Autumnal charms of ceasefire

 

Mid October—a season of mild acclamations by both summer and winter. An inexpressible, unspeakable dewy delight when nature seems so restful and poised, almost balanced. A beautiful cocktail of cool and warm. The highlight of the season—the parijat flowers in full bloom. Do they bloom for the fairies at night and drop so peacefully in the morning? It’s mother nature’s quintessential sweet conspiracy. I let it stay as a piece of wonder only. It’s a kind of flower shower if you are happy enough to feel it.

He also seems very happy this morning, an astounding whirlwind of energy hurtling ahead with its inexhaustible sense of mischief and playfulness. In complicity and connivance with mischief, from the terrace he jumps to the top end of the electricity pole and gives it a vigorous shake. Then he sits comfortably on the parapet wall maybe feeling giddy due to the burst and explosion of energy. The ceasefire is still practicable, the skirmishes on hold. The ceasefire is always quivering and fluttering and one party has to contribute extra to counterbalance its tremulousness and give it some stability. I understand its grave significance and accept the role of this extra contributor.

In league with typical simian gaieties and pleasantries, he has broken into the house a couple of times during the peace times as well. But it has been more like an uninvited guest instead of his earlier robber avatar. I have to understand that he has to cope with titanic heaves of mischief to give the smaller bit from his end to maintain peace. I digested the fact of his taking away the bananas and coupled it with faith for Lord Hanuman. Overall, I think he is trying his best to hold ceasefire.

I offer him a stale chapatti from below as he peers from the terrace railings above. It takes a few cajoling words for him to come down onto the compound wall and take it. We have to give our best to maintain peace and not leave it to be decided by the fate’s swinging scale. There is tension at both ends. He hasn’t yet taken anything directly from my hands. So it’s almost a snatching as he hurriedly takes it away. His lack of enthusiasm in straightaway gobbling it down bears testimony to the fact that he isn’t too happy about the stale gift. He likes them fresh. But since he hasn’t thrown it outright proves he has improved a lot in manners. He pulls apart the softer upper layer to eat it with casual munching, as if doing it to keep the friendly terms intact. The rest lies in pieces around him.

Seeing him better behaved today, I offer him a carrot. This time he takes it—not snatching—gently; there is no rush or overcautious pull. He thinks he should peel the outer unimpressive layer to eat the inner substance, but ends up peeling to the core. He takes a few unwilling bites and chews with cutely drooping eyes. Then he finds chapatti better in comparison and picks up the discarded pieces and chews with better facial expression. For a change of taste, he stretches his muscular arm and plucks a small, raw guava and takes a few bites. It has no taste either. He throws it away. Then a small tailorbird nest finds his attention. It’s smartly snatched away from among the leafy camouflage. Thankfully it’s an abandoned nest. He tears it apart. No broken eggs this time.

He is sitting with his back to me, his way of telling me that we aren’t at least foes now, if not good friends. No typical apish snarls from him; no angry cuss words from my side. As humans, we have to invest more in buying peace because it’s we who have made it a rarity. I do it from my side in this little human-simian equation of peace.