I'm planning on beginning this by revealing a very embarrassing secret. Before anyone can snigger or start nodding their head to express solidarity over this generally hidden aspect of one's life, fear is an essential ingredient of someone's personality. It can give you the motivation to overcome certain barriers and hurdles, psychological or physical in nature and make you a better person, overall.
However, all of this becomes irrelevant if you are afraid of pigeons.
Taking a deep breath to justify my very rational fear of the feathered species, here's a short story about the incident which gave rise to my deep rooted hatred, but on closer inspection, genuine fear of the lumpy grey blob of a bird.
I was never very comfortable around birds, the mere fact that they could fly up and swoop down according to their will would stir panic in me, because I couldn't do the same. How lucky must one be to find out that they were locked inside the house with their nemesis, on the one day no one happened to be at home conveniently? I'll try my best to explain the scenario. Two bathrooms in my house have a common connector, with one main window to ensure ventilation. The window has no grills, and is mostly shut, but somehow was left open that fateful day. As soon as I was done showering in the other bathroom and was about to step out, I heard an unmistakable flutter of wings and a blood curdling, amplified, echoing 'coo-coo'.
To say that I was terrified beyond my wits is an understatement. My primary reason for being so afraid was that I could not remember whether the door of the other bathroom was left open or not, and whether the fans in the other rooms were switched off. I was convinced the bird would fly into a fan revolving at high speed due to my negligence, and the mere thought of a blood splattered room was making me light headed. So, I did what any self assured, level headed and composed person would do in pressuring situations.
I locked myself in another room and cried for half an hour, before I could muster the courage to get up and look for the intruder, with a whimper in my voice and a slipper in my hand. However, the precautions were not necessary. I bolted the bathroom door shut and heaved a sigh of relief, before closing the doors of all the rooms in the house. Nobody believed me, until my brother was greeted by the wretched excuse of a being, and we had to call somebody else to help us.
A wise person once said, and I shall quote verbatim because it is something I profoundly believe in.
Pigeons are disgusting. Every time I see one, a gag is inevitable. Often, a murderous impulse of grabbing them and snapping the neck in one swift motion crosses my mind, but the idea of touching them fills me with an emotion that words simply cannot convey. Their existence seems like a rude joke that the universe chose to play on me, and their cooing makes me want to scream. Clearly, I harbour some very strong feelings against them and it is very interesting to note how I project them.
If someone asks me whether I like birds or not, my instantaneous response is 'Birds are disgusting. Droppings and disturbance is all that they bring with their presence. Not to mention their weird, one dimensional eyes that seem to stare into my soul with absolute malice and sheer evil.' In an attempt to salvage my pride after this extremely specific justification, I state that birds do not like me either, and that we respect the mutual hatred, and maintain our distance.
But, pigeons really are a gift of nature. They are unbothered, simple, forgiving and not very demanding. They only want a place to raise their family and spread the love. Thus, you can imagine my very pleasant surprise when I found a new family residing in my balcony after I returned home three months later :)
However, all of this becomes irrelevant if you are afraid of pigeons.
Taking a deep breath to justify my very rational fear of the feathered species, here's a short story about the incident which gave rise to my deep rooted hatred, but on closer inspection, genuine fear of the lumpy grey blob of a bird.
I was never very comfortable around birds, the mere fact that they could fly up and swoop down according to their will would stir panic in me, because I couldn't do the same. How lucky must one be to find out that they were locked inside the house with their nemesis, on the one day no one happened to be at home conveniently? I'll try my best to explain the scenario. Two bathrooms in my house have a common connector, with one main window to ensure ventilation. The window has no grills, and is mostly shut, but somehow was left open that fateful day. As soon as I was done showering in the other bathroom and was about to step out, I heard an unmistakable flutter of wings and a blood curdling, amplified, echoing 'coo-coo'.
To say that I was terrified beyond my wits is an understatement. My primary reason for being so afraid was that I could not remember whether the door of the other bathroom was left open or not, and whether the fans in the other rooms were switched off. I was convinced the bird would fly into a fan revolving at high speed due to my negligence, and the mere thought of a blood splattered room was making me light headed. So, I did what any self assured, level headed and composed person would do in pressuring situations.
I locked myself in another room and cried for half an hour, before I could muster the courage to get up and look for the intruder, with a whimper in my voice and a slipper in my hand. However, the precautions were not necessary. I bolted the bathroom door shut and heaved a sigh of relief, before closing the doors of all the rooms in the house. Nobody believed me, until my brother was greeted by the wretched excuse of a being, and we had to call somebody else to help us.
A wise person once said, and I shall quote verbatim because it is something I profoundly believe in.
 |
| "Pigeons are like stupid people, always too many and found in places nobody wants them in!" |
Pigeons are disgusting. Every time I see one, a gag is inevitable. Often, a murderous impulse of grabbing them and snapping the neck in one swift motion crosses my mind, but the idea of touching them fills me with an emotion that words simply cannot convey. Their existence seems like a rude joke that the universe chose to play on me, and their cooing makes me want to scream. Clearly, I harbour some very strong feelings against them and it is very interesting to note how I project them.
If someone asks me whether I like birds or not, my instantaneous response is 'Birds are disgusting. Droppings and disturbance is all that they bring with their presence. Not to mention their weird, one dimensional eyes that seem to stare into my soul with absolute malice and sheer evil.' In an attempt to salvage my pride after this extremely specific justification, I state that birds do not like me either, and that we respect the mutual hatred, and maintain our distance.
But, pigeons really are a gift of nature. They are unbothered, simple, forgiving and not very demanding. They only want a place to raise their family and spread the love. Thus, you can imagine my very pleasant surprise when I found a new family residing in my balcony after I returned home three months later :)
This really touched every fabric of my feeling for pigeons dude..i share the same feeling XD
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