Bombs away!

I am being persecuted. Attacked. Ambushed. Hounded. Stalked till my nerves are jangling like they've never jangled before. I walk/ride about in fear, trying to avoid open skies as I go about my daily life, a mere shadow of my former self.

My eyes are always open to any offensive. My ears are alert, listening, waiting for the telltale SPLAT as some incontinent bird lets loose. On me. Every time. It's inhuman, I tell you. Inhuman.

I have never been cruel to any species of bird in my life. OK, I've eaten chicken now and then, but that's hardly a reason to torment me in this manner. This relentless shadowing and frighteningly accurate aim... sometimes it makes me want to go. If you know what I mean.

"Hah, he's exaggerating", you say. "What crap!" you comment (quite appropriately). You dismiss my narrative with a careless "This one's for the birds!" Hear ye, dear reader, this be not crap. I speaketh the truth. As Yoda would testify, the truth I speak. History bears witness to the pitiful condition of my relations with the feathered folk.

Four times in the course of the last ten days. Twice on my shirt, once on my bike's headlight and once on the seat. Four in ten. Coincidence? I don't think so. The tally would have been five if I hadn't niftily swerved when I noticed a large yellow-green-white blob heading for me earlier this afternoon. It landed a relatively safe 6 centimeters away.

This has to be an anti-AC conspiracy by the birds. It isn't just the pigeons or crows, it's now all manner and sorts of birds. Some even appear to have called in distant relatives from foreign lands for the express purpose of decorating me or my vahana with their bodily wastes. And the odds are just too great for me to battle against. What chance does one pathetic human being have against a whole battalion of birds who scheme and plot against me. Maybe they even have a bird-Olympics, where one of the most prestigious events is the LALOAH, Land A Load On AC's Head.

I don't mind body art at all. In some cases I would donate rather liberally to foundations that aim to spread the culture of body arts to bring about world peace or the eradication of poverty or bringing a decent educational system (sans politics) to Tamil Nadu or other such causes that I know will not succeed in my lifetime. But I draw the line at the 'body' in the body art being my body. Oh, I know, if I let birds crap all over me and then stand in a glass box, I'd probably win the Turner Prize which, in my opinion, they award to the most insensible and downright crappy installation they find in the competition. But I'll turn down that honour, thank you very much.

I'd much prefer to remain clean and un-bird-crapped. I look just a little better without white-green-yellow blobs on my clothes or skin. I'm sure I smell a lot better without them too, though some might consider this point debatable.