CONTROL

‘I like to be in control’, L says. ‘It’s a problem’

At first, I brush it off, and tell her, well, at some level, don’t we all? It’s an extremely common coping mechanism.

‘No, you don’t understand, it’s not a great place to be. It can very easily become an obsession. I don’t like that feeling.’, she sighs.

We are at the cafe down the street from my house, sipping on some tea, watching the world pass by through their large window.

‘What do you mean?’ The words are barely out of my mouth before she begins to detail the ways in which she exercises control in various areas of her life.

I look out of the window as she speaks, her voice slowly fading into the distance. My eyes catch a very peculiar sight outside - A bird, walking on the road. Not flying in spurts, walking, trying to cross the street, it looks like.

‘Sorry to interrupt you, but can you see that bird? It’s crossing the road like a person!’, I tell her, and point out the window.

For a second, she looks annoyed but the moment her eyes narrow in on the bird, her eyes widen in disbelief and she bursts out laughing. ‘That is such a bizarre sight. You’re right. So human like.’

We sit quietly, sipping on our tea, following the bird with our eyes. ‘Do you suppose it will cross the road and wait for the next bus?’ I ask, my amusement becoming more pronounced the longer I look at the bird.

‘Maybe the bird needs to exercise its legs more often, with all the growing old and all - Walk more, it was probably advised by its doctors.’ She says.

Amusement is contagious and transferable. Like most other things.

‘Or perhaps, it woke up this morning, with absolutely no memory that it can fly. As far as it’s concerned right now, it’s feathery flappy wings are designed to give the warmest softest hugs ever.’ I suggest.

‘Or it’s taken a vow to only walk, until the skies are cleared of all those criss-cross cables in the sky’, she says as she points up at the electric and telephone cables arbitrarily strung everywhere. ‘In fact, it’s headed towards the government office there, to complain’, she points  at the building across the street.

‘On behalf of all the birds in the city, I have come  to inform the humans that we will no longer be flying low due to the absolute shit scene of low hanging cables all across the city. Some of them haven’t even been stretched out tight, making it impossible to sit on and catch a breath mid flight. From today, we walk in protest. And your vehicles will have to wait till we cross.’, I say, pretending to be an angry bird full of grievances.

‘Would you suppose it would talk in English or birdsong?’ She ponders.

‘English, of-course, I instantly respond and after a few seconds of contemplation, add, ‘No one would be able to take it seriously if it spoke in birdsong.’

The bird has crossed the road by now and is standing next to a group of people, possibly waiting for their bus. They are busy talking and don’t notice the bird.

I look at L, who seems to be fully wrapped up and invested in the bird now. ‘So you were saying? The control issues?’ I remind her gently.

She turns to look at me, her face blank before she remembers our conversation. ‘Oh yeah. Can I tell you about it later?’ She asks.

‘Of course, no rush whatsoever.’, I say as I look at her as she sits staring out the window, her eyes and her mind, fixated on the bird. ‘The bird’s really gotten to you, yeah?’, I ask her playfully, and turn to spot the bird.

The people around the bird have started shuffling around, in anticipation of the next bus, probably. The bird is stuck between many pairs of shuffling human feet, and is now scampering desperately, trying to avoid getting caught in it. The people have still not noticed the bird and before they do, the bird quickly begins flapping its wings and in one quick swift move, takes off into the sky.

L’s eyes follow it up until it disappears from our line of sight. She turns to look at me, a dazed look on her face.

‘Yes, it has,’ she says quietly. ‘I don’t know why, but it has.’

S enjoys looking for wonder in the synchronised dance between inward and outward experiences of life. She weaves stories about how that which is termed as ‘the other’ or the ‘outward experience’ seamlessly comes to merge with that which is termed as ‘the self” or the ‘inward experience’