The resolve I still maintain
N J Ravi Chander
One of the enduring memories of my childhood were those spent in our ancestral home in Fraser Town, Bengaluru, in the heart of the cantonment. Our family of five comprising my parents, two siblings and I moved into this quaint monkey-top bungalow in the early 1960s, a time when the area teemed with Anglo-Indian families, earning it the moniker, ‘Ding Town’. My brothers, Gokul Nath and Chandran – number four and five – were born here.
The place was our very own Eden, filled with varied flora and fauna, and there was never a dull moment. Birds entertained us with their calls, and our feathered friends came to gorge on the delicious fruits that grew in abundance in the garden. The crowing of the cock and the shrieks of other winged wonders at the crack of dawn meant there was no need for an alarm clock to make us rise and shine.
My parents raised fowl and ducks in the backyard of the house, and a makeshift wooden coop served as their home. The feathered creatures provided a steady supply of meat and eggs for the family. We would allow them to roam all day freely inside the compound, and they inevitably came to roost in the coop after sundown. There were ducks too, and it was fascinating to see them wiggle their tails and move around. Their webbed feet and flat and broad beaks amused us. A small pond at the back served as their entertainment centre, and they had a whale of a time all day.
One summer my mother, Padma Kumari, incubated half a dozen duck eggs in a rare first. The family had successfully hatched chickens but not ducks. We made a duck to brood over the carefully chosen six. A month later, three little hatchlings emerged out of their shells. One has heard the phrase ‘ugly ducklings’ but these tiny balls of fur looked adorable.
As tiny tots, we took turns in holding and cuddling them. We also delighted in hand-feeding them with grains and growers’ mash. A strong bond soon developed between the ducklings and us. The playfully chased us around the compound or quacked to attract our attention when overcome by hunger. They grew up into lovely adults and soon became the envy of visitors.
But as the saying goes, all good things must end. Misfortune soon befell these adorable creatures as they went under the knife one by one and landed up on the dinner table. My emotional pleas to the family elders to spare them fell on deaf ears.
The ‘massacre of the innocents’ hit me like a thunderbolt, and I went into a short period of depression. Their lives, cruelly snatched away, just when we had become the best of friends, still haunt me, and the sight of bird meat gives me goosebumps even today. Then and there, I resolved never to lay my tongue on bird meat ever.
(The author is a former banker who has taken up writing as a pastime. He writes for the Deccan Herald, The New Indian Express, The Tribune, The Hitavada, The City Tab, Bangalore Mirror, The Hans India and Kashmir Vision)
