By Haimanti Dutta Ray
In Bengali households, it is a common practice to name daughters of the house after names of birds. Little ones are named ‘Mynah’, ‘Tia’, ‘Koel’, ‘Doyel’ and a host of such other names. ‘Titir’ is a bird found flitting around trees in rural and semi-rural areas of Bengal. It is the titlark or the Francoline partridge, which perches itself on greenery and is also hunted down because its meat is savoured still by rural people.
In the story, the girl named ‘Titir’ is purely a figment of the author’s imagination. The author’s pet name, ‘dak nam’ in Bengali, is also ‘Doyel’, again another bird. The story is a fictionalised account of an experience. She considers that nothing else can provide a better sense of happiness than seeing a caged bird gain flight. The author once set a caged bird free, when she herself was a teenager. That picture of the soaring bird has remained etched in her psyche, even now after so many years. The author agrees with the famous American novelist and poet, Maya Angelou, when she named her autobiography as ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings’. Yes, it is only when a bird is caged, is chained in fetters, that it begins to sing its ballad of sorrow and detachment from its proper home - the blue firmament.
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Titir loves watching birds.
A young and energetic teenager now, she is the darling of the family. Even though she is the only child of her parents, she is the youngest among her cousins. Her dark and lustrous hair finds an adequate match in the sparkling pupils of her eyes. The latter always mirrors Titir’s intelligent and inquisitive mind. As her final Board examinations are fast approaching, she spends more and more of her time browsing over books, related to the texts that are part of her syllabus.
During the chilly winter mornings, the Alipur Zoo in Kolkata has umpteen numbers of visitors coming from different parts of the city and its outskirts.
“Hear that twitter, Titir!”
Titir’s father has already pricked his ears and is trying to locate the origin of the sound. He pursues ornithology as a hobby and has books by the famous Indian ornithologist, Salim Ali. Both father and daughter visit the zoo every year, during the winters, to listen to the chirpings of known and unknown migratory birds.
“Yes Baba. I think it is the Macao bird perched there. Baba, can’t we domesticate a bird? Why do people bind these birds in cages? We will keep it on near our window sill. If it decides to fly away, it’ll do so of its own free will.”
Both of them are sitting on the grass and munching on the sandwiches which Titir’s mother, Subha, has packed for them.
Anupam Banerjee, Titir’s father, is a gentleman for whom the home and the hearth come first. Since his wife, Subha, is a homemaker, he tries to cater to the whims of their little daughter to the best of his ability. There is nothing extraordinary about his appearance, except for his short beard, which he lovingly trims every morning with utmost care. Even though in his forties, Anupam sports a sprightly physique and is a lover of Indian classical music.
Titir spends her spare time painting works in water colours or crayons. She loves to paint landscapes where the colours in her palette mingles with the fire in her imagination. Her mother, Subha, loves cooking for her husband and their daughter. She keeps a notebook, where she jots down various recipes that she learnt from her mother-in-law, with diligence and care. She often consults its pages while making a dish for their dining table.
The year begins on a hearty note, with Titir’s birthday - 2nd February – which is also the first palindrome day in almost a hundred years.
Anupam goes to Galiff Street Bird Market in the Bagbazar area of North Kolkata, in order to buy a bird for his daughter. He decides on a parrot with a golden cage, a small trapdoor at its base.
“Baba has arrived!! What have you brought for me Baba? What’s that big packet under your arms?”
Titir’s cries can be heard from far off. Subha comes downstairs hurriedly. Theirs is a two-storey building with an open terrace at the top floor, where Titir spent most of her afternoons either reading books or savouring delectable mango pickles.
“It’s a bird! Is it a parrot, Baba? Can I teach it to speak to me? Ma, won’t it hurt me if I put my hand inside the cage?”
Without waiting for Subha to answer back, Titir puts her hand through the trapdoor below the cage and immediately the bird bites her hand.
“Oh, oh! Ouch!! You, you naughty bird!”
“Titir is naughty! Titir is naughty!”
The parrot squeaks out in a high-pitched, shrill tenor. It raises its beak towards the golden beam of sunlight.
Titir’s eyes widen with surprise and amazement. She can’t believe her ears. The bird’s actually calling out her name! She looks at her father, who smiles back. Titir runs towards him and hugs him with both her arms, including the one which the bird bit.
As if like an omniscient presence, the parrot nods its head up and down, happy to be a part of this scene of filial love.
“Baba, in our school our teachers tell us that it’s from the flight of birds that we built the aeroplane. Is it true, Baba?”
Titir tugs at the sleeves of Anupam’s shirt. Both of them sit down on the sofa.
“Titir, you must never doubt what your teachers teach you in school. It is a very bad habit. Yes, it was the urge to fly like the birds in the sky, which ultimately made man to build the aeroplane.”
“Then Baba, let us set this parrot free and I’ll wish that all of us will board an aeroplane one day and see the skies from up above.”
Without waiting for her father to answer back, Titir takes the caged parrot within the clasps of both her arms and runs upstairs. Once there, Titir slowly opens the trapdoor and immediately the bird, all aflutter, escapes. Titir knows that it will be able to find its way back home. Just like people, who when trapped in a tricky situation, always find a way to get back to the security of home.
By Haimanti Dutta Ray