Delhi

Instrumentation Centre

University of Delhi

10th August 2016

Dear girl with the curly hair,

This letter may come as a wonder to you or perhaps to me if it anyway reaches you, for I am afraid that these blue symbols forming a couple of sentences may not see the beauty of your eyes. Still I am keeping the hope intact that you showered on me for letting me out of the rusted cage where I was trapped for a number of years. So profoundly I remember the day of my capture till the day of my emancipation that I could not help but get overpowered with my utmost wish to give a token of thanks to you in the form of this letter. But before I do that act of gratitude I would like to introduce you to my world before the life in cage, in the cage, and away from the cavernous walls of it.

When I came out of the egg I grew lethargic as soon as I saw the sun. I felt myself to be incompatible with my other sisters. Mama would get us food and every time I would be the one juggling for those little pieces of brown and white worms. It transpired even during my first class of flying when I plummeted down from the branch of the tree. I would have broken a claw or feather had not Mama’s abrupt flight saved me from falling down into the chasm of hopelessness. She said to me, “Don’t lose hope. It’s a shame, a big shame. Your hope will make you better. Now is not the time to lose your precious hope.” I did learn to fly for we birds are made for it, to soar high and feel free and fearless. But fearless I was not. And then the day of doom arrived. I was not born in your city. My home was in the jungle of long trees under the veil of filtering streaks of sunlight.

That day of doom, some beings that looked like you from outside (however, they had no heart like you from inside) came to the jungle and took me away from my Mama and sisters. We all were asked by Mama to collect our first morsel and I found an easy spot in the trap made by people even when my wisest sister asked me to not be naïve. And then she went to call Mama while in the meantime I perched near the food. The next instant I found myself trapped in a powerful cover and I chirped but nobody paid heed.

From there I was carried to a cavernous cage where the walls prohibited me from making my next flight. So terribly I missed Mama and my sisters that I cried vehemently but nobody lent an ear to my screams. Under that flurry of hopelessness I remembered Mama’s words, “Don’t lose hope. It’s a shame, a big shame. Your hope will make you better. Now is not the time to lose your precious hope.” Rightfully so, Mama’s words seemed impractical then when I was seeing my other trapped comrades getting sold to people who looked like you. I had to share that cavernous cage with five other birds that looked no way closer to my black appearance. They were white and exquisite and nobody chose me over them. And one day you came.

I did feel fear when I saw you looking at me patiently, calculating something over in your mind. You pointed at me. From that cavernous cage I was transferred to a gossamer cloth. I chirped hoping you will give me your attention but you just carried me. I saw peace on your face and sensed battle in your brain.

Nothing can be as deep in my memories as that day when you took me to an open area and untied the knot of the gossamer cloth. You did not touch me or hurt me as I thought before. You opened gates of freedom for me. Perhaps you sensed my confusion so you gave out a smile to me which acted as an elixir. I easily discerned that my hope had won.

Today I am a resident of an Ashoka tree from where I see you every day through a window. I tried to contact you but you don’t look out of the window. I don’t know what goes on in your brain but I hope to know about it someday. And you must have known by now, I live on hope.

Since I could not contact you I have made friends with a girl who is half your height and lives at a distance away from Ashoka tree. She understands what I speak though she cannot speak the language in which you humans communicate. I asked her to paste my chirpings in the form of your language. I don’t know what has been put up on this paper. I don’t know what these blue color symbols represent, but if they get to see the look of your eyes, I would like to tell you to accept my hand of friendship and let me spend my final days with you. My Mama asked me to never lose hope and I don’t want to lose you, for you are my precious hope.

Feel free to contact me. I am mostly sitting on the branch of Ashoka tree that ends at your window.

Yours sincerely,

The black bird

P.S. I love your curly hair. Please let me be under their shade once I get to perch on your shoulders.