Extinction: the Aves and Aves-not by Huma Baqir (guest writer)
Mr.
Cisneros’ ‘the extinction of the passenger pigeon’ was a beautifully
constructed piece that resonated long after it had been read. It was interesting
to be reminded of one of life's greatest realities: when power is inherited,
not earned, it runs the horrible risk of being misused.
Mr. Cisneros’ mention of the half-baked-ness of the perpetrator communicates this well: all it took to wipe out a species from Earth was a 10-year-old's falsely inculcated sense of luxury; an attempt to get rid of his boredom, perhaps.
But ending life in the blink of an eye is one thing; and forcing someone to spend 29 long, painful years in captivity is another. Sure, Martha has been 'allowed' the luxury to breathe and croon - but little else. She has been cursed with the feeling of 'never knowing'...and that is one of the scariest prospects in life. To be denied innate emotions and abilities - to fly, mate, have a family - is criminal, and I cannot think of a worse punishment.
The boy might as well have clipped her wings off: Cisneros mentions the freedom of flight - the brilliance with which one's body can be used to create and feel wonders in the sky – as well as the intimacy of mating, the joy of begetting and raising someone who looks like you...and it makes me draw a human parallel long before the writer even plunges into the story of Ishi.
Interestingly, the Passenger Pigeons' period of acknowledged existence has been defined as a curt 101 years - when they were slashed from 5 billion to zero. That is a heinous prospect, but the 'loneliness of being the last' is much worse: it is fraught with the realisation that no one can share your troubles with you. That no one, now, retains the power, or interest, of understanding you or your legacy, and carrying it forward.
Indeed, to know that your days are numbered - that your kind has been existing, but no more will, while the rest of the world continues to populate and selfishly run its own rat race - is terror redefined. Redefined, because it is tinged with sadness. The perfectly-timed mention of Ishi's death - a human - makes this fear all the more tangible. It also reminds me of the last member of a 65,000-year-old tribe, who, very recently, died - taking one of the world's earliest languages to the grave. Her name was Boa Sr., and she left this world at 85. Imagine once more the pain of being aliened out, of not being able to share your fears, your life-story - for no one speaks or comprehends your native language anymore. Perhaps that is exactly how Martha, Ishi, Boa - all three must have felt. The contrast between the power of the flock as it moved as one - droppings, formidable shadows included - and its equally apparent vulnerability - is a riveting one. Also under spotlight is our insensitivity as humans, of which I am reminded once again as I end the prose: to claim what you find attractive and to forcefully call it your own, to 'care not for the small of life', has but become second nature for many of us. And I shall remind myself of that the next time I go pluck a flower.
Man may not realise it, but each act has a consequence, and it surely is the cumulative effect of all those that leave a 'hole formed in time'. And 'it was only a bird, really', but in that one, powerful moment, he had deprived someone of the right to exist. Bit by bit, he succeeded in clearing the huge shadow from the sun...but the shadow struck back and returned the favour by falling on his soul - the joke was now on him.
To any readers who can
relate: the Houbara Bustard is an endangered bird from Baluchistan, Pakistan,
and here's to hoping hard that it's never forced to retaliate this way.
Mr. Cisneros’ mention of the half-baked-ness of the perpetrator communicates this well: all it took to wipe out a species from Earth was a 10-year-old's falsely inculcated sense of luxury; an attempt to get rid of his boredom, perhaps.
But ending life in the blink of an eye is one thing; and forcing someone to spend 29 long, painful years in captivity is another. Sure, Martha has been 'allowed' the luxury to breathe and croon - but little else. She has been cursed with the feeling of 'never knowing'...and that is one of the scariest prospects in life. To be denied innate emotions and abilities - to fly, mate, have a family - is criminal, and I cannot think of a worse punishment.
The boy might as well have clipped her wings off: Cisneros mentions the freedom of flight - the brilliance with which one's body can be used to create and feel wonders in the sky – as well as the intimacy of mating, the joy of begetting and raising someone who looks like you...and it makes me draw a human parallel long before the writer even plunges into the story of Ishi.
Interestingly, the Passenger Pigeons' period of acknowledged existence has been defined as a curt 101 years - when they were slashed from 5 billion to zero. That is a heinous prospect, but the 'loneliness of being the last' is much worse: it is fraught with the realisation that no one can share your troubles with you. That no one, now, retains the power, or interest, of understanding you or your legacy, and carrying it forward.
Indeed, to know that your days are numbered - that your kind has been existing, but no more will, while the rest of the world continues to populate and selfishly run its own rat race - is terror redefined. Redefined, because it is tinged with sadness. The perfectly-timed mention of Ishi's death - a human - makes this fear all the more tangible. It also reminds me of the last member of a 65,000-year-old tribe, who, very recently, died - taking one of the world's earliest languages to the grave. Her name was Boa Sr., and she left this world at 85. Imagine once more the pain of being aliened out, of not being able to share your fears, your life-story - for no one speaks or comprehends your native language anymore. Perhaps that is exactly how Martha, Ishi, Boa - all three must have felt. The contrast between the power of the flock as it moved as one - droppings, formidable shadows included - and its equally apparent vulnerability - is a riveting one. Also under spotlight is our insensitivity as humans, of which I am reminded once again as I end the prose: to claim what you find attractive and to forcefully call it your own, to 'care not for the small of life', has but become second nature for many of us. And I shall remind myself of that the next time I go pluck a flower.
Man may not realise it, but each act has a consequence, and it surely is the cumulative effect of all those that leave a 'hole formed in time'. And 'it was only a bird, really', but in that one, powerful moment, he had deprived someone of the right to exist. Bit by bit, he succeeded in clearing the huge shadow from the sun...but the shadow struck back and returned the favour by falling on his soul - the joke was now on him.
To any readers who can
relate: the Houbara Bustard is an endangered bird from Baluchistan, Pakistan,
and here's to hoping hard that it's never forced to retaliate this way.
About the author: Huma Baqir is a 3rd year medical student
at the Aga Khan University in Karachi, Pakistan . She is a self-proclaimed advocate of world peace.
Even though she knows just two languages, she loves playing around with them;
in fact, she hopes to write a novel some day and even talk about it in a press
conference of sorts. Her interests entail theatre, music, food, poetry, travel,
public speaking, self-reflection - and that beautiful, delicious little bridge
between medicine and art.
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