Hosting The Beckhams

HOSTING THE BECKHAMS

 

One fine spring afternoon, two bulbuls flew in to test

whether our balcony was an ideal location for their nest.

Frenetic to and fros, flutter and twitter, they visited often,

before they settled upon my wife's little 'hanging garden'.

 

Many a monsoon back, we had strung

nylon strings for washed clothes to be hung.

Little did we foresee that, where the lines formed a small triangle,

a cradle of life would one day so precariously dangle.

 

Tuft on his head Beckham-style, he made countless trips,

bringing twigs, tulsi pickings and broad smiles to our lips.

Each time he placed the first twig on the triangle, it fell down;

red-bottom pressed on regardless; on his visage, never a frown.

 

We watched in fascination as success graced his stupendous effort

to weave a magical intertwining of safety, strength and comfort.

For, all this dexterity, this ingress and egress, was his way to express

his avian love for his mate, whom the nest was meant to impress.

 

Charmed by love's creation, she laid an egg in the cosy nest;

followed by nights and days when she warmed it with her breast.

Daytime saw the pair flying in and out with spells of incubation;

they fiercely guarded their little nest with displays of aggression.

 

Blessed we had felt that the Beckhams had accorded us such high stature,

by choosing our apartment, to showcase the miracle that is Mother Nature.

Soon we could espy a tiny neck craning each time it heard a tweet of arrival;

mother and father ferried food to feed it by turns, for its growth and survival.

 

We thought of the time we had to strive to have a nest of our own,

to start a family, to nurture our child, though she is now all grown.

It was hard to bid adieu to the Beckhams, but that day had at last to come;

through them, God had blessed us with so many pure joys - and then some.