She was told sparrows were extinct in the part of the city she lived. She didn’t understand. How did she exist if she was supposed to be extinct? Was her living a lie? Was it because she was a bitsy, brown, indistinguishable bump of meat? Was her cheep not loud enough to proclaim the existence of breath?

It was true she had no friends or mates or family who looked like her. From birth she had been alone, foraging for that lonely, wandering worm by herself. She never did mind the solitude till she was told the earth, which held her was emptied of her. It was terrible to think you were a ghost before your flesh, beak and bone crumbled into nothingness.

She twittered. It was her usual, low, soft tweet, which even the branch she was perched on, could not hear. She tried again and again till the decibels rose above the cacophony of daily sounds and became an unmistakable cheep of life. Chirrr, chirrrr, chirrrrooot.

A passing cat paused and cocked his ear. His nose twitched and his mouth dribbled drops of saliva staining a grey leaf brown. A sparrow! Weren’t they extinct in this part of the city? He hurried on promising to return the next day. A rat in a dumpster was waiting to shuffle off its mortal coil.

Warbling loudly was good for her. She finally felt as if there was blood flowing through her body and not water. She could hear herself breathe as her heart hammered in its tiny encasement, the biology of her body surprised her.

Word spread through the trees, the mud and the sky, towards creatures who awaited no news. The sparrow lives. It’s not extinct. The story of survival reached an overcrowded colony of sparrows miles away, where every new birth was an unwelcome burden to the spirit of generosity. A few of them decided to leave right away. Anything would be better than eating half a worm and sleeping ten to a twig.

Before the sun spilt the darkness of its absence, fifty-four chirruping sparrows made their way to the tree of the extinct sparrow. They were delighted at what they saw. Just one inhabitant on this gargantuan, lush tree of excess. How wasteful.

Squawking with happiness, each one of them perched on a different branch, sprawled their wings , swayed their heads and sighed with the contentment of finding luxury at the end of a journey of no return.

The extinct sparrow didn’t mind the crowd. Over time, she made friends, mated, fought with a few neighbours and integrated into the flock with the confidence of a clone. She even forgot the word, that announced her death and began her life.

Moral: If you are alive, advertise it.



The sparrow is drawn by the fabulous Bijoy Venugopal. You can find more of his wonderful stuff here bijoyvenugopal.com