Have you ever lived through that short span of time when you feel like you are in a movie that you have seen somewhere, sometime? You know, those few moments when you know you have gone through whatever you are going through at some time in your past, a strong sense of déjà vu that you cannot place but you know exists deep within your psyche? Or even that you have watched at some time, happening to someone, somewhere distant from your own existence? Strangely, most of these tend to be rather scary, like a bad remake of a decent film, with just one aspect blown way out of proportion, making the entire sequence just off kilter enough to be surreal…or happening to someone else while you watch from somewhere above it all.
It happened to me this morning. I was on my usual morning trot over to the gym, swearing gently to myself at the heat and humidity weighing down the air, my head and the neat green gym bag I carry. I walked down the road, said my cheery hi to the little dog who scavenges in the park, doled out the biscuits I carry for it and turned the corner past the auto-rickshaws all parked willy-nilly around the edge of the pavement. I took the straight stretch of wide street at a good clip, crossing at the divide near the idli-dosa stand and walking along the side of the road to the circle. Looking carefully to the right and the left, since so many people here see little difference between the ‘going’ lane and the ‘coming’ one, I navigated the roundabout and dodged a cyclist as I went past the fast food eatery with its accumulated litter of cartons and paper bags. Rounding the next corner, I headed down the ‘one-way’ – or so it is posted, only I ever get caught going the wrong way – to my destination.
And there I came across my movie moment. Just outside the familiar and oft-visited grocery store was a very large and clamorous community of crows. A murder, I corrected myself, enjoying the fact that I not only remembered, but also got a change to use that wonderfully evocative term. They hopped and fluttered and cawed frantically as they pecked up the grain and crumbs tossed there by the storekeepers, since it is considered a virtue – gaining points with God, in a manner of speaking – to feed the birds…or stray dogs or an occasionally beggar. I walked towards the horde, aiming to skirt it and go my way. But somewhere along the route I was taking the perspective shifted ever so slightly. I am not sure if I diverted or the birds did, but it transpired that I walked through the group rather than around it. Which meant that for a small, very scary moment, I had crows flying all around me, too close for my comfort.
It was like Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Birds’, but in sweaty technicolour and a very bad remake of that classic film. There was no house, no windows, no drapes, just me, my widly flying ponytail, my starting-to-flail arms and my few seconds of panic. Before I could register the fright, I had passed through and beyond it, but that little time I spent in the midst of the birds was more than enough. I trotted a little faster, gaining the quiet of the small courtyard that led to the stairs up to the gym with a sense of relief and vague triumph that I had managed to navigate that speedbump without any drama.
But I did think to myself, with a little giggle, “Cor, stone the crows!”
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