I was in the Karanji Nature Park (Mysore), watching the birds. In the enclosed aviary one is punching distance from peacocks and pheasants and they don’t much care. I even saw one chicken playing, well, chicken with a security guard. It was early in the morning and it seemed like mating time. I saw a goose penis for example, which was terrifying. More often, however, the male birds were running around like fools while the females paid scant attention.
Wandering around, I was struck by a sweeper dressed in full sari. The pose was funny because she was so colorful and the security chaps around were completely ignoring her. Not that they shouldn’t, but it was just a curious image.
Later, at the coconut stand, I was looking at the yoga girls and wondering how this all goes. That particular stand is frequented, primarily, by female yoga practitioners. Some are a bit hippieish but some are very cute. My friend has been egging me on to do something, but really, I wonder.
It seems that in order to actually get a girl one has to go a bit further. Put on a little show. The male pheasant for example, looked great and he was running around like mad. Literally swirling and encircling the girl. Similarly, it seems that one does have to chase a girl, in the face of sometimes blank refusal, and play a particular game.
In the case of the peacock, for example, this display is at the expense of survivability and, I daresay, a bit of dignity. The creature literally shivers to make his feathers shimmer while the plain white female looks away. Their tails are ungainly, their necks look shredded from internecine war.
Similarly, I was hanging round the butterfly gardens, struck by the color and the shape. The beauty and costly grandeur that flowers take on to spread their seed, and the corresponding plumage of the butterflies. They’re all working very hard.
I, I fear, am not. Even in the human world one has to put some effort in, much of it nonsensicle. I put a great deal of effort into being a nice guy and keeping in decent shape, but I suspect it is the extraneous things that matter. Trying, for example. And really wanting. There are certain threads and subterfuge in conversation which I can perceive but find merely curious. These I do not understand. When I was a child I thought that one made babies by kissing and thinking about it really hard. I still find this eminently reasonable.
At some point, I suppose, one has to pick up the phone or run around like a madman to A) be in and B) get love. This scares me partly out of fear of rejection, but more out of fear of acceptance. Like, what if it works? Then what? After the initial thrill one then has to spend inordinate amounts of time with this person and the cracks and seams start to show. Or perhaps that’s just me.
In the aviary this goose successfully mounted a gander, the effort looking not entirely consensual. They both ran away screaming. I wonder.