Of Mothers & Daughters

Still from the film 'Lady Bird'

5.44 am

The crows are cawing their hearts out, as they build their nests and search for food. And possibly a mate.

I don't know anything about crows and how they live.

But as I look out the window, the houses still slumbering in the soft light before sunrise, I remember this bizarre crow, who my mother had taken a special liking to.

She always had a soft spot for animals. She once brought a pigeon baby home she had found in her school’s corridor, huddled away to die. She had cried when he flew away.

This crow – his name was Bakuchi – was recognizable because of his beak; the upper one was crossed over at the tip over his lower one. Mother would hand out food to him whenever he came – potato fry and egg were his favorites. He hated sweets, except mango.

He was this fearless creature, demanding our attention by sitting at the windowsill and cawing to announce his presence if we were busy enough to not notice him at the balcony.

Mom would talk to him about his day, he would cock his head and listen while eating some food and stuffing as much as he could in his mouth to take back to his family.

She would watch as he flew with the food to the large tree a few metres away to his nest. She would watch until he disappeared in the thick branches.

As the sun rises to chase away the blue of dawn, I look at the piece of potato in the balcony that no crow ever takes. But which my mom keeps out, every day.

These little things remind me of the woman she is, and in these moments, rarely yet profoundly as they occur, I know that I love her.