The Crows

This week I have tried writing something new. A crow made a nest on my windowsill and I observed the whole birthing cycle. This post can be graphic and jarring, so read at your own risk.

Day 1: Hi, crow!

I noticed a crow at my windowsill. I felt I recognised it. It looked like a middle-aged man, balding and stressed. It reminded me of someone from my office, a long-time employee stuck in the same function for years. The kind of person who thinks their job is the most important thing but unfortunately no one takes him seriously. The resemblance was uncanny. I chuckled. Was this crow really familiar? I got dressed for work and forgot about the crow. When I returned home in the evening, I saw it again, peeking inside my house, cawing incessantly whenever I approached the window. This time I was sure I recognised the crow.

After dinner, I went to the window again. My window is 5 feet high and 7 feet wide. It has a small protrusion made of iron bars with a grill. I used to have a bunch of plants placed on the protrusion last year, but they died, either due to lack of water or abundance of water. Whoever said cacti are easy to grow was wrong. I have killed seven of them. I never knew what they wanted or how to care for them. The empty pots now line the windowsill, reminding me of my incapacity to nurture. Among those pots, the crow began to build a nest. It appeared with a twig or wire every minute, and I watched how most of the twigs fell down between the gaps of the iron bars. I felt sorry for the crow who was working tirelessly, building the nest twig after twig. I fished out an old basket and placed it on the windowsill before sleeping. I hoped that the crow could just use the basket instead of building a nest on its own.

When I woke up, I saw that the basket was untouched. The crow had made some progress on its nest, but it was far from done.

Did the crow reject my help because it was suspicious? It didn’t believe help could be provided with no strings attached? Or was it an ambitious, determined soul that wanted to build something for itself? Or perhaps, the basket was useless, and I was being arrogant believing I knew what the crow needed.

Day 7: The nest

Over the next week, I watched the crow work on the nest with acute focus. However, the progress was slow. I wondered if this windowsill was the best location for the nest. Should the crow just quit and start elsewhere?

That night I saw a second crow visit the windowsill. The rom-com fan in me knew within seconds that this new crow was female. She had a kind face, but her eyes were terrified. Maybe she is going to be a first-time mom, I thought.

The female crow perched on the windowsill and watched the male crow build the nest. Every time I came close to the window, the female would caw, and within seconds, the male would appear and caw at me, with its chest out in fake bravado. I decided to give the couple some privacy and drew my curtain.

I checked on the crows before I slept; the female looked positively worried. Maybe she is close to laying her eggs, but the nest isn’t ready, I thought. Ordinarily I would have compared the male crow to men and justified his lack of planning and indifference to an inherent weakness of the male sex. However, I had seen the male crow work excruciatingly hard, and so I felt upset that he had still fallen short.

The next morning, I woke up and ran to the window. To my surprise, the nest was ready. It was a sturdy, solid nest with tightly woven twigs and wires, perfectly round and airtight. The female crow was sitting right in the centre, head held high, as if she was boasting about her reliable partner who eventually came through.

The male crow must have worked all night to get the nest in shape. He must have felt a wave of energy kick in when it was go-time, and finally he made it. Someone recently told me in an interview that they are like a rubber band, that stretches when stretched. Maybe this crow is like a rubber band too, he works well under pressure.

Where is this survival mode energy stored? Can we be sure that it will surface when we need it the most?

Day 12: The eggs

I had fallen into a routine. Every morning I would check on the female crow. She was usually asleep, but whenever I watched her from behind the glass, she would wake up. She always knew when I was watching. She would open her eyes and cry for her partner (husband?). The male would swoop in and begin his cawing. Sometimes, I would bang the window just to provoke the crow, to see if the male was actually a coward pulling a fake act of confidence. However, the male was steadfast. It showed no signs of trepidation despite my threats. I was impressed. Was this out of love or just survival instinct? I wanted to believe the former.

I did notice the male crow grooming the female’s feathers, especially around the head and neck. It looked like he was giving her a well deserved massage. She seemed to enjoy it. I read online that crows usually mate for life, and I hoped these two were a ‘forever couple’.

Five days after the female took residence on my windowsill, she laid six eggs. They were a gorgeous shade of turquoise with golden freckles. I marvelled at how beautifully coloured the eggs were for an animal that is dully monotoned in the colour of death.

When I tried to take a picture of the eggs, the crow couple cawed bravely, coming close to the window, almost touching the glass with their beaks. Maybe if they had touched the glass, they would have known that there was nothing to be afraid of? I wasn’t in their world; I was always inside, behind the glass. I never opened my window; I wasn’t a threat.

Sometimes, it is difficult to realise that something we are terrified of isn’t actually there. The threat looks real, feels real, but is actually far away, behind a glass, or in a different space. It doesn’t actually exist in the world we care about, but we get scared nonetheless.

