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The little green tux

The little green tux
 Sharad Bhutoria

We combed through the Jaypur forest in Assam. Which I believe is the most underrated forest we have in India. This being a fact I am jealously happy about.

 I found myself suddenly alone. A position I would rather not be in a forest. Although it is not the public opinion, given that I spend more time in one that my peers. My companions each set off in pursuit of their dreams. And I apparently was left to find something dream-worthy.

As I stood there cursing my ‘not friends anymore’ for deserting me for birds, the feathered kind of course. As the two gentlemen I was with would only take after any member of the fairer sex if the femme had the word cannon printed on an item of her clothing, a little above her heart line. I was certain that was a far cry. I was also certain that far crying was out of the question as it would spook the camera and Lord knows we can't have that.

The place my feet took root was becoming more and more familiar to me now. As my body had just launched a coup de etat and won against my, not so keen anymore, mind. I saw some of the local gentry. These folks were obviously displeased to see me. I had called on them very early on a Sunday morning and most of them were in the middle of breaking fast. This was made abundantly clear to me by vocalisation from all 360 corners. After saying I'm sorry I walked slowly away. By this time however, having heard the various calls of nature I found myself needing to answer a very specific one. To which end I crossed 2 blocks of bushes looking for a garbage dump behind which I could give back to the earth. 

But before I could find said garbage dump my eyes fell upon this patch that I could only describe as an amphitheatre. It was obvious really. Immaculately clean with a stage front and centre and seating arrangements on various levels. Even some vip seats hidden away for celebrities who did not wish to be harassed by paparazzi.
Suddenly I realised what was happening. I had gate crashed into an opera that was just about to begin. In two flaps of a wing the guests where all seated the house full and as were the vip boxes. I desperately had to see this but as an amateur photographer I knew I couldn't secure an invite. I did what anyone in my position would do. I assertively walked into the press box and I was allowed in no questions asked. It must have been my camera my bad haircut and worse dressing sense. It's great how people don't ask press folks anything. I sat myself down and readied my equipment.

A minute later came our star of the morning show. They say fine feathers make fine birds and the individual in our present interlocutor was definitely personifying this. A sharp looking fellow not too tall.
Well barbered and immaculately tailored, wearing a green tuxedo so well made it was as if he came from a family of tailors with a beautiful black bow tie. His designer and his stage management must have been friends as it was in plain sight how well the two were colour coordinated. As soon as he began the crowd hushed, everyone put down the various snacks being served and gave him the attention he so commanded. It was his stage now, he owned it. His voice had the effect Verdi had on European aristocracy of the old world...spellbinding.
His voice sharp but sweet. His manner tasteful. He won the hearts of every girl within a 2 meter radius. Even if they were not his type. After gracing us with his sonnet for a few minutes. Minutes which seemed noticeably short he was off. To his next performance perhaps. I'm sure he is over booked with shows with that kind of talent. So off he whooshed leaving all the men alive in applause and the women yearning for more.
I was just happy that I got lost into finding him.

Pics of the tailor bird by Sharad Bhutoria
(Sharad can be contacted at

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