Bring back my chicken to me

I’m usually not the type of person who would give up meat for Lent, come to think of it, I hardly give up anything at Lent (please don’t burn me at the stake, I swear I’ll be good). But this bird flu scare has got me down. I love eating chicken, cooking it with different marinades, wolfing down my mom’s red chicken curry, which is swear is the best chicken I’ve ever tasted.

I’ve had nightmares of me sprouting wings and clucking all throughout the day, my colleagues at work staring at me sideways, all suspicious and conspiring in whispers to pack me off to the nearest madhouse. Whenever I head down to a restaurant and order chicken, people look at me weird, some places don’t even serve chicken anymore. I have eaten chicken in the last week, but it just doesn’t taste the same. Perhaps I’ll sprout wings the next morning, or run around screaming, “The sky is falling, the sky is falling.” I haven’t even seen Chicken Little yet. Perhaps that’s one of the symptoms of bird flu, you feel as if the sky is falling on your head. Perhaps it’s a sign, notice how the bird flu scare happened just when Lent was around the corner? I wonder…

There could have been an elaborate plan in place, some secret society that want to stop us from eating chicken. Or maybe, just maybe, the chickens got fed up and planned this whole thing. We all need a holiday sometime. I can just imagine them, sitting around in this huge coop, hidden from view by a giant sign that advertises fresh chicken (how ironic!). The head, in a deep booming voice (to us, it’s still cluck cluck, just with a little bass effect), says, “We need to go off on a holiday, all hands in favour?” These are the head chicken and roosters of the world, flown in from all over to plan this mass holiday.

There’s Don Teriyacci from Sicily, Xavier ‘the Shah’ Coutinho, the sole Goenkar, Taro Nestte, who didn’t reveal which country he represents, Xi zwan from China and a couple others from Greece and Brazil, a loud red Texan, Conrad Bleu from France (known for his valour during the Frog wars) and an Australian chicken who insisted on beer being served at the meeting. As a result of the beer, there are loud burps throughout.

So the head rooster, simply known as the Phoenix continues, “We are all in agreement, lets create a scare, let the pigs suffer for a while. Lent isn’t the same anymore, I miss my holidays, but now, there are some that don’t abstain for 40 days. Those ungrateful humans.” Don Teriyacci, dressed to the nines in a tux, says in a hoarse voice, “I wanna thank you, for inviting me here. I am old, and my olive oil plantation shall continue flourishing through my children. I would like to spend a few days away. I suggest we go some place quiet. Perhaps we rent a yacht and sail away on the ocean, while the rest can travel the world in peace.”

(Burp!)

And so this meeting continued, and they came up with a holiday destination and planned on diversions and misdirection strategies. And the whole world was scared, held to ransom just because a few old cocks wanted to shun work for a while and rest. So the entire chicken breeding business was stopped till they came back to the helm of the affairs.

But they didn’t count on us; we sculled chickens while they were sipping white wine on a yacht somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. It’s their fault, there were wars while they were away, people and chickens suffered and died. And they slept peacefully. I’m angry, “How could they do this?” I ask, all the while sipping home-made chicken soup.

March 22, Gomantak Times, Goa

Where is the love?

I was there when Bombay burned, when fires raged throughout the city. I was there when people fell down in a pool of blood, I was going on 14, but I could still feel the pain. I saw people get chased, get knocked down, lie on the road in a pool of blood. I heard about slums being burnt. I was afraid and confused. Why was this happening? Why did people have to get killed so mercilessly? Why do people get so fanatical about religon?I didn’t understand that then and I don’t understand that even now. I saw Bombay burning, saw it become Mumbai, felt the ground shake when the bombs exploded and left it for sunnier skies.

Then Goa started burning… And I thought to myself, “Will this ever be over?” I recently met a man, a Goan, who comes back here from his home in Bandra, in Mumbai. A man who constantly has humour around him and who writes about what he feels. He had written this piece about his Muslim friends and how pained he was when he heard people say that all Muslims are terrorists. I knew what he was talking about, because I too have Muslim friends, and in times like these, I wonder what they must feel.

There was Tabrez, possibly my closest friend in college, who along with Imran and a few others were the guys I would hang around with in Navelim. He used to stay in Cuncolim and in his house, I never felt uncomfortable. In fact, I think they went out of their way to see that I had the biggest helping of everything. Even the boys, the guys I would hang around with in college, never ever made me feel like an outsider, even though they were all Muslim and I was not. There were girls in my class, who would always help me out with my notes when I felt sick, who would come to me for help whenever they needed it and who would often bring me kheer, because they knew I loved anything sweet.These were the guys who ran out of class one day in front of our professor, because they saw me have an altercation with someone on the ground. They didn’t bother about the consequences of having run out in the middle of class, they knew I needed help.

Salim and his wife used to stay a few feet away from me in a little colony in Andheri. Whenever I would fall sick, because I was staying alone, they never let me cook, or wash my clothes, basically do anything except rest. They fed me, would send someone out for medicine and threaten me with dire consequences if I attempted to get out of bed until I had totally recovered. Then there’s Rahim, still a good friend of mine, who used to work with me at a music store in Mumbai. Rahim was the guy who would finish work by nine each night and hang around till I wrapped up my work, sometimes even up till 11 in the night, just so we could go home together. And Aashna, who could never meet me for a cup of coffee, but who would always stop the bike, turn around and chat with me for a bit, whenever she saw me on the road. She would sms me often and we would have the funniest conversations. We still do, this time over the Internet, from time to time.

There have been more, guys who were regulars at the club I used to DJ at, a long time ago, guys who would walk in, give you a hug, buy you a beer and dance all night to the music played. I didn’t care what religon they belonged to, they respected me for the person I was and I did the same in return.None of them are terrorists, none of them feel like outsiders in India, in Goa. To them, this is home. To them, you are their brothers and sisters, their friends, their neighbours.

Goa, according to me, was a great example of communal harmony until a few days ago. I don’t know why, but I’m scared now, not for myself, but for the people who’ve been a part of my life for ages. Why can’t we live the way we always did? There’s no need to point at someone and accuse them of trying to stir up trouble, to burn their homes and cars and shops and everything else they’ve worked so hard to achieve. These are the same people whose children play cricket and football with your children. Who sell you your meats and vegetables or even perhaps drive the bus you travel in. Don’t burn them, because by burning them, you’re burning the very idea that this world was built on. We’re supposed to exist in peace, in harmony, but that has to start from within. Remember that school textbook pledge? All Indians are my brothers and sisters…? There seems to be a disconnect between what we were taught and what’s happening now. Even if you don’t want to treat them as brothers or sisters, for goodness sake, atleast start treating them as human beings. Can we find it in ourselves to do that? Take a chance, try it…

March 8, Gomantak Times, Goa