Squawks and cries -- both shrill, both filled with fear. Of what was happening to them. In their case, Death. I hear those everyday. Irrespective of what Godforsaken hour it is. The torture never seems to stop. Today, I decided to stop and watch. On normal days, I walk past rapidly, holding my breath, not daring to look. Ignoring their presence and the atrocity that surrounds it. Trying to move on. Untouched. Insensitive. But today was not a normal day. Today was the day I had decided to strip off my mask of stoic heroism. Of false inner strength. Of unreal loss-of-sight. Today was a day to stand and watch. And watch I did. At least, till it didn't kill. I watched as a human hand unhooked the door and made its way into the semi-lit interiors. Watched as it closed first around one. Then two. Three. Four. And, then, five. Watched as it dragged them together, waking them up from an artificial bliss... I watched the hand heave them out, feet first, and drag their violently protesting feathered bodies on the sickeningly damp and shitty truck's steel shelf. All five of them. Together. Like one impatiently tugs at an old sock that's being stretched to the verge of a nasty rip because it stubbornly refuses to let go of the drawer it's jammed in!! I watched as their squawks grew louder and their flapping more frantic. I watched as the whitish brownish feathers fluttered away from their bodies and landed on the road beneath the truck -- their so called 'home' -- and scatter in the breeze. I watched, without holding my breath this time, while they were dragged out, little pieces of wet shit falling out of the truck. I watched as their squawks grew more frenzied; the flapping of their wings even more desperate. I watched as the hand held them suspended in midair... upside down... all five of them. I watched as the hand tied them together by their feet. I watched while the hand dropped them on the road in a shrieking pile, their wings spread out feebly on the tar. I watched the hand hook up a dangling weighing machine to one side of the truck. I watched it yank them up from the road, again feet first, and string them from the hook of the weighing scale. I watched as their squawks grew louder and their flapping more frantic. I watched as the hand lifted them off the hook and carried their fighting body mass into the shop, still suspended upside down in the foul air... Watched as they landed in a terrified heap on a bloodstained table... Watched as the hand firmly ground their cold feet onto the table and held them in place... Watched as the other hand reached out for the largest, heaviest knife blade I've ever seen... Watched it rise backwards, high above that purposeful bent head. And then, I watched no more. I only heard. Their cries rising to a crescendo. And then, silence. Dead silence. Bloody silence. Something within me died. Illustration: Dominic Xavier Bhavna Giani is rather subdued these days. Do tell us what you think of this diary
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