Chicken Run

I was chatting with a friend earlier and I admitted to her that I'm not scared of guns, knives or other such instruments of death and destruction.  She asked me what I was afraid of and I admitted with a pause "chickens".  I could almost hear her stunned gasp, almost but since this was after all the internet I imagined what my reaction would have been and did a total transference thing, hence that's what I figured it was.

Right, let me repeat: what am I scared of?  Chickens.  Not dead ones, those are fine and yummy in my tummy (you vegetarians can shudder with disgust as much as you want, I'm a happy carnivore) but I'm talking about the real live ones that squawk and peck and flap their feathery wings.  Those are the types that scare me.  You're probably wondering how and why live poultry puts the fear of God in me.  Well Crickets, in my world, there is always a story that explains all my lunacy.

During summer holidays when I was in grade school, every few years my mother would drag me to Bangladesh to spend all of it sweltering in sticky, humid, hot equator heat.  This wasn't just to torture me but it was her effort to expose me to the land she called home as well as the folks that were her family.  FYI, my mother was only 19 when she left Bdesh so these jaunts back must have been liberating and welcome. 

Back in the good old days my grandfather’s home was big and sprawling with a tin roof that repelled heat amazingly well.  All my mother's 3 sisters (those that lived close enough) would come for an extended stay in order to catch total quality time with their otherwise MIA sister and their husbands were awesome enough not to mind, hell they came along also.  The cousins were all little (many hadn't been born up to that point) and I can only remember the uncles and aunts being young, beautiful and pretty darn funny.  My grandparents were still alive too and so I, who longed for the attention lavished upon one by grandparents, j’adored those times where I would always be given special attention. 

The house itself boasted coconut and mango trees in the back and in the front yard there was this huge ginormous Tethul (tamarind) tree.  My mother told me that it housed Jinn's.  What are those you wonder?  Well lemme wikki cheat and tell you... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinn.  There is a whole other blog that will be dedicated to the Jinn but for now suffice it to say that there were Jinn's living in the tree which was why from sundown to sun up we were not allowed to play under the tree or go outside without tying our hair back.  Call it superstitious if you like but when someone told me that I could get snatched up by some spirit, I did whatever it was that I had to do in order to avoid such a thing from happening.  Period.

Back then also my grandmother was quite the fashionista in her burqa of different colors.  She preferred not to wear the traditional black but instead went with soft pastel colors.  My favorite was a sky blue one that she looked so angelic in and I used to love going out with her, taking pride in the fact that she was so fashion forward.  She would often take me to go visit a friend here or there or to the market when I was getting bored at home.  I loved the alone time we had and she was very curious about my life in the states.  Not more so than my grandfather but yes, she was very interested in knowing if what we did in the states were anything like how things were done in Bangladesh.  I think she often was astounded by the similarities. 

During those few months I was there though, I was treated like royalty.  Someone was always buying me something, plying me with sweets or taking me here and there.  For my grandmother, it was always asking me what special thing did I want to eat and my response ultimately was always: chicken! 

And this is where my trauma and life long fear of live poultry started from (bet you were wondering when I was about to get to the point):  I remember the first time she took me to the market to buy some chicken for the evening meal and there in a cage was like 50 hens all sitting and looking forlornly out at the world.  How sad they appeared all cooped up there not able to move seeming almost comatose until one was yanked out to be inspected.  Then boy o boy would they kick up a ruckus.  I think I was confused at first though.  After all at home we went to a grocery store and pretty much bought one that wasn't so...um...alive.  But dang these things were like clucking and stuff.  After some molesting of said chicken on my grandmothers part (well more like she was checking them over but it sure seemed like molesting, hell I would have been offended and filed a police report if I was those poor cluckers), two were chosen and we moved on to buy a few more necessities.  Once we finally hailed a rickshaw, a kid who worked at the chicken stall showed up and to my great consternation, the claw-bound chickens were deposited near our feet.  I was horrified.  What the hell??  Weren’t the darn things just supposed to sorta…appear at the house?

The damn chicken’s tiny little heads were turned towards me, beady little eyes sort of accusing.  I swear it!  No really, it was as if they were trying to say to me 'you'll get yours...just you wait and see'.  I was petrified all the way home albeit trying not to show it but every time the rickshaw lurched, the chickens would flop and I would gasp inwardly, even cringed.  Oh it was a torturous ride, thankfully quick too for when we pulled to a stop, I literally jumped clear off the rickshaw and made a run for it.  By the time my grandmother walked in the door, I was cowering on the bed trying to compose myself.  She had, at one point, figured out what was up with my erratic behavior and immediately started to heckle me.  I don't blame her now that I think of it. 

So what does my sweet grandmother decide to do?  Do you think she sat next to me and consoled me?  Or explained to me that chickens, indeed, are not dangerous creatures as I had figured them to be?  Do you think she used soothing words to put my fears to rest?  Nope, not my Nanu (which means Mother’s Mother a.k.a. Granny).  No, this sweet lovely woman who adored me, waited till later that afternoon when I was lazing in the sun on a bedspread soaking in some vitamin D in the front yard whilst reading a book and at which point she called my name, I turned and there tucked under her right arm was one of the two chickens.  The darn thing was like inches away from my face just staring in this crazed way. 

I literally screamed and scrambled off and up; asking her what it was she was doing.  She said she wanted to 'introduce' her new friend to me.  With that she took after me in a dead run.  I was not to be outdone hence I also went screaming and tearing through the house, past my mother who did nothing but laugh, as did her sisters, brothers, servants, cleaning girl, grandfather and myriad of cousins.  No one helped.  Not one soul.  Now that I think of it...man those were some mean people.

I realized even back then that the worse that chicken could do to me was squawk up a storm, probably super unhappy to be squeezed to death as Nanu clutched it and ran but I assumed that if I was to stop, it would be unleashed upon me and would peck my eyes out.  *shrugs* It so could happen, right? 

Anyhoo...that event, that one singular event, has turned me off to chickens.  Not the eating of them of course but to me they seem like sorta scary Bride-of-Chucky beings...like clowns.   They appear absolutely normal, even cute (right, I admit the girl doll was never that cute but you get what I mean here) but in reality they have evil built into them!  Mind you a few years prior when I was in Bdesh I had kept a pet chicken but who are we kidding, it didn't come near me (which I wasn't too upset about) and eventually it became dinner (I witnessed the murder of it and may I just say...ugly). 

Oh btw the end of that story was basically that I finally ran to the neighbors house.  My grandmother had no intention of chasing me all the way there and therefore proceeded to kill the sucker and yes, we had that for dinner also.  I ate it with a lot of joy, I do admit. 



This is Ninja Chicken...Yes I drew her but I copied the sketch...Be afraid.  She shall come for you.