Summer had tumbled down on the landscape suddenly, and with its arrival, it had eclipsed the mournful majesty of the rain in one masterful stroke. The rains had departed, blushing angry red at their humiliating defeat, leaving a pink hue across the twilight sky, which was streaked intermittently with slashes of red; the power of summer had wounded the rain badly and though it would return to avenge itself in the future, the present belonged to summer.

Like all fickle-minded beings, I too, welcomed the new conqueror with as much joy and enthusiasm as I had welcomed the last, the incentive being my relief at the disappearance of the incessant rain, which had overstayed its welcome by inundating parts of the city that were accessed by most and providing a safe refuge for organisms that conspired to spread disease, biological terrorists. Summer, too, would no doubt be drunk with power in due course of time and follow in the footsteps of its predecessor. However, the world rejoiced presently at its victory over the tyrannous rain. The world seemed rife with exciting possibilities, which, obscured until now by the sorrowful countenance of enormous clouds, were visible clearer than ever, beyond the transparent barrier of the clear blue sky. The world seemed abound with joy under the gleaming sunshine.

The room was pleasantly cool and quite airy. It was brightly lit by sunshine and a pigeon perched high up on a dusty wooden cupboard was basking in the sunshine, enjoying itself thoroughly. At this moment, I chose to strike up a conversation with the pigeon, inquiring about the reason of its visit and how it was finding the weather. The pigeon replied enthusiastically, jauntily strutting about, bobbing its head front and back, fluttering its wings and gutter-gooing to its heart's content. I listened, amused.

Around this time people had started filling the room as a class was due to start in five minutes. A friend of mine, Chloe, bounced into the classroom, bobbing in all ways her body could possibly allow and absurdly enough, quite resembling the pigeon in various aspects. Oblivious to the presence of the pigeon in the vicinity, she turned the ceiling fan on just as someone said "Shoo".

Slow motion. The pigeon flapped its wings wildly and flew randomly around the classroom before heading straight for the ceiling fan. We were presented with a 21st century version of the guillotining process. The pigeon was neatly decapitated, its body plopped onto the ground and its head spun across the faces of bewildered students before bouncing off of a wall and crashing to the ground, leaving a a bloody stain on the freshly painted wall. One of the girls, who'd witnessed the proceedings, went up to the window with glazed eyes inquiring calmly, where the pigeon had flown off to. "It'll probably come back tomorrow for rice. We'll feed it rice." She seemed to me like a mother who'd lost her child, but had also lost her sanity and so could not come to terms with the child's death. The rest were divided in their response. Some were stunned, some were screaming and flailing their arms about, thoroughly enjoying the drama. My friend Rupert held up his hand:"Silence! We now decide on the very important question of the burial of the pigeon. Any ideas?" Immediately, a buzz ensued and speculations arose about where the pigeon must have spent its life. In two minutes, the propounders of the speculations had convinced themselves that the pigeon had led the life they'd imagined in their mind only a minute ago and were drowning in impassioned grief when they were told, no, a visit to Greece would not be possible as it was too expensive. Mayhem ensued. Our teacher entered the class. With one sweeping glance, she registered the situation, moved us to a different room, handed over the responsibilities related to the pigeon's last rites to the school authorities and proceeded to take the class as if nothing had happened.