Flying high

It was a typical Bombay summer morning. Clear blue sky, the sun was out, the crows had started crattering, and a bunch of bright green parrots with even brighter red beaks flew by making their presence felt. A gentle sea breeze drifted into the house as if wishing everyone a good morning.

Suddenly a shrill shriek ripped through the apparent chaos. The crows were silenced for a moment. The parrots had flown off, far into the distance. Almost instantaneously, an excited young boy ran through to the window of his house and bared it open. There it stood, on the terrace of the next building, the queen of the Bombay skies, a magnificent bird, the Black Kite. Its sharp, piercing eyes looked straight at the boy for a moment. The boy was awestruck. And just as he thought he was the luckiest person alive to witness this majestic bird of prey, it gave out another cry. Reacting to it, the boy gave out his own imitation of the cry, almost like an extended, high-pitched, horse's neigh.

As if stunned by the sound and looking for its source, the bird frantically scanned the horizon, its head bobbing from side to side, its eyes searching. And then, as quickly as the whole episode had started, it came to an end. The bird unfolded its massive wings and glided off, riding the waves of breeze flowing in from the sea.

So continued the love-affair of the boy and the birds; flying high, birds of prey.