Mrs B has always been a busy bee from breakfast to bedtime바카라”kids바카라™ school, their coursework, husband바카라™s tiffin, sabjiwalah, kaamwali, yoga, mom-in-law바카라™s sugar check and medicines, phone-a-friend about niece바카라™s wedding, nephew바카라™s newborn, Facebook, Netflix dramas. Life was caught up in a monotonous whirr of chores and errands. No breaks. She never complained. C바카라™est la vie, she would say. Well, until someone in China had a foul bat soup and didn바카라™t take Mummyji바카라™s after-dinner churan바카라”the cure-all in the Delhi household Mrs B commandeers. Her busyness slowed down, like her husband바카라™s business, since that skipped churan hustled the human race indoors. In this quarantined world, she has a little guest from a parallel realm that resides next to us; a sanctuary Mrs B hardly ever gave a sideways glance before. Every morning and late afternoon he drops by, without fail. He doesn바카라™t need a travel pass, for he is a blithesome bulbul. After sundown, the guardian owl makes his nightly run, often bivouacing on her balcony. Mrs B never was a bird person. The caws and coos couldn바카라™t be bothered when the washing macÂhine바카라™s ding and the pressure cooker바카라™s whistle consumed her waking hours. But the clock is kind to her now and she can engage with Nature, which she thought didn바카라™t exist in her concrete, gated society. She loves to entertain bulbul with chicku morsels. And be entertained herself. What about owly? His hoots and 360-degree neck turns are no longer overlooked.