My Head In the Clouds

Time has a quiet way of rearranging the places we once thought permanent.

My childhood home in Delhi, once bursting with people, voices and rituals, now feels quieter. As aging grandparents move on and life pulls us in different directions, the human buzz has dimmed. But where people have stepped back, nature has stepped in- boldly, colourfully and without apology.

What was once my mother’s lovingly tended garden is now shared ground. Her green thumb is still hard at work, but the creatures who’ve taken over are the ones having a true field day.

Sure, there were always the usual suspects: the occasional cockroach (met with swift fury), an odd rat making a guest appearance and lizards leaping across walls. But now? Squirrels dart across the balcony like they own the place. Pigeons, multiplying by the dozen, have turned into miniature vandals – nesting in exhaust fans & squeezing behind AC units. But most maddeningly & majestically, peacocks have moved in. Yes, peacocks.

My beloved home, tucked away into a leafy part of Delhi, is now something of a peacock playground. And no, they’re not shy. They strut through the garden as if it were the backyard of Mughal royalty.

“You Rascals!” my mother cries, but her colourful warnings only seem to embolden them. The peacocks return with renewed vigour, treating every freshly planted petunia like an open buffet.A fence here, a net there, nothing seems to deter the ever-lurking peacocks, male and female alike, hell-bent on feasting on Ma’s precious flowers.

It is a daily face-off:
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fiercest of us all?”

Some days it even feels like Old MacDonald’s farm, reimagined in the heart of urban India.

A moo moo here, a moo moo there,
Here a moo, there a moo, everywhere a moo moo,
Old man peacock had a prance, eiyaa eiyaa o

Alas, in this story, it’s hard to say who’s winning the turf war- my determined mother or the flamboyant peacock fanning his feathers like the diva he clearly believes he is

But what’s clear is this, as the human presence recedes, nature quietly, unapologetically fills the gaps. And in doing so, it reminds us that life doesn’t pause, it just evolves.  

The soul of the house is still very much alive; it just looks different now.

It chirps, coos, struts and blooms.

And through it all, my mother stands at the centre, part warrior, part gardener, fiercely defending her home from beaks and feathers alike.

So next time you think your childhood home has changed, take a closer look. Maybe, just maybe, the peacocks have moved in there too.