The Peacock is the National Bird of India
I know far too much about this subject. Mayur means peacock, the beautiful, pompous multi eyed creature that flaunts its way into your life. Dares you not to take notice of its jewel tones and earth rattling cries. The creature is regal, and worthy of worship, as far as I am concerned. After all, the peacock was the symbol of the queen of gods, the top goddess herself. So all queens should have their Mayur’s, should they not?
Then I am a queen, because mine comes around, when the mood suits him, probably during mating season, if I’m even a little correct. Always flaunting his feathers as he walks, and cooing in my ear. Constantly wants to hear that I love him, even when I’m not sure I like him. How do you love someone who calls you, with a voice that melts butter, like a member of his harem? And you are to primp and put on your finery as if you won the date lottery because your number was called. What good is that? Can I love him because he has large hands, constant stubble, and naradha possessed tongue? Or can you fall for a man who tells the story of coming to America when he was 16, and keeping the suitcase he showed up with. How he stopped and lamented over it this June, when after 21 years it was in pieces and he had to admit it was time to toss it out. Or how there is a light in his dark eyes when he posses for pictures with his dog, Enzo. And joy in that seductive voice, as if boy was reminiscing about his best friend, when he speaks of first getting the dog, and how now the dog is his only loyal companion.
If only it were easy to pull the parts of the man that were lovable out, like plucking peacock feathers to collect. I know there are enough feathers in his likable self to create quite the fan to keep me cool and perhaps even hidden when I don’t want the world to see me.
Why does a peacock need a harem? Why must they yell so loudly for attention? Why must they peck at the skin until you bleed and their stomachs are full with flesh? Why do they think they own everything they scar?