Counting Feathers of the Opposite Kind

Birds appeal to many of the human species. I too am not unimpressed by their vibrant feathers, graceful flight and melodious calls. A big favourite especially amongst aged politicians, lovebirds and peaceniks is the dove. The doves, rather their larger and stockier cousins – pigeons are out to destroy the very peace of my mind.

One of these afternoons I might just declare war, catch hold of a few of them and seal the very outlets through which they drop evidences of their presence on my laboriously washed white tees. They do it every Sunday. Somebody stop me!

Before I’m hauled up for even imagining to perform any such M-Seal act on the ‘innocent’ birds, let me move on to birds of a different feather. The watching of whom is a refined art. An art which roadside romeos have reduced to below the levels of calendar kitsch. These eve teasers make the real connoisseurs of the practice a little reluctant.

If it were not for the appreciative eyes, the female kind wouldn’t have spent zillions of wow-man hours in preening themselves.

The trick is to look, but not to ogle. I-found-these-on-my-cleavage-are-these-your-eyeballs types give bird watching a bad name.

The attractor should feel that she’s being noticed (not watched), but only to an extent where she doesn’t feel uncomfortable. An appreciative glance tells her that the effort hasn’t gone in vain. But guys (and also girls) keep shifting your focus. Don’t concentrate too much on a single specimen. You never know – you might fall in love – and that takes the fun out of bird watching. There is so much beauty out there waiting to be appreciated.

Bird watching is not flirting; it’s all about appreciation sans the vocal expression. It’s a play of the eyes and the body language. Possessive, abusive and other negative traits have no space in this rewarding vocation. The reward here is that you made someone feel good.

Stalkers keep out! And you droolers put that tongue behind those stained teeth.