I dislike crows. I know Ted Hughes waxed eloquent about them and Shuvaprasanna painted hoards and hoards of crow pictures after reading all those poems, but I dislike them. Maybe it's because for some strange reason, they're the ones expected to clean up after everyone's had a party. Or maybe I don't like them because I see those things in them that I don't want to see in myself. Or maybe because this is some kind of weird childhood trauma that is finally surfacing. I remember being hauled up for my illegible handwriting and the teacher saying "eta ki kager thang boger thang likheccho"
I feel like Matilda. I am fed up with the Miss Trunchbulls of the world. Some of them are tactless and supercilious enough get the "I'm big you're small " routine over with in a jiffy. Others actually make the effort of appearing magical. The green-golden dragons breathe fire down your throat and expect you to swallow it all without a word, all the time pretending that it's all being done for your benefit. Winged Culprits.
*DRUMROLL after rant*
Maybe, I'll like crows one day. Maybe even learn to love them. Or maybe I'll just invert the egg when it's sunny side down. Whatever :P