Geetanjali Krishna: Fair weather for fowl

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

Everyone smiles when they see Chote Lal walking in the park. There's nothing funny about him "" it's his unlikely companions that attract all the mirth and comment. Stately and plump, they strut behind him in a straight line, veering off now and then to pick up a juicy grub.

Not that they are ever in want of food "" for Chote Lal's prized partridges eat almonds and butter every day, even as their master lives on dry chapattis and onions.

For this 50-odd year old cycle repairman, tending his partridges is a way of life.

But he is quite an oddity amongst fellow pavement hawkers who ply their trade in the market of a posh South Delhi colony.

Chote Lal's affair with partridges is an old one. "I'm from a partridge-loving family in Faizabad," said he, explaining that raising partridges for fights and races is very popular there.

"And when I moved to Delhi many, many years ago, this was the only way I had of keeping in touch with my village life," he said. So he bought two birds for a thousand rupees and has lovingly raised them to be the fattest birds I've ever seen.

"See, I want them to be strong and win fights," said he, "and for that, I feed them 14 almonds each everyday, as well as some flour that's been kneaded with ghee, clarified butter."

To be truly fighting fit, the two fat birds also need exercise. That's why Chote Lal takes them to the park every morning for a long, brisk walk.

"You can make out that this one's maturing now," said he, proudly showing me the thorny nail that's freshly emerged just above one of the partridge's toes.

Last week, Chote Lal got his first return on investment on the partridges when this bird won a fight. "Every Sunday in Paharganj, there are wrestling bouts followed by partridge fights, and last week, I bet Rs 500 on my bird and it won!"

Apparently, partridge fight enthusiasts from all over town gather in Paharganj to watch and bet on the spectacle. With a winning bird on his hands, Chote Lal plans to go more often to the fights.

He has other plan for the female bird. Now that it's spring, she's looking broody and Chote Lal reckons that she will lay eggs by next month.

"There are enough takers for partridges in Delhi for me to make lots of money off her chicks," said he fondly.

All the time that we chatted, the two fat birds were contentedly chirping and digging around for tidbits, free of shackles and cages. "Why don't they try and fly off?" I asked.

He chirruped and whistled, sounding remarkably like his pets, and they immediately responded by darting into their cage, which he hung on a tree.

"The cage is not to imprison them," said he, "It's to protect them while I work," said he, pointing to his ramshackle wooden box of cycle repair tools lying on the pavement.

I found it funny that he'd had the birds for over two years and still hadn't given them names. "They're not children, they're only birds!" said he laughing.

But when I saw his expression when the two birds cooed and rubbed against his legs, I felt that these birds were much more to him than a hobby, or a source of income.

He looked amused when I said so, and said, "my family lives in Faizabad, and I've nothing much to do after hours here. These birds just help me pass time, that's all!"