I like quails. They resemble sparrows but are slightly larger. Quails are relatively quiet and easy to keep since they cannot fly much, unlike sparrows. They have a good lifespan as well. Since childhood, I have raised many quails, and I currently have two that I bought in 2023.

The quails have aged significantly, and the male has plucked many feathers from the female’s body. As a result, there are bald patches on her skin, and she resembles a hedgehog due to the pointed remnants of the plucked feathers.

I had greyish-black hair and dyed it around the same time I bought my quails. My hair started falling out, and being the lazy person that I am, I saw strands everywhere around my house. If my hair had been black, it would have been unrecognizable and difficult to determine which lady in the house it belonged to, since we all had similar hair colors. But now, everyone knew that those brown strands were mine.

One of my quails had gotten a strand of my hair wrapped around one of her toes. I didn’t notice it at first, but one day I saw that the toe had turned black. By the time I realized what had happened, it was quite late. I tried to remove the hair, but it was tightly stuck, and the toe had become necrotic. Over time, the part of that toe with the nail fell off and was replaced by a healthy stump.

I began to feel regret and guilt, as if she had lost her finger because of me. She still wanders around, often getting my hair tangled around her feet as she searches for food in the hidden corners of my house. Since that incident, I make it a point to check her feet regularly and remove any hair I find.

As time went on, perhaps out of pity or guilt, I found myself loving and caring for her more than the male bird. I would feed her by hand and named her “Choti,” which means “little one” in Urdu. In our culture, the youngest girls in a household are often referred to as “choti.”

Choti looks amusing and runs very quickly, but she struggles to maintain her balance with her tiny feet, one of which has one less toe than the other. Her skin has hairless patches, giving her a rather unusual appearance. If you saw her, you might not even think she resembles a bird; instead, she seems like an odd piece of flesh with a beak scurrying around here and there.

The interesting thing is that she has such an unremarkable appearance and may not have much time left, as she has grown quite old and no longer lays eggs like she used to. However, she knows me and can sense my presence. Whenever I open the door and call out to her as “Choti,” she runs toward me to see what I’ve brought her to eat. Even though she can’t run properly because of a damaged foot, her excitement is clear.

I am amazed to see that an old bird, who seems mindless and physically unwell, can sense the presence of love. She recognizes that I care for her and that I will feed her by hand. Whenever I get home, I usually check on her and go to my balcony to call for her, just to enjoy the sight of her running towards me.

My friendship with Ahmed

When we moved into this house three years ago, we became familiar with our immediate neighbors after some time. Opposite our flat lives a family of eight, which includes five girls and one boy named Ahmed, who is six years old. Whenever I went to the hospital or returned home, I would often see him playing outside or walking to the market while holding his dad’s finger. Over time, we started shaking hands and greeting each other, and eventually, we developed a friendship.

Ahmed loves to eat junk food and snacks, just like I do. Whenever I buy sweets or chocolates, I usually share them with him. I make exceptionally good French fries, and I never knew he liked them so much. I would say our friendship developed because of those fries.

One Sunday, I was making French fries and had just set a plate for myself. Ahmed came over to give us something his mom had cooked. I invited him inside, took him to the table where I was sitting, and offered him some of my fries. He loved them! While eating, he casually asked me, “Wese tum aur kya kya bana leti ho?” (By the way, what else can you cook?)

I was amazed at how casually he spoke to me, as if I were his age fellow. But his next sentence was even more hilarious. While stuffing his mouth with my fries, he told me, “Zara darwaze pe dekhna, Allah Dad to nahi aagaya?” (Hey, look at the door and see if Allah Dad is here.) It was funny because Allah Dad is his father, who is at least 50 years old, and he was calling his father by his first name. After finishing all of my fries, he exclaimed, “Ahh! Aaj maza aa gaya!” (I really enjoyed it!)

Over time, his parents and siblings helped him realize that I was not someone his age, and he started calling me “Daman Aapi” (Aapi refers to elder sister). Whenever I made fries, I always made it a point to share some with him. He would eagerly run to the door as soon as he heard my voice, knowing that I had come to give him my fries. He wanted to be the only one to receive them. I loved seeing the look on his face when his eyes lit up at the sight of me and my fries.

