The Sparrows of Joy

Two years back, there used to be a nest of sparrows in the attic of our office. Every morning, as I opened the door to our top floor, there would be a hectic flutter of activity inside-with all of them birds frantically bumping into glass panes of the windows, to find a way out from the intruder who had just disturbed their nightly tranquil. Already flustered by my 20 min delay, I would rush to my table, only to find the papers all cluttered (definitely not the way I left them), a sheaf of hay protruding from my drawer and sparrow poop littering one of the paperweights. It would then take me only about 1/10th of a second to lose my cool and start yelling at anyone and everyone who dared call me at that hour.

So not the way to start the morning with!

Soon, I would be busy with the daily activities- phone calls, reports, project deadlines, field visits, inspections and more phone calls. Unperturbed to my presence now, the family of sparrows would keep darting in and out from the little holes they made in the false ceiling, chirp some more, and then fly away to their neighbours nearby - on the Water Tanks and the Godown, perhaps to gossip or gather their  food for the day.

Every day, I would leave my desk clean. And every day, I would return to find it impossibly messy.

Things had gone too much out of hand. So, one Sunday morning, we changed the ceiling panels, and nailed a wire netting all across the attic. The sparrows were finally kept at bay. The next day, I actually relished the thought of them birds not getting a chance to make a bed out of my desk papers. I was finally happy.

Or so I thought.

Two, perhaps three weeks later, I began to find something amiss.  The sparrows were gone. My desk was clean now. There was no more the noisy chirp of their arguments to disturb my work. Still, I did not stop barking at my phone calls. I did not stop getting impossibly angry at office. I did not stop feeling distraught.

In fact, I realized (albeit a bit late) that I missed that steady hum of activity all around me. Their comical gossip. The frantic search for that one morsel that would save their day. And despite that   tomorrow all of them might actually starve, they would still celebrate the night cluttering up my desk. Perhaps my getting fumed up never was related to them poor sparrows. In their absence, they instilled in me a new belief on life. I changed. I kept a window ajar every night for them to come back. But the sparrows were nowhere to be seen.

Two years hence, a lot of water has passed down the bridge. In between frantic bursts of activity, I do think of the birds even now. Yesterday, like any other, I shut shop at 1900 hours sharp, and left the left corner window open. Today morning, the key took unusually long to turn the old lock. Already worried over a looming inspection, I hurriedly threw my folder on the desk. Over sparrow poop.

My eyes stared in disbelief and the heart danced in bliss. The Sparrows of Joy were back! Finally!



-Palash
March’2013, Lumding.