It is bright and sunny . The air crisp and mildly cold . Just right for a stroll on the terrace . But don't you dare carry your breakfast with you .
Hungry and vigilant crows swoop down , in an aggressively efficient fighter plane maneuver. They dive at your omelet and toast , and narrowly miss your scalp . It is frightening and mildly disconcerting . You wolf down your meal and slosh burning tea in your mouth . Looking up teary eyed and defiant at a crow regarding you as an oddity. Or a long lost brother . Then it looks away , browbeaten and embarrassed , it takes off into the early morning air looking for greener and more generously forthcoming avenues.
As I would discover later , the lady downstairs leaves two or more of last nights' rotis , torn up into shreds . on a raised concrete platform in her backyard , prays to the sun , and disappears inside . It is a daily ritual .
For few minutes nothing happens . Then two mynahs march in . Not fly . March . In tandem . Like soldiers . Wearing smart yellow boots , masks . They take their pick , eat right there , then go off to inspect the dry tap and the dry birdbath for a drop of moisture .
The moment mynahs leave , crows hop in . They fly , hop . Looking right and left . Forever alert . Then they grab their pieces and fly off, to their own perches . Unlike the mynahs , they come singly . Every crow to himself .
All this long while , this entire event is being watched by squirrels , who have positioned themselves on bark of trees , their engines revving , noses quivering . Now that the field is clear and lot of food still on the ground , The squirrels move in with lightning rapidity , grab a piece in their paws , sniff and nibble . After the bite has passed the smell and taste test , they quickly grab the grub in their mouths and crisscross their paths , climbing up into unseen tree trunk holes , to "squirrel"their stash away . They swiftly come back again , for seconds .
Every tree in the vicinity , I suspect must have their cavities stuffed with molding bread , several weeks' worth .
The squirrels polish off most of the large pieces .
The pigeons move in now . In groups . Wearing a weary air about them , that masks all the attentiveness . They show meagre respect to the stale bread . Actually , stamping on them their dirty claws .
Two small stray monkeys come , by around ten . One of them , obviously not hungry , is more interested in terrifying the staid mynahs , out of their perches on window ledges . The other , more practical or hungrier , stuffs his mouth , snarls at the smaller one , stuffs some more , looking elsewhere , picking up pieces of plaster , in haste ( so much human like ) . Drops , comes back for some tasty looking grains here and there , then lops off . The baby is by now , dangling playfully from an overhanging branch , by its tail , staring disinterestedly , at its mother .
By mid morning . the ants have sent in their troops . Battalions fan out . Methodically , picking , carrying , ferrying out , in neat , parade worthy , single files . Unhurried , resolute march .
Sometime around this time , a stray dog comes . Not to eat , but to sniff out the ants and harry them . One large black ant decides to teach him a lesson , and rides on its snout , biting it with all its might . The puppy scoots , howling in pain .
By noon , the concrete patch is clear . Spotlessly cleaned by non human occupants of planet earth . Waiting for a refill , tomorrow morning .
Hungry and vigilant crows swoop down , in an aggressively efficient fighter plane maneuver. They dive at your omelet and toast , and narrowly miss your scalp . It is frightening and mildly disconcerting . You wolf down your meal and slosh burning tea in your mouth . Looking up teary eyed and defiant at a crow regarding you as an oddity. Or a long lost brother . Then it looks away , browbeaten and embarrassed , it takes off into the early morning air looking for greener and more generously forthcoming avenues.
As I would discover later , the lady downstairs leaves two or more of last nights' rotis , torn up into shreds . on a raised concrete platform in her backyard , prays to the sun , and disappears inside . It is a daily ritual .
For few minutes nothing happens . Then two mynahs march in . Not fly . March . In tandem . Like soldiers . Wearing smart yellow boots , masks . They take their pick , eat right there , then go off to inspect the dry tap and the dry birdbath for a drop of moisture .
The moment mynahs leave , crows hop in . They fly , hop . Looking right and left . Forever alert . Then they grab their pieces and fly off, to their own perches . Unlike the mynahs , they come singly . Every crow to himself .
All this long while , this entire event is being watched by squirrels , who have positioned themselves on bark of trees , their engines revving , noses quivering . Now that the field is clear and lot of food still on the ground , The squirrels move in with lightning rapidity , grab a piece in their paws , sniff and nibble . After the bite has passed the smell and taste test , they quickly grab the grub in their mouths and crisscross their paths , climbing up into unseen tree trunk holes , to "squirrel"their stash away . They swiftly come back again , for seconds .
Every tree in the vicinity , I suspect must have their cavities stuffed with molding bread , several weeks' worth .
The squirrels polish off most of the large pieces .
The pigeons move in now . In groups . Wearing a weary air about them , that masks all the attentiveness . They show meagre respect to the stale bread . Actually , stamping on them their dirty claws .
Two small stray monkeys come , by around ten . One of them , obviously not hungry , is more interested in terrifying the staid mynahs , out of their perches on window ledges . The other , more practical or hungrier , stuffs his mouth , snarls at the smaller one , stuffs some more , looking elsewhere , picking up pieces of plaster , in haste ( so much human like ) . Drops , comes back for some tasty looking grains here and there , then lops off . The baby is by now , dangling playfully from an overhanging branch , by its tail , staring disinterestedly , at its mother .
By mid morning . the ants have sent in their troops . Battalions fan out . Methodically , picking , carrying , ferrying out , in neat , parade worthy , single files . Unhurried , resolute march .
Sometime around this time , a stray dog comes . Not to eat , but to sniff out the ants and harry them . One large black ant decides to teach him a lesson , and rides on its snout , biting it with all its might . The puppy scoots , howling in pain .
By noon , the concrete patch is clear . Spotlessly cleaned by non human occupants of planet earth . Waiting for a refill , tomorrow morning .
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