A divine morning
Some mornings are divine.
You wake up to the find out that the rain gods decided to work overtime during the night. The whole world has been washed clean and the leaves are glistening green. The air smells pristine and your lungs breathe in hungrily. I watch the mighty Sun God with amusement as He struggles to be seen from behind the dark clouds. And fails miserably.
Right next to me, an unremarkable looking white-browed bulbul perches on a thorny babool and has just begun to warble. Immediately a flamboyant female Asian koel flies in and sits on the branch next to the bulbul. She is twice the size of the bulbul and looks stunning in her black and white feathers. A jugalbandi between the two ensues. The poor bulbul is no match for the koel’s resonant loud voice. The koel is shrill but not as melodious as the white-browed bulbul. The bulbul bravely continues splutters of its song nevertheless. In two minutes, the haughty koel beats a retreat and retires sulkingly to the Bael tree where the wood apples are ripening. Two dark suited suitors shift their attention from the fruit to her and she is happy. As if on cue, the drabbest bird of all, the little ashy prinia begins to sing. And in the cool breeze her song sounds so sweet. I wonder why I didn’t notice its fantastic repetitive chirp before.
It is the day of the underdog. It is a divine morning after all.
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