As the Crow flies

As the Crow flies

 As the crow flies and shrinks the kilometres to metres, the vantage point hitherto get delocalised. Hard to comprehend the myriad of emotions gurgling in my resolute frame as I pen down my thoughts. But despite the trajectory of overwhelmed overtures of the cerebrum, I hereby embark on a pragmatic literary journey, being propelled by my inquisitiveness, unaware of the aftermath.

Yesterday while crumbling the grass with the rubber sole of my shoes and witnessing a rare spectacle of algae stricken water in St. James’s park, a sight caught my imagination. A badelynge of ducks rafting and paddling in the ugly water with their webbed feet half immersed in it and brown spots completing their wardrobe, is hardly a sight that my egoist, aesthetic and snobbish mind would spend more than five seconds on. But yet I stopped by to witness their docile acrobatics. As the sun-rays juxtaposed with the slimy water and created a sparkling mess, the thoughts in my mind began a ball-room dance or shall I say bhangra; no let it be the ball-room dance, looks more ordained or I dare-say classy. This transition from a curiously indifferent traveller to a thought provoking monk reminded me of Gautam Buddha’s enlightenment, though I am nowhere closer to attaining mine. As I stood there gazing, it seemed like a halo was effervescing in its full bloom behind my head akin to those beautiful deities of Gods in the Indian temple. A word of caution- I don’t intend to be blasphemous in the slightest degree. I do remember the cold-blooded murders of Shahbaz Bhatti and Salmaan Taseer by the Pakistani Taliban. Can these religious fanatics catch me in my sombre room at Langton Close? I don’t think they will get good footage by murdering a Nobody like me.  As if I care.

Coming back to the ducks and my thoughts. They made me tread on the uncertain path of thinking about the inspiration that keeps them going. Just paddling in the water all day long can get very monotonous. Although once in a while they get the luxury of basking in the sun and getting tanned (again a rarity), probably to attract a drake. After all, these waterfowls are Londoners as well. But as I closely monitored with the minus three power of my glasses, my attention was drawn by a middle-sized duck with a hefty beak and watery-beaded eyes right at the shore, with one of its webbed feet on the sand and the other still feeling the greenish-blue water. As it slowly made its way to the more concrete mass, its feathery breast seemed like a corset. It shirked the water off it and stood looking in the direction of this blonde girl standing right next to me, furiously clicking on a cannon camera much to the amusement of both me and the duck. The serene flock all of a sudden was clattering and shrieking and my attention shifted to them. Within the next few seconds, two more ducks had their hands-full with the water-play and joined the watery eyed duck. My first thoughts were that she was the leader and the others are following suit. But to my amazement, the others continued their waddling. What was it that got these two ducks join the first one? Were they fed-up of swimming or were they hydro-phobic? Can any duck be afraid of water?  It is a good subject-matter of research for those medico-nerds at UCL clinical research and psychology department who indulge in the weirdest of medical researches. I hope they get the permission from the ethical department who may be concerned with the privacy of the ducks and whether the Data Protection Act 1988 would be applicable to them. Being a biology student up till the high-school, I dispelled away this theory. The ducks couldn’t have come out because they were tired. They seemed much more relaxed in the water than outside it. This brought me to study their behavioural instincts and the closest answer that my grey matter blurted out was that the ducks were plainly inquisitive to find out why the first duck stepped out.

Inquisitiveness is a very under-rated element that has a tremendous impact on shaping the human behaviour. Inquisitiveness is a species of elements like uncertainty and mystery. I tend to look at these terminologies in a very optimistic demeanour. They provide an inspiration to take up challenges and look forward to these challenges that the life may pose. Without these characteristics, life would be as dull as dishwater and may sing of melancholy of over-strained numbers. Leading such a tediously repetitious life, can make us aimless and thereby deprive us of a meaningful life. A meaningless life is as good as not living it. As Robert Frost has correctly put, ‘In short proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be’.

Inquisitiveness not only invigorates meaning to the life but also make others seek us. It is a general human tendency to run after something that lacks certainty, just to gather the mystery that shrouds it. It is akin to a symbiotic relationship. As the first duck catapulted the attention of the other two (hopefully drakes), likewise in life it is essential to get the interests of the others’ aroused in you. That is the cornerstone of a successful life, where inquisitiveness is going to lend meaning to it. Getting into the clutches of monotony is as good as dying. If there is no mystery about you or the things (or living beings) that you are chasing, create it. This creation will go a long way in harbouring and sustaining your interest and will add colour, glee, vibrance and interest in life.

As the crow flew, it didn’t fly between continents but its flight showed us the shortest possible distance from a meaningless to a meaningful life. And the short-cut that the crow took was the path of inquisitiveness. So let the mystery continue.

last time modified: July 14, 2011, 6:30 a.m.