Birds of a feather….

Bawra man dekhne chala hai ek sapna…

Once more mummum
Once more please
No dear it’s too late now, don’t you have to go to school tomorrow?
Why I like this song so much mummum?
You tell me, why you like?
Umm…because you like (suddenly hugs her mother tightly).
(She smiles and adores her daughter) my crazy little girl! Now sleep my darling.
Mummum! why you like this song so much?
Now sleep my dear, do you know what time is it?
Please tell me mummum. Why you like?
Umm……….because it’s ours baby…..
It’s yours, it’s mine. It’s ours only.

Have I ever told you about that little bird from whom I have learnt this song?
Which one? That talkative blue bird who never takes bath?
(She smiles) no no this is a whitish little bird….calm & quiet…….exactly opposite of my naughty girl (embraces her).

Is she your friend?

Umm….first close your eyes……….I am telling you about the bird.
(The little girl closes her eyes)
She loves to sing, loves to dance, loves to fly across mountains, across seas…..
She wanted to fly the highest.

Her fantasies don’t have any periphery.
She envisions having dinner with humans……..
She dreams of getting married to a gladiator.
She believes there must be a great musician in the moon.

One day she was flying……..flying high, higher and higher and finally reached to the moon.

It’s like trillions of halogens are overflowing and some music… the music is unknown yet so involving. It seems it’s so easy to comprehend yet every moment it changes its direction and generates a new meaning. It’s like an addiction, it’s like a ‘dream comes true’.
She is the happiest bird in the world now; she is singing, dancing, laughing on her own. She is looking for the musician. Yes, her prediction was correct. And she is about to find that magician….the musician.
She is searching, following the tune, she is searching like anything. Everywhere she looks, it is milky white…….may be a whitish glow, she assumes it must be the aura of that Godly musician. She is searching.
She has been searching for days, for months for years and she doesn’t even realize that she has lost her vision; the extravagance of moon-light has taken it from her. She can’t see anything but that whitish glow. She doesn’t realize that she has lost her hearing. The music stopped playing long ago. It’s the amazement of the music that she is carrying in her ear, in her heart, in her mind.
She hasn’t found the musician but now she is dying to tell the world that there is a great musician in the moon and she is the one who understood the music, she is the one who has danced on its beats. But alas! Now she neither can hear anything nor can see anyone. No one understands what she is saying, no one believes. Her behavior seems anomalous to the world, like any disabled creature. But she doesn’t care. She tells about the music again and again and in that way she lives the music, lives those moments yet again. She feels the music in her wings, in her feet, in her neck, in her beak, in her blindness, in her deafness, in her heart, in her wheeze…….

But where is that musician mummum? Does the musician really exist?

Don’t know dear, she visited to the moon several times after the incident, hoping to listen to a slightest hint of the music but neither the musician nor the music was there………or may be she couldn’t hear anything because of her deafness, may be the musician was playing a different tune.

Mummum!

Hmm….

Does the bird still visit to the moon? Is she still searching for the music….the musician?
I also want to search for……..

Now sleep you naughty. If you don’t mummum will not going to love you anymore.

Noooooooo, I am sleeping mum. Look! I am sleeping.
That’s like my girl (kisses her daughter). Sweet dreams baby.

Mummum! What was that music, the bird liked?
(Adoring her daughter) Ummmmmmm, no more questions mummum, sleep tight.
The mother starts humming the tune Bawra man dekhne chala hai ek sapna…

The baby is sleeping now holding her mother tightly in her small arms.

Now the bird will start her flight…she will fly high, higher……higher, to the moon. She will again search hard, harder, hardest for the musician, for the music……….