Mummy is a teacher. Mummy was always a teacher. She was a teacher when she was an employee, she was a teacher when she was a student and she continued to be a teacher as a mother. She knew to use the material to teach. Coins for simple math, chapati for fractions, buttons, pillows, and bicycles were all textbook material.
She taught me to love nature. Rather too overwhelmingly. She would talk about the sounds of waves with a 5-year-old, kick stones home and make whistles out of Jamun leaves. She would take me to a stable for all meals, so I watched cows, goats, and birds while I eat. She once climbed a tree and got down a bird’s nest to show me its interior. There was a tiny egg in it. It fell to the ground and broke. We both looked at each other with guilt and sorrow. I was 2. That was my initiation into regret.
I have seen many nests since, but not one so close. Till recently these tiny yellow birdlings started building nests on my balcony. I have been sitting on the balcony like a cricket fan at a world cup match or a child watching ice cream being scooped into a cone. I have been at this for long enough that I can tell all 7 birds from each other by their appearances and temperament. Like I could tell Snow, Purple, and Soumi by their fin movements, and their reaction to the bowl being cleaned. These birds feel like family, now that I have taken their privacy from them. I have named them and I am positive they have chosen a stalker name for me too.