Day 28: Hello world

The eggs hatched. I saw four heads pop out of the eggs. The chicks were tiny and couldn’t open their eyes. Two eggs remained unhatched. The crows left the nest in turns to eat. They would return and feed the chicks regurgitated food. The two unhatched eggs disappeared, perhaps stolen by another bird. The remaining siblings spent most of their time sleeping in the nest, looking up only to be fed. They were grey and pink and quite frail. They looked disgusting but perhaps they were cute in the crow world.

I wondered how the crows knew what to do. How did they know what to feed the chicks? Did they realise that two of the eggs hadn’t hatched? Did they expect this because it is common, or did they feel sad?

This was the first time in my entire life that I had seen a new life come into this earth. Somehow I had never witnessed any animal give birth before. Instead of watching the chicks in wonderment, like I might have done if I were younger, I watched them in dread. I could only think of a billion ways in which they could get harmed: disease, rain, or predators?

Here were four fledglings who had been brought into this harsh world without their consent. Were they lucky to be born, or were the two who didn’t hatch the lucky ones?

Day 32: The storm

It had been raining incessantly the previous night. The roads were flooded and the city was on high alert. I could barely sleep because of the terrifying thunder. The sky was grey, and it felt like we were living in one of those doomsday movies. Most people in my office had called in sick.

When I woke up, I saw that one fledgling was missing. The female crow was cuddling the remaining fledglings while the male crow remained on guard, drenched and shivering.

When the female left the nest briefly to get some food, I saw that one among the three fledglings was not raising its head. When the female crow returned and started feeding the fledglings, only two chicks opened their mouths. I felt a pang in my chest and walked away.

Day 42: The walk

It was a sunny day at last. Two fledglings remained.

One of the fledglings was particularly excited. It was trying to jump out of the nest. The female crow kept grabbing it by the neck and placing it back in the nest. It wasn’t having it. It wanted to go out and see the world. Its sibling, on the other hand, looked scared and sick. It was breathing heavily, unable to open its eyes. The female crow was focused on reviving the sick fledgling. She tried cuddling it to keep it warm. She called on the male crow when the other fledgling started escaping the nest again. The male crow pecked the fledgling a little too hard because the fledgling let out a quivering caw. It returned to the nest and cuddled with its mother.

The next morning, I saw the fledgling sitting precariously on the iron bar, a few steps away from the nest. The crow parents were nowhere in sight. Within a second, the fledgling took a step and fell through the gap between the iron bars. I shrieked. It was too late. I banged at my glass window, and the crows swooped back to the nest. I couldn’t bear to see them. I drew the curtain and felt my eyes tear up. Am I crazy, I thought.

At least the little fledgling was brave; it died trying to do something it wanted to do. It took a risk, and I have to respect that.

Day 43: Goodbye

The last fledgling was not responding anymore. The female crow tried feeding it, but it wouldn’t move. The male crow had stopped cawing when I came close to the window. The female crow kept pecking the fledgling, but it was all in vain. The male crow flew away while the female remained in the nest for a while. After a few hours, she flew away as well.

Just like that, I never saw the crow couple again.

Without the female crow towering over the nest, I could see the fledgling in plain sight. It looked shrivelled up like a raisin. It was unbearable to see, and I kept the curtains closed for the next few days. I asked the guard to help dispose of the nest, but he refused. “Crows are black magic,” he said. I didn’t think the crows were black magic; if anything, maybe I was the curse, and the black magic had happened TO the crows.

The crows had become a part of my routine in a month, and now it was all over. It felt like a loss of something only I had witnessed. A story I had stitched in my head that no one could understand.

The fledglings were alive for barely a few days. Did the parent crows feel angry? Did they feel like their efforts were worthless? Would they do this again? Do they blame each other or the world?

Day 48: Skeleton

The body of the fledgling disappeared, leaving behind a tiny skeleton. It sickened me to see the skull of a being that was raising its head to eat just a few days ago. Just a few days ago it wanted to eat, it was fighting to survive, it was hoping to live.

Is that all we are? A pile of bones? Does our life have any point if no one witnessed us? I witnessed the fledglings, so even if they lived for a mere few days, did that give their life meaning?

Day 58: Dust

The skeleton turned to dust, and now all that remained was the nest. It was like the crows and their children never existed. Only the crow-made nest stood the test of time. It reminds me of why humans make things. The Eiffel Tower and the Taj Mahal outlive their creators, giving undeniable proof for their existence. But even these buildings can be torn down, and we see this happen all the time: history is erased, and existence is denied.

So if we will all turn to dust, how do we stay remembered?

The crows and their chicks remain imprinted in my mind. Does this make their existence worthwhile? Does this story become the purpose of their lives?

No, I am being extremely anthropocentric and giving myself too much importance. Probably the lesson is that we will all turn to dust, and none of this matters.

I wish I could see what the parent crows are up to. Will they ever return to my windowsill, or is the nest too triggering for them? Have they grieved? Have they moved on?

Are they still together? After all this, are they still in love?