She sat at the table, head in her hands, the tears flowing freely.

She couldn’t believe the words she had just spoken, shards of glass that must have pierced his fragile shell.

Much later, she resolutely set off for the café, where she found him as she knew she would, staring blankly at nothing.

After a while, her palm crept out to cover his hand.

His palm turned into hers, their fingers instinctively fitting together, as he looked at her, the hurt fighting the love.

If we were having coffee together, you could have seen the love overflowing from my eyes

A voice call cannot capture the subtlety

Nor a video call the intensity.

If we were having coffee together, your optimism, your good nature would have lifted me

From the grey that is increasingly enveloping my core

Bringing my gentler, happier self to the fore.

If we were having coffee together,

I would never have known long-distance relationships can survive only with an occasional coffee together.

Her name was Temper

Fast and furious

She took me to highs that were oh! so spurious

Dropped me from the heights

To desolation, bitter tears and fights

One day walked in Reason

Fought Temper with thought and logic

Alas! Reason lost

And relationships paid the cost

Birds!

I could almost hear the little furry squirrel grind its teeth as it chased after the sparrow who had just settled on the narrow branch of the Persian silk tree in front of my window. Well satisfied with the sparrow’s startled flight, the squirrel chattered away as it made a flying leap into the neighbouring tree.

The sparrow, true to its reputation as a hardy survivor of the ages, perched itself on the highest branch of the tree for its morning break, secure in the knowledge that its adversary wouldn’t come so high up.

The pretty flowers of the large shrub that also faces my window shone brightly yellow in the morning sun. I watched my favourite ice-cream birds take a dive from the shrub and swoop onto the ground to peck at tasty worms going about their morning chores. Their black wings have a white petticoat which peeps out coyly when they are still and flares into a white arc when they fly. Seated, they look just like chocolate vanilla ice-cream.

Another daily visitor is the coppersmith barbet. Green as a parrot but much more petite, with its distinctive red crest glowing right in the sun and yellow eye-masks, it looks like a shy and pretty bandit especially when you hear its sharp, distinctive calls.

The mynah, which often perches on our window sill with a view to finding food, also has yellow eye-masks but with its simple brown colouring is no match for the barbet in the beauty stakes. There is a profusion of mynahs for there are very many trees in front of my window and it is not uncommon to find pairs of mynahs in the various trees, making not a sound, just watching with their exaggerated yellow eye make-up on.

My personal favourite is the little yellow bird whose name I know not. No more than a few inches long, its plump yellow stomach is never full. Its daily afternoon visit to the Crossandra flowers blooming in our windowsill is a given It sucks greedily from the funnel shaped flowers, then perches on the window sill, tiny belly full of nectar, and sings a loud, melodious song for us by way of thanks.

There is of course the far too occasional visit of the regal kingfisher that spreads delight among all us human watchers. Then we have the bats that have been seen only once (thankfully) and a large, still bird with the orange overcoat who visited briefly for a few days and then disappeared, never to be seen again. Not to mention the black, cawing crows that are seen everyday, vying with each other and scaring the other birds away when food is around.

I forgot the cuckoo! The male cuckoo, black as night, with neon-red eyes enough to scare children away, opens its mouth and lo and behold, even the children stop and gape. The melodious ‘koo koo’ that pierces the day all through the summer, meant to attract the female cuckoo, instead ends up entrancing the human variants. The female cuckoo, in the meanwhile, spotted brown all over, silent and disdainful, ignores the male for so long that the male is reduced to singing in the nights at time, unable to control his desire and unable to fulfil it.

With trees so alive with birds, their singing and livinng filling our ears and minds, I thank the powers that be everyday for permitting us the joy of birds around us.

Prepare one chit per option.

Throw the chits in the air above a table.

The one that lands on the table is the decision.

P.S.If more than one lands on the table, keep repeating the process till you are down to one.