Cock of the Walk...

You know, I’ve noticed that I’m always writing about things that I see on the way to work. It makes me feel like I should pay attention the rest of the day as well. But anyway, quite some time ago in the scheme of things, I was on the way to work and saw something that has stuck with me for a while. A servant of some kind, was sitting outside the gate of a house on the main road, all bundled up. This, in itself, would not be strange. It was, after all, the middle of winter in Karachi and the temperature must have been at least a frigid 22 degrees. What was strange though, was the look on the man’s face. We were stopped at a light, so I had time to take in the scene. What I saw was a look of pure hatred. The deep, hardened gaze of a man on the edge. The look was so powerfully evil that a shiver passed down my spine. I wondered what could possibly inspire such distilled hatred. I followed his gaze and saw the focus of his rage… a chicken. If that man could have killed that chicken with a look, then get the seven special herbs and spices ready.

The hilarious part though, was that the chicken was staring right back at him. A beady eye locked on his nemesis, head cocked condescendingly to one side. The rooster’s every move seemed to say, "You’re calling me a cock?" I wondered what possibly could have happened between this odd couple to inspire such blind hatred. Perhaps there had been a falling out. Perhaps the man hated chickens, only to find that his job included looking after a chicken. Maybe he actually loved chickens, but this particular bird had shunned his attempts at affection. Perhaps words were exchanged, regretted, but still out there, impossible to take back. Who knows the way of these things?

Happily, two days later, stopped at the same light, I saw the pair again. This time, the man was throwing the chicken in the air with a big smile on his face. The rooster would flap his useless wings all the way back to the ground. The man just kept throwing the chicken into the air just as you would entertain a small child. The chicken seemed happy to exercise his wings, feel the air beneath his feathers again. I was glad that the couple had reconciled. There is perhaps nothing more pure than the love of a man for his chicken (from the Greek kotopoulo-eros).

Chicken magnate Frank Perdue, (who I had never heard of until a chance google search today, but who apparently revolutionized the poultry industry, and ironically, and unfortunately, died yesterday at the age of 84) once said, "It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken." And I would have to agree.