I'm standing next to a paddy field with our videographer, waiting for the visitors to come and check out this immunization clinic. There's this boy standing at a distance from me, eyeing me with a bit of indifference. Since I'm bored, I try to initiate a conversation.I ask him his name, he nonchalantly responds (and I forget it immediately). Then silence for a min or two. I again ask a question and slowly find out that he's 9, in class 3, school closed today because of exams. And silence again. I'm worried about my visitors being late, and am not paying too much attention to him. Then to break the ice, I offer to take a picture of him. He doesn't say anything, so I take this picture. I show him the picture. He comes forward, checks out the picture, and then steps back in silent defiance.
I'm trying to think of a conversation topic, and then notice in the photo that he's holding a bird in his hand. I'm quickly mentally rehearse a speech about why freedom is important for all creature, and how would he feel about being tied up and left at the mercy of someone? This way, I could look idealist, and will put the punk in place for not showing me respect or enthusiasm.So, managing my ice queen of Narnia smile, I ask what the bird is. Bulbuli, he replies (some variation of a sparrow).
How long has he had it? 3 days.
It looks thirsty (I'm trying to come up with an emotional angle to begin my speech). Reply: It'll die if it drinks water directly.
What does it eat then? Rice seeds from the paddy field nearby.
How did you catch it? Found it.
How come? It has a broken leg.
How did that happen? Someone shot a sling blade at a guava tree (I think that's what he said) and the stone hit the bird.
Did you do this? No, my brother.
So, what did you do? I collected it, fed it, and cleaned the wound.
Will it survive? Yes.
Will it be able to fly? I don't know.
What if it never is able to roam for food? (Silence).
At this point, I almost forgot my speech about freedom, and began to admire this defiant punk. I'm scrambling my brain for solutions about injured birds. Perhaps, I could offer to take it to the vet. Wait, I don't know any vet. And who knows if I look reliable enough for him to part with this bird.
In the end, I stare at him with respect. And two min later, my caravan of guests arrive, and I forget his presence and become busy, and move on with my life. My world doesn't have room for an injured bulbuli.
He correctly assumed that I wouldn't have been a reliable ally anyway. From where he stood, I rightly deserved his indifference.
