Hello.

That's his name. He's  not a tamed bird; I didn't train him to hop
up on my finger or anything, but he's grown to trust me enough
to let me come close. He, in fact, has me quite well trained, to come
running whenever he makes a certain mournful drawn-out peep.
It's really quite emotive. I have learned that this sound means
Hello is hungry/sleepy/bored.

He flies around on my relatively-safe balcony and occasionally
scares the daylights out of me by trying to land on the bridge
of my glasses. He enjoys a nice leaf of mint every now and then,
and is developing a taste for apple, but turns his beak up
at everything else I offer him, including Alphonso mangoes.
He does have good taste in literature, though, and listens
intently when I read to him. We are on Chapter Two of
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. He likes me
to read aloud to him, and twitters softly at all the best parts.
I think he fancies himself a Ravenclaw, but I'm pretty sure
he's a Slytherin. By sunset he heads back to his cage and makes
his mournful little peeps (they start out soft and get louder
until I remember to say good night and fuss over him a bit
before I cover him up for the night).

I mentioned him in my last post, so thought I should do
a proper introduction. Here he is. Hello.

Hello.

Don't get excited. Those are just empty chicken eggshells from the kitchen.

It's here again.

Just as pretty as when they're on roses.

I do miss breathing in that glorious warm sun-kissed scent off my laundry, but the monsoon has its own delights. This year, the rain starts earlier in the day, often in the afternoon. I quite like it, even though my laundry takes two days to dry on my balcony, instead of two hours up on the terrace. It feels like a real monsoon this time, although I'm not sure what the meteorologists and farmers would say.

Today we had a wonderful downpour - the type that's a little bit scary, but no real threat. It was glorious. The trees get very happy. The traffic, not so much. Like the Thieves' Downfall in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the monsoon washes away all deception, exposing the half-hearted and half-pocketed roadworks contracts for what they are:  more sand, less tar; more words, less deeds. Unfortunately, once the rains are gone, it will probably be the same people getting paid to patch up their own botched jobs, and equally unfortunately, by the time the next municipal elections come around, the citizens will probably have forgotten the gigantic pot holes and hours-long traffic jams, in their excitement over free sarees, promised housing and suddenly-fallen petrol prices. Muggles.

Me, I just stay put in the shelter of my balcony with a cup of hot tea, a little yellow bird, and my damp laundry, and try to focus on the raindrops.

The Abyss Gazes Also.

"He does not resist.
He does not hope.
He does not die."

- lunalein

I'm not too sure who wrote this "fanfic", the link says it's by
violet, but the site I found it on says it's by lunalein aka
tangleofthorns. Well whoever wrote it, s/he is brilliant I think.
I love the style of writing, and the creative concepts of both
this and the other story I found by the same author.

The Abyss Gazes Also is about Azkaban and the Dementors,
and is a wonderful exploration of the thoughts and experiences
of Sirius Black and other prisoners there. Very well written
and such a satisfying read. Here's another quote from it,
about Bellatrix:

"She doesn't flinch. Not even as her Dementor vanishes, and the metal begins to burn her. Scar tissue is the hardest kind to harm."