Outside my bungalow in
India, overlooking the Arabian Sea, a smiling dark skinned, white attired waiter places upon my table, a tray of steamed banana, ginger, cardomon and honey. There is something strange about his smile. He leaves quickly.
Just as quickly, before I even have time to place my napkin on my lap, Crows appear, actually there are 12, on my chair, on the table, perching on the cardamom container. These crows look BIG. I watch lifting my fork with one eye on the cardomon and one eye on the flock.
Crow 1 lifts the sugar packet out of the bowl and flies away with it, paper and all in his beak, sugar sprinkling the freshly watered grass.
Crow 2 about 6 inches from my plate, knocks over the honey pot, just as crow 1 returns for more sugar.
Crow 2 sips the honey through his beak, and then wipes his beak sideways on the table cloth. MY table cloths. My fork is still in the air and my mouth is open. I have not as yet even taken a sip of tea.
Surely they dont like masala tea, do they?
Fork down, one eye still upon crows, I pour myslf a cup, exhale for one second to place the flask back on the table, they move closer to the center of the table, and within a milisecond on my next inhale, I clutch my cup and take a quick gulp and remember the bananas. Simultaneously, Crow 3 abscounds with the entire banana in his beak, mybreakfast devoured by crows.
Back again for the ginger and cardomon. He pecks the plactic off the rim of the bowl, discards it quickly, repeats, discards, pokes a hole in the plasitc and they all enjoy the find.
I move to the shade, away from my ascended banana, spilled sugar packets, oozing honey, saturated table cloth, and plastic shreds.
I view my guests from a distance, taking my tea cup with me, my only remaining breakfast. A few more crows descend, sipping the honey and wiping their beaks, a regular ritural.
One last crow perches on my chair, hoveving over my tea cup held in my hand ----and takes a sip.
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