The Peacock

I have always been mesmerized by the beauty of peacocks and peahens. As a child, the colors in them would always leave me amazed. What a creation! 

But are the rest of the things any less, i think of it today. If there is this wonderfully wonderful peacock or peahen that has been made by the Creator’s Hands, there is this meek little black and ennui Koel bird that has had its birth at the same Hands. And then there is this huge mighty ostrich. Who is better? Could we just take them to be at par?

But come to think of it, what my eyes tell me, is that the peacock steals the show. It doesn’t need the koel bird’s voice or the ostrich’s magnanimity. It is the peacock. That is all it wants to be. The peacock.
There has been a time in everyone’s life when they have felt like the peacocks. Whether they be the koels, or ostriches, they have felt like peacocks. They haven’t been proud of being the koels or ostriches. They have lived like a peacock in their head. And when the rain would come, they would be happy and happy and even happy. They would dance and cheer and make merry. They would swirl and swirl and swirl. And suddenly, they would see their feet. The feet that they do want, but don’t quite like. The feet that make them want to die. The feet that just…. They could have been different. The feet that are not different. 

They don’t make merry anymore. They are mellow. They are remorseful. Their hearts are heavy, of melancholy, of pain. They feel like, what the hell was i so crazy about that i danced like mad? What!…
The reality sinks in, partially. They for moments realise that they aren’t even the peacocks. They are someone else.
But, does the rain ever stop hitting the feathers of the peacocks and peahens again?

  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Reddit
  • RSS