I went to the Servaias' the other evening.

Their cat- which I rescued, a lifetime ago- was very much in evidence, but I couldn't see the pigeon- which is a relatively recent acquisition- anywhere. This didn't really surprise me because the cat is a noisy cat and is always everywhere, peeing on bags and drinking from glasses and biting and scratching and making strange sounds because apparently, she is starved of sex. The poor little pigeon on the hand, is never seen nor heard.

Anyway that evening, I wandered into the little verandah where the pigeon is usually kept (she can't fly). I didn't see the pigeon. Then I wondered if she was dead. It was quite possible. Vikram/Aditya could easily not have mentioned it to me because the pigeon is something that is not usually mentioned. On account of it never being seen or heard.

I felt very bad at the thought of the poor dead pigeon who had been rescued by these kind people only to die.

I went into the living room and asked Vikram when the pigeon had died.

"The pigeon isn't dead," he said, looking puzzled.

"But it's not anywhere around," I said.

"Oh, it's probably under the bed," he said.


"Under the bed,"


I was about to ask whether it wasn't dangerous for the pigeon and the cat to be loose at the same time. Because cats eat pigeons. I looked at the cat which was too busy licking itself in obscene places to worry about the pigeon. Stupid question.

I learnt that the pigeon likes to wander around the house. But her favourite place is under the bed where she takes long naps and probably tap dances in the bargain. There was a lot in my mind that I tried to put in my mouth but it didn't work, so I just sat quietly on the bed, ignored the cooing sounds that were coming from underneath and ate buttered toast.

Sometimes to keep your own sanity, you have to accept the insane.

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