Conversations with crows

Of all the friends I had as a child, one was a crow. Yes, a big black, cawing crow.

I had forgotten about my feathered friend, till on my last trip to India, my sisters recounted my daily “conversations” from our balcony, with this particular crow. It all came back quickly. I insisted it was the same crow returning daily. It was. Of that, I am sure. They also recounted that I insisted we (the crow and I) communicated with one another. Of that, I am not so sure. Or at least, some decades later, no longer so sure.

I was probably eight or nine years old and determined to master animal and bird sounds around me. I spent hours perched on the apartment complex wall, perfecting my goat bleat. A herd visited a well at the back of the wall, every day. And while my bleat is quite perfect (ahem… even today), the goats simply looked around nervously and scampered away.

The crow, on the other hand, stayed. And came back. Every. Single. Day. Just to caw with me. He was a friend, my friend. I remember the exact spot on the balcony from where I communicated with him. Of where he perched himself. And even if my caw was not quite as perfected as my bleat, he still came back daily.  

There are times when we are grateful for the families we are born into. Oddly enough, this makes me grateful for mine, despite all dysfunction. For I realize only now (and with much gratitude), no one ever thought to discourage me from talking to crows or from the many other strange things I did. They sometimes discussed it, laughed it off, and accepted it all as part of who I was.

I also remember writing an essay in school, about the crow – not sure if I wrote about “my” crow, or crows in general. But I know my words came strong in defense of all crows and why we need to look at them with wonder rather than as nuisance – given their beautiful black sheen, their friendly demeanor and even their cawing that was crisper than a peacock’s ugly meowing.  

And while I was simply stating what was true to me, I do remember my teacher calling me aside to chat with me about my essay – whether she was amused, captivated, or simply worried, I will never know.

As for my crow friend, was he just flying in to check in with me, have a little conversation, or did he consider me as part of his flock? I will never know. And while that may have been the beginning of my love of foreign languages (crow, not included), I wonder if I even felt the need to know what he was saying.

He looked at me and cawed. I cawed right back at him. And then he repeated, And then, I repeated. What he said, I may have never known (or maybe I did, as I claimed), but the delight I got from this whole business was one hundred percent real.

He was simply my friend and we cawed along, just fine.