Conversation with a Pigeon




He perched on my window and said, ‘Coo, coo.’



I told him, ‘How do you do?’



He answered, ‘Coo, coo.’



His greyness was cheerful; it inspired my blueness.



‘Coo, coo,’ he said.



 I understood that he was telling me, ‘Don’t be blue, blue.’



There was something very philosophical in the way he strutted about on my window as if he was pondering over a grave matter. That if he stopped walking, the whole universe would collapse thus heralding the end of Life.



‘Mr. Pigeon,’ I said, ‘What’s the matter? Why are you so serious?’



He doesn’t reply for some time. Then cocking his head at me, he said, ‘Coo, coo. I have plenty to do, plenty to do.’



‘Pray, what is it?’ I asked.



‘Coo, coo,’ he said. ‘I have to find myself a nice new little nest.’



‘So, are you are planning to marry?’



Naughtiness flickered in his eyes.



‘Coo, coo,’ he whispered. ‘I am already married.’



‘Did you marry before building a nest?’ I said, surprised.



‘Coo, coo,’ he whispered in a fainter tone.  ‘I am planning to make love to Mrs. Pigeon in a new setting,’



‘Why is that so?’ I asked eagerly.



‘The surprise element brings the best out in a wife,’ he cooed.



‘Thank you for the advice,’ I said, excited to experiment this in my own life.



Fluttering his wings and cooing, ‘I am going, I am going,’ he flew away.



In the night I cooed to my wife, ‘‘Let’s go to a nice hotel.’



‘What for?’ she asked raising her eyebrows.



When she does that all my innovative ideas fly away like that pigeon.



‘The surprise element brings out the best in a wife,’ I said confidently. ‘Let’s try and see.’



Her eyebrows almost touched the center of her forehead. ‘From where did you get this information?’



‘From a pigeon,’ I said meekly.



‘From a pigeon,’ she said, panic creeping in her voice. ‘Are you all right?’



‘Yes, I am,’ I said.



‘You’ve been talking to a pigeon,’ she said and burst into tears.



‘Please don’t cry,’ I said. ‘Your tears make me nervous.’



‘What else should I do?’ she said crying some more. ‘Till yesterday, you were perfectly OK and today you have been talking to a pigeon.’



‘Is anything wrong in that?’ I asked.



‘O God,’ she said. ‘Bring the phone,’ she ordered our daughter.



‘What do you want the phone for?’ I asked.



‘I am calling my father to tell him I am coming home,’ she wailed. ‘I can’t stay with a husband who talks to pigeons.’



-          NZ



17.9.2019

BN: 130

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