By Cheah Yin Mee

Coo. Coo.

A bird has been lingering around outside her living room. Strange. Birds usually visited her garden upstairs. The planter box downstairs, though, did attract the odd bird as it was filled with plants. Two large shrubs, tecoma stans, with their brilliant trumpet-like yellow flowers, stood at each end of it. The morning breeze teased the branches, setting the yellow bells quivering.  Sunlight filtered through the leaves, illuminating the golden tips. Beads of last night's rain lingered on the foliage. The air exuded the sweet, damp fragrance of earth after rain.

She opened the sliding glass doors and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. From the corner of her eye, she spied two grey birds fluttering around the branches of the yellow bells. They looked like pigeons or doves but she didn't know the difference.  In the morning light, the soft grey feathers on the birds lit up with a faint iridescent sheen. Pretty, she thought observing the delicate tilts of their heads as they settled on a branch.

What's the difference between a dove and a pigeon? She turned to her husband who was reading the newspapers at the dining table.

He lifted his head and then picked up his mobile phone. After a couple of taps, he looked up and reported, Doves and pigeons belong to the same family. Doves are smaller and have a more fan-like tail.

She turned back to the birds. They looked more like doves to her. What are the doves doing here? Is it good for doves to visit? She asked her husband again.

Once again, he stopped his reading, patiently picked up the phone and proceeded to scroll the screen. She waited, while peering out at the doves.

Doves are symbols of peace and the presence of a pair is usually a good omen regarding love and romantic life, he read off the screen in an official voice. Then he looked up and grinned at her.

Hmm, she responded, ignoring his grin.

Then she noticed that the birds were carrying small bits of stalks and twigs in their beaks. Oh my goodness, they were beginning to build a nest! She felt a flutter of excitement in her chest as she reported this to her husband. Unhurriedly, he got up from the table and joined her at the sliding doors, peering out at the birds.

Perched on the swaying branches, the birds wedged the twigs into the crook of the branch, twisting and pressing them into shape. She could see the beginnings of a bowl-shaped nest after some time.

Why they have chosen to build a nest here in my yellow bells? she whispered, suddenly aware of the need to be quiet although there was no way the birds could hear her.

Her husband shrugged.

This looks like a good place to build a nest, isn't it? He replied, pointing to the scene.

Indeed, the birds  have chosen a very good spot. The yellow bells shrub was large enough to have strong branches. The branch the birds have chosen rested securely on the edge of the glass balustrade. It was also out of the reach of any inquisitive hand or prowling animal although they could still see the birds at work.

Over the days, the nest grew bigger and not long after, Mother Dove was sitting there every day. They could see two eggs peeping from underneath her feathers. Every day, they would check on Mother Bird. And no matter what they did, taking photographs, talking while staring at her, she didn't move at all. Her eyes didn't blink. Sometimes she would be facing them. Other times she would be looking away. But she would not move a feather.

Her stillness reminded her of a statue, and she remembered too those long ago moments when she too had to wait, unmoving, unflinching. The time when her child had a high fever; the time when she waited with him for his exam results; the time when she stayed up late looking out for him, way past midnight, as he went out with friends. What could she do but sit and wait patiently, calmly?

I wonder how long she would sit there, she muttered out loud, although she knew very well what the answer would be.

Until the eggs hatch, I guess, her husband replied, taking yet another photo with his mobile phone.

The southwest monsoon soon arrived and rain and lightning became a daily occurrence. One afternoon, it stormed and rain came down in sheets, blurring the planter box garden into a colour wash of grey and green. The yellow bells bent under the weight of the raindrops, the bright petals bowing as each drop rolled heavily into the ground below.

They peeked out of their glass windows and there was Mother Bird, sitting there as if carved in stone. Lightning flashed and the wind whistled through the gap in the sliding doors but she did not flinch. Her feathers, slicked down by the rain, darkened to a shadowy grey. Every now and then, the wind shook the branch and threatened to dislodged the nest, but she simply sat, unwavering.

Rain clattered on the roof and walls, drowning out even their voices. Thunder followed, rolling across the sky, but even that did not move Mother Bird. She simply tucked her head a little lower, sheltering the nest as best as she could.

