Feast for Thought

Sisters and daughters fly away; So do sons and brothers, Like cousins and friends All grow wings and leave the nest. Nurtured feathers grow up under care, The time comes when they mature And wish to see and hear things new, Tread fresh paths and find one’s way. No chain, no fetters, can hold them back, Not of iron, or the heart strings, When the time comes, the cocoon yields, After all, baby butterflies should be seen. Some stay back, others come back, Because the string stretched a little, To roost the night or grow new roots, Or to use new wealth for the good of all. When you clip your wings to stay put, You may think…so why not? For the love of the land, the dust of birth, Is more than good enough for a great living. Home is where the heart is, it’s said, Break not a heart, break not a home, But do go where the heart leads, You are sure to find a home away from home.

The cable TV operator’s strike (tools down) resulted in lesser noise levels in the house. All of a sudden, my voice box packed up, too. I had felt the onset of a sore throat the previous night, but took precautionary measures against continued soreness. Monday morn saw me unable to even squeak out a good morning. That was when the silence really announced itself. No shouting at the son to get ready for school, no yelling out instructions to the maid, and best of all, no phone calls to answer! The doctor wrote ‘laryngitis’ after politely enquiring whether I had attempted to yodel. All I had done was consume lozenges and have a go at vocal music classes. (Perhaps it was neighbour- invoked blessings?) Through the day my co-sister answered the phone. Whenever there was a call, I picked up the extension line, and if it was for me, I whispered replies which she very kindly conveyed to the listener. That happened with a friend and an uncle. I had to answer one call when the good Samaritan was...