Polkichcha, the Oriental Magpie Robin, comes through the kitchen window bars quite often to feed on the scraps left in the clay pot. It is hesitant but knows the routine.
Just enough to get by and not be too comfortable.
After a few pecks it flies back out into the open. It takes seconds, less than a minute for all this to play out, but within the 4th act there is almost always another cacophony starting in the background.
Grumble, grumble, rattle, rattle.
The only thing S does not do is fall on her knees and plead with the gods for some good luck to be sent the household way. Maybe smash a coconut and light a joss stick for good measure.
It is explained in great detail that One Polkichcha brings bad luck. It is the way of this land from god knows when, I am told. The only reference to this superstitious nonsense is some rhyme from the colonial times, the English fed us with and we reverently memorized. I tell her that. She is round eyed at this piece of information. “Are you sure it is not from the times of our kings?”
Nope.
“Just imagine, roughly 200 generations of Polkichchas in Polkichcha years since the English landed here, have been subjected to malaise and abuse, all because some guy had a bad day centuries ago, halfway across the world with one wayward Polkichcha!”
“Hmmm”
The Polkichcha flutters in again.
Just enough to get by and not be too comfortable.
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