They saw an occasional ripple, a shiver through her small body. Was it from the cold or fear?

Well, said her husband, that poor bird.

Yeah, she murmured, as yet another sheet of rain swept across the garden, but that's what mothers do, right? They just sit tight.

She knew that because she too was Mother Bird. She had been a mother for over 30 some years, and would continue being a mother till she died. Her father used to say that one didn't stop being a parent when one was old. And now, more and more, she understood that sentiment.

Perhaps she didn't wait up like she used to do; perhaps she had learnt not to worry when he was away travelling; perhaps she had just learnt to trust him more. But just because her son was married and living in a separate home, didn't  mean he was out of her thoughts. On days, when she knelt in a temple, she prayed for his welfare rather than hers or her husband's. And in her daily meditations, when she thought of gratitude, his face surfaced first in her mind.

Did all mothers do that? Or was it just her because she had this one precious child? She had provided for him and he was doing well. And she trusted he would continue to thrive, and eventually he and his wife would start their own family. And he would be a parent although not a mother. Is there a difference? She was not sure. 

She looked across to the apartment blocks where he lived and she felt like Mother Bird. She stood there looking, keeping her distance but always ready to fly over at a moment's notice.

It had been more than a week since the baby bird joined the big bad world. One egg failed to hatch and she wondered if Mother Bird felt the loss. Was that the only egg she lost? She felt a wave of grief going through her as she recalled her pregnancies that ended prematurely. Do mother birds struggle to move on, she wondered. But it did seem like she had just moved on and turned her attention to this one baby bird. Mother Bird had been nothing but protective, sitting with it and sharing the nest.

But since yesterday, she was no longer sitting next to baby. Instead, baby bird was by himself. This didn't mean he was left to his own devices. A few times, they spied another bird hovering nearby, watching over baby bird. Sometimes the bird would be fluttering its wings as if it was showing Junior how to use its wings.

That's the father, her husband said confidently, pointing out the bird.

Why do you say that? she asked, a tad annoyed at his know-it-all attitude. Mothers can also teach flying, you know, she added.

He shrugged, not completely convinced.

Meanwhile, baby bird was just sitting there, not at all curious about the world around him. But the next day, it stood up and moved around the limited space in the nest. It looked like baby bird was ready to fly the nest! They peered at it from behind the glass windows, like eager parents at a child's first concert. Baby bird just ignored them.

The next day, her husband excitedly announced that baby bird was standing on one of the branches! She rushed downstairs and there it was. Perched on one of the branches observing the world around it.

She held her breath as she watched the bird through the glass windows. Her husband was poised with the mobile phone, ready to capture the first moment of flight. Each twitch of its wings made her gasp in anticipation. Is it taking off? They scuttled around their living room, straining to get the best view of the baby bird through the glass doors.

Won't be long before it flies off, her husband observed philosophically.

Uh huh, she agreed, marvelling at the young bird standing so confidently on the branch. It wasn't that long ago that it was an egg.

Her thoughts once again drifted to her son. Bringing him up was not without joy but it was a challenge too.  She was younger with a business and a household to manage simultaneously. But now looking at him, it seemed like the years have just flown by. Wasn't there a time when he was toddling around, and running back to her after every few steps? She saw him, in her mind, a young boy, proudly showing off his display of  archaeological "finds" in his room.  And wasn't it not long ago when he was calling her from university, voice anxious, with questions about his studies?

Now striding confidently in the world, he was doing things his way. She marvelled at his knowledge about his work. She wondered where he discovered the courage to make the choices he did. Did she somehow show him how to fly too? Or was it something he just learnt as he was growing up from watching them or from watching the world?

She envied bird parents. It seemed like they have a manual of sorts for what to do with a baby. She, however , remembered stumbling around, managing through trial and error. How many mistakes did she make?  

Just then, a text message.

Mum, can I come over for dinner this evening? Sara is out for an event and I don't want to eat out.

She smiled. It looked like he still needed his mum every now and then. She quickly replied in the affirmative.

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