Take your broken heart and make it into art: Meryl Streep.

Lady draped in house sparrows, crows, mynas, koels, pet donkey Deva, strays in Sunday quiet sipping tea, smoking bidis with Old Man and Bhagwan. No buses, autos, bikes; tarred roads were relishing the rest. Old Man mooing a Tuka abhang, Bhagwan a Kabir doha; low notes fizzling into silence. Lady outs a blast of smoke, laughs as Deva, the donkey, rubs his eyes, slurping mugs of tea with all. A curious Bhagwan asked, ' When did you and Old Man start with these friends?' More rounds of tea with brun pavs; crows, as is their habit, tried to nab bits and pieces from others; birdaloos and brayaloos hullabalooed the quiet air. And then there was silence. 'It was always like this in Borivili in my grandma, grandpa times,' mused Lady. Sunday mornings, the church had pews, no persons; Jesus, Mary, grandma, grandpa filled the church older than them; gods waltzed to Tuka abhangs, Kabir knitted dohas, heads dipped in shut Bibles; house sparrows chirped and pecked the wooden residence; they read the Bible more than grandma and grandma; were in Grace; knew more of, crooned psalms; and one morning, grandma and grandpa became sparrows, thanks to angels, and lived in their nests; 'they knew more about birds than Salim Ali,' boasted Lady. For days we missed them at home; then they came back - grandma and grandpa, like I knew them; filed detailed reports on all the happenings; for a couple of days they squeaked; took their time to be humans as we all do. They maintained  notebooks and I still read them; they relax me.....when they passed away, birds walked them to their graves. Lady spun spidery happenings in the air; Old Man and Bhagwan got trapped or willingly fell into webs; nay, they hummocked in webs... and the Lady went on an unwind. Today trees in LIC Colony do not have birds; they have leaves, banyans have red fruits, but are not biting, birds are absent; of course Salim Ali writes of birds feasting; Old Lady is planning to turn a bat or if bats agree ride them into the nights to wherever they go; maybe, could complain to gods over all the unfairness of it all. Old Man did not like it. Bhagwan disapproved. On Sunday night, Lady is to fly away; bought her free ticket for a bat ride. Said Old Man and Bhagwan; 'You have birds with you; what more do you want?', they asked. 'That's not enough. My friends and grandkids know all about cars and bikes, their names, their designs, their price, their everything... but do not know happy and humble sadaphule on street and house edges...will you bat-fly with me?' Lady asked. They agreed. Take off at Karuna Road with tickets easily available. A change is on,' said the Lady and her walking stick walked her home. Old Man rode his one-wheel cycle, home. Bhagwan shut shop. Sunday flying was not. Speeding car downed Old Man, bike broke the walking stick of Lady and a bus rammed Bhagwan. In Karuna Hospital, refusing to die, repairing dreams. Sparrows are running round with bills and medicines, Deva, the donkey, wheelchairs his friends from operation theatres to beds; nuns are praying; on Facebook, Meryl Streep: Take your broken heart and make it into art.