He had four adorable little parrots that were very small, just like him. Whenever the family left for their village to visit relatives during Eid or any other occasion, they would leave their parrots with us to take care of them. I loved spending time with them and enjoyed playing with them. The parrots typically ate the grains that they were provided with, but I made a habit of feeding them whatever I was eating while sitting beside their cage. It brought me immense joy to see them enjoying the fruits, snacks, and bakery items I offered with my hands.

I remember that whenever Ahmed’s family returned home, he wouldn’t go inside their house without his parrots. He always came to our house first while his family members were unlocking their door. He would insist, “Mere totey de den …” (Give me my parrots).

Once, I told him, “Main nahi wapas karungi; mujhe achay lagte hain” (I won’t return them. I love them). I remember how the color drained from his face — I couldn’t stand to see him sad. So, I returned his parrots; I had just been teasing him. He smiled when I handed them back to him.

Last week, I found out that Ahmed and his family are leaving our neighborhood because they are moving to a new house. I felt a little sad knowing that I won’t see him anymore, as I used to see him almost every other day. I remember waving to him while leaving for work as he played in the street.

Yesterday, when I returned from the hospital, my mother informed me that it was the last day for Ahmed’s family in our neighborhood. He had come by earlier that morning asking for me. My mother told him that I was at the hospital, and he requested that she let him know as soon as I came back.

I went to see him, and he came out holding a cage with two parrots (out of his four). He told me that those parrots were for me. Although he insisted, I didn’t take them and explained that I would visit his home whenever I felt like playing with his parrots.

I am truly amazed by his innocence and thoughtfulness. When he loved those parrots so much that the idea of me taking them away made him sad, the same Ahmed was still willing to give his beloved birds to me. Children have pure hearts, and we can learn so much from them.

The meaning of childhood in Islam

Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) said: “I love children because of five things: First, they cry often. Second, they play with soil. Third: They fight without malice. Fourth: They do not store anything for the next day. And fifth: They build houses with sand and then ruin them.”

This hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) carries a deep meaning. Crying often signifies being honest about one’s emotions, feeling remorse for past mistakes, and thus keeping the heart pure.

Playing with sand represents enjoying simple pleasures, staying close to nature, and having a modest approach to life, which prevents greed.

The act of fighting with one another but later reconciling demonstrates kindness, maintaining connections, and fostering a sense of community and care for one another.

Not saving anything for tomorrow encourages living in the present moment, having faith in the Almighty for provision, recognizing the fragility of life, and seizing each day.

Finally, building something from sand and then destroying it serves as a reminder that this life is temporary, and we must be prepared for the hereafter.

Love makes us fearless.

Love is truly an incredible emotion. It makes me wonder: Who teaches anyone how to love? Who guides animals, birds, babies, and children in understanding how to feel loved or how to love in return?

It’s fascinating to see how innocent creatures like birds and children effortlessly sense and express love. In contrast, many adults tend to hide their feelings, fearing vulnerability. They often wait for years, sometimes even decades, to gather the courage to express their love. Sometimes it isn’t necessary anymore, and many times it is too late.

Sometimes, I feel that love makes you fearless. Knowing that someone loves you provides a sense of safety and courage. You learn to trust them and feel secure in their presence.

It’s the courage derived from my love that allowed my quail to trust me, unlike the male quail, who may feel disappointed by my favoritism. If I hadn’t loved her and called her with affection, she wouldn’t come running to me every day without hesitation. Similarly, it’s love that enabled Ahmed to consider parting with his beloved parrots and gifting them to me to make me happy. Love makes us fearless, gives us the courage to express our feelings in return, and teaches us to trust others.

Indeed, love is a miracle.

Many times, being with children and birds makes me feel – this is what it is to be happy.

“It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple.”
— Rabindranath Tagore

Damane Zehra is a radiation oncology resident in Pakistan.