I don’t know how many of you know I had a parakeet as a pet for the last 19 years. We called her Tintu. She fell into one of our flower pots from the adjacent coconut tree one evening in September in 1997. Ever since she has been with us, until we had to give her away for safe keeping after the forest official came knocking at our door last year.
We lost her once before a long time ago. She flew into the open and was lost for a few days. A weekend where she perched on trees calling out our names. That’s when I noticed a neighbour of ours in the adjacent lane had a new cage and a parakeet. I still remember how my brother and I went to that house armed with photographs of our Tintu to show as proof. Parrots it seems have a bad memory. But the moment I stepped into the light near her, she flew from her side of her cage to ours and started her familiar bird talk. Memories. MJ said Tintu died last month, she had kept it a secret from me.
Tintu, who used to welcome me home the moment I was at the gate calling out my name in her bird tongue. That little feather ball who used to shout the roof down if I didn’t share what I was eating with her. That green fluffy thing who used to stay awake and give me company when I have sat up all night. She who used to know my mood swings, come sit near me when I was irritated and cajoled me to pet her head and under her beak.