The pigeon pooped on my freedom

If you went to the kind of snobbish, self-righteous schools that I went to, you may just recall something similar.

Remember every year when you were summoned to school for one hour on 15 August, to watch your wicked school principal unfurl the tri-colour and release that white pigeon from the cage? No pigeon in your school? Too bad. We seemed to have a new white pigeon every year. It was always a wonderful sight, even if we hated your principal as much as we did. She resembled like a Mother Teresa, straight out of our history text book, helping the poor pigeon out of the cage. For a brief second, you'd feel good about your principal. 'Maybe she's not that bad. Maybe I just think she is cruella'.

Hang on. Hold that thought.

Then one day, you realize, 'How come there is a new pigeon in the cage the next year? Why doesn't she release them all at once? Why does she keep a new pigeon to be released every year?'. Hah! There you go. Revelation. Now you know what actually happens.

You see, catching a pigeon and caging it for voyeuristic pleasure of such events is a trade altogether. Some poor chap catches these white pigeons, gives them a scrubbing, locks them up in many a cage and puts them out on the road for principals and politicians so that they can buy the poor caged birdie, stand on the second floor of the school building or the dais and release it. And you feel nostalgic. Reminds you of pictures of Nehru uncle. They had you duped, no?

Who do you blame? The poor chap for catching a free bird and caging it so that it is farcically freed again while the only thing he cares for is his quick buck, or the poor principal who wants to have her two minutes of bird releasing nationalistic sentiment thrown around like bird grains? Who knows.

Why this thought suddenly?

Well, one of those white bastards royally pooped on my lovely t-shirt as if to say, "Hah! So you think we don't forget? This is for all the times you fooled yourself even as you were aware of the drama. Happy Independence day. And oh! Happy cleaning!".

I get your point birdie. Now, no more pooping on my clothing.