Chimni

‘Choon Choon cheewn cheewn! What you ate? What you drank? Where you went? What you saw? I lost my bangles. That little boy who cries a lot is sick again. Don't go, you just came! Can I fly with you? Wait, I will get my blanket...' Chimni was three years old. She was a fair, tall and thin girl with silky brownish-black hair and a gaze that confused all the adults around her. She could stare for a long time, without really seeing anything. Or so the grown-ups thought. They could never guess what went on in her head every now and then.

Chimni lived in an orphanage with eight other children. All the caretakers were didis. The owner was everyone's Mummy. There was no Papa. Every now and then some couples would show up and become friendly with one of the children. The didis would tell that child, ‘this is your Mummy now and this is your Papa'. Then the couple would take that child ‘home'. Some times the children would miss their departed friend for a long time. Some times the arrival of a new friend in the orphanage would ease their pain. -‘These kids know now what a home is, what Papa and Mummy are.' -‘It's good that the younger ones forget things quickly'. The didis talked among themselves and did their chores.

-‘Imagine what Chimni would do if she understood more!' Chimni appeared to be just like other children – hungry for love, tender with younger children, fiercely competitive with others. And yet there was something unique about her. She was attracted to birds more than any other child in the orphanage. She would watch them for hours if she could. In fact, didis thought, she even walked and talked like a sparrow, or Chimni, in Marathi. Chimni often talked to the birds that came close to her window. Waving vigorously, she would ask several questions and tell many tales to them in a language known only to her and the birds.

‘Choon Choon cheewn cheewn! What you ate? What you drank? Where you went? What you saw? Can I fly with you? Wait, I will get my blanket....' -‘She talks to the birds.' -‘I have seen her sing to them.' -‘She may have been a bird in her previous life.' -‘She is definitely a bird in this life.' The didis would talk among themselves and do their chores. And one day everything changed. No one knows if Chimni saw it coming. Tears were rolling down the cheeks of didis. The older children looked sad. The young ones were hidden behind the doors. -‘They are too young to take all this', explained one of the caretakers.

-‘Get a thali and kumkum,' the owner of the orphanage called out. ‘Our daughter is going away. Take her in your lap and sit; we will do a little pooja.' -‘But, she is going to her home,' muttered the father-to-be. -‘Yes', managed the mother-to-be, visibly choking on all this. -‘Why is everyone looking so sad? Get the sweets; give them to children.' -‘Chimni, you are looking beautiful, my darling! What a lovely frock Papa and Mummy have brought for you. Chimni was quiet, very quiet. Her eyes were piercing through every pair of eyes that dared to look at hers. The new Papa stretched his hands to pick her up. Chimni did not resist, just tilted her head away from the room and looked towards the small garden outside the veranda. There were no birds there.

Mummy was holding Chimni's bag; it had a few of her ‘necessary' things, including the blanket. Chimni looked up in the sky. It was empty. There were no birds there. The minute she was put in the car, Chimni yowled out loud, her hands stretched towards the orphanage building. -‘Let's get going,' said Papa with a lump in his throat. -‘I am feeling guilty, said Mummy, with a lump in her throat. -‘It's ok, my little one; don't cry, we are going home,' comforted Papa. Unable to speak, Mummy kissed Chimni and held her tight. Chimni wailed inconsolably. Sometimes she would look at both of them. Sometimes she would look behind. Her face looked red. The eyes looked swollen. Water was offered and refused. New toys were given and rejected.

Finally, Chimni pointed towards her bag. The bag was opened. She grabbed her little blanket and, hugging it, fell asleep in no time. Mummy and Papa were worried how she would adjust. They wanted a child, a girl, they could love and who could soak in their love. But now they were worried – what if she continues to miss her friends and didis and cry all the time? Days went by. Every day they were learning a few things about her – what she liked, what she didn't; what excited her, what scared her and so on. Every day Chimni was learning new things about Mummy and Papa – what they liked, what they didn't; what excited them, what scared them and so on. She would laugh with them, play with them, and go out with them.

One morning when they woke up they did not see Chimni in her bed. ‘Where is she?' Mummy rushed out to the bathroom. Papa followed. She wasn't there. She was not in the study. The drawing room and the kitchen too were empty. The main door was shut still. ‘Where could she go from a seventh floor apartment?' There was panic in Papa's voice. Mummy was in tears now. Both ran towards the other bathroom that had a door to a balcony. The balcony door was ajar. Before they could enter the balcony, they heard choon chewn choon. ‘Papa! Mummy! See, a Chimni has come.' There was a little sparrow on the balcony railing – not even a foot away from her. Chimni was standing there, holding the railing, surrounded by an excited looking sparrow, who didn't seem scared of her at all.

Mummy hugged her. Papa embraced her and Mummy both. And together, Papa and Mummy said, 'indeed, a Chimni has come!' Chimni freed herself, walked towards the railing, bent her head up towards the ledge of the roof. She spotted a bunch of sparrows and went on: ‘Choon Choon cheewn cheewn! What you ate? What you drank? Where you went? What you saw....'