Growing up, on my visits to my village, I could often spot peacocks. Their omnipresence in the village was a stark contrast to the city where I lived, and despite there being so many of them around, I could rarely hide my awe when I saw them.
The brilliance of their feathers, their colorful appearance and hypnotic eyes had me mesmerised. As I saw them walk around with slow and controlled steps, I often wondered if they knew how beautiful they were. And then one day I saw them dance, and it put to rest any doubts that I had. The display seemed nothing short of a proud display of beauty, strutting with confidence that here was something the world needed to see.
It was routine in the mornings to wake up to the loud calls of the peacocks, and hear their sounds all through the day. These sounds were complimented with the various songs sung and artistic pieces created by villagers dedicated to them, which are integral to the local fabric.
The harsh environment of Rajasthan is one of the last places where you would expect to find these majestic birds. It is something that I still find surprising. However, I came to realise that the birds had developed a bond with the villagers and so it was truly a place they could call home.
The houses in our village had pots of water embedded in the construction of the roofs. As a part of the daily household duties, we would replenish the water stock in the pots and scatter a handful of grains for the birds to eat. The birds, obviously conditioned through this practice, would pay a visit, sometimes routine sometimes random, and feed on the supplies shared with them.
One of my fondest memories is when I took a fistful of grains in my hand to a peacock and watched it slowly eat the grains one by one, without so much as a scratch on my palm.
I have often wondered why the people in the village were so considerate. After all there was little that the birds had to offer them, especially in a time when most families were starved for resources and everything was scarce.
I contrast this today, with life in the financial capital of the county, where everything comes at a price, and only the fittest survive. In the ruthless struggles of life, surrounded with concrete jungles, there is little time to feed the birds and not much left of nature to savor.
In fact, nowadays we have grills to keep the birds out. A special feature of the grills is the design, which is such that the birds don't get a place to rest. Birds are considered little more than a menace, who can be given no such place to spread dirt and filth.
While on my daily commute to work, I spotted a man carrying a bunch of peacock feathers, stacked together tightly with a rope. I wondered how many birds would have paid with their own feathers, and maybe their lives, so that some homes could be decorated.
I looked around on my way to work, and thought why the only birds I could see around me were the crows. Maybe it is a metaphor for the lifestyle we have embraced as ordinary citizens in this unforgiving city, that of scavengers.
A few years back, in an area not far from our village in Rajasthan, people were overjoyed with a good news. A factory from a large business conglomerate was to soon open nearby, bringing with it jobs, wealth and prosperity. The work on the factory had already begun, with the area being cleared and new roads being laid out. The excitement was palpable as life was about to change for many.
The imagination of a new life for everyone around me comprised of big cars, bigger houses, shiny watches. With their old lives behind them, the imagination didn't have any space for anything of the past now, least of all peacocks.
On my recent visit to my village, I could see the factory, but the birds had all but vanished. It took me some time to spot a single bird perched atop a tree. It dawned upon me that this could perhaps be the last time I see one of its kind in my village. I watched it turn and fly away into the distance.
The brilliance of their feathers, their colorful appearance and hypnotic eyes had me mesmerised. As I saw them walk around with slow and controlled steps, I often wondered if they knew how beautiful they were. And then one day I saw them dance, and it put to rest any doubts that I had. The display seemed nothing short of a proud display of beauty, strutting with confidence that here was something the world needed to see.
It was routine in the mornings to wake up to the loud calls of the peacocks, and hear their sounds all through the day. These sounds were complimented with the various songs sung and artistic pieces created by villagers dedicated to them, which are integral to the local fabric.
The harsh environment of Rajasthan is one of the last places where you would expect to find these majestic birds. It is something that I still find surprising. However, I came to realise that the birds had developed a bond with the villagers and so it was truly a place they could call home.
The houses in our village had pots of water embedded in the construction of the roofs. As a part of the daily household duties, we would replenish the water stock in the pots and scatter a handful of grains for the birds to eat. The birds, obviously conditioned through this practice, would pay a visit, sometimes routine sometimes random, and feed on the supplies shared with them.
One of my fondest memories is when I took a fistful of grains in my hand to a peacock and watched it slowly eat the grains one by one, without so much as a scratch on my palm.
I have often wondered why the people in the village were so considerate. After all there was little that the birds had to offer them, especially in a time when most families were starved for resources and everything was scarce.
I contrast this today, with life in the financial capital of the county, where everything comes at a price, and only the fittest survive. In the ruthless struggles of life, surrounded with concrete jungles, there is little time to feed the birds and not much left of nature to savor.
In fact, nowadays we have grills to keep the birds out. A special feature of the grills is the design, which is such that the birds don't get a place to rest. Birds are considered little more than a menace, who can be given no such place to spread dirt and filth.
While on my daily commute to work, I spotted a man carrying a bunch of peacock feathers, stacked together tightly with a rope. I wondered how many birds would have paid with their own feathers, and maybe their lives, so that some homes could be decorated.
I looked around on my way to work, and thought why the only birds I could see around me were the crows. Maybe it is a metaphor for the lifestyle we have embraced as ordinary citizens in this unforgiving city, that of scavengers.
A few years back, in an area not far from our village in Rajasthan, people were overjoyed with a good news. A factory from a large business conglomerate was to soon open nearby, bringing with it jobs, wealth and prosperity. The work on the factory had already begun, with the area being cleared and new roads being laid out. The excitement was palpable as life was about to change for many.
The imagination of a new life for everyone around me comprised of big cars, bigger houses, shiny watches. With their old lives behind them, the imagination didn't have any space for anything of the past now, least of all peacocks.
On my recent visit to my village, I could see the factory, but the birds had all but vanished. It took me some time to spot a single bird perched atop a tree. It dawned upon me that this could perhaps be the last time I see one of its kind in my village. I watched it turn and fly away into the distance.
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