In a small park, that survived the urbanisation of Bengaluru, lived two candy wrappers forever entrusted with a friendship that was rather strained by their age gap. White on the inside and red on the outside, made of good old paper, Rola Cola was tall but tattered and had been in the park ever since he could remember. The sands of time had covered him with blankets of red soil and now only his head peeped above the ground. Center Fresh, on the other hand, was silver on the inside and blue on the outside and completely made of shiny plastic. His insides were not too long ago made of gooey blue jelly like liquid held together by hard white chewing gum. Rola Cola unfortunately could not remember what his insides once looked like.

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Center Fresh joined the ranks of the abandoned litter of the park at the end of a surprisingly hot summer. He was still well above the sticky soil and could feel the wind tickle every sense of his body and make him flutter towards the curb and back. He was happy to be initiated into the park with a veteran like Rola Cola. He constantly disturbed his eternal slumber with questions about the benchers; curious to know which ones were cancer-approaching old smokers.

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“What about him?”

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“Yes, yes, him too, son”

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“And that guy?”

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“No. He’s too young. Old is old and young is young.”

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“But he will be old one day.”

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“Yes.”

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“But you won’t be young one day!”

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And then there were the college romances which led to more difficult questions.

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“What are they doing?”

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“They’re in love.”

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“What’s that?”

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“I don’t know. I’ve never been in it.”

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“Have I been in it?”

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“How would I know, son?”

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“What does it taste like?”

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Regardless of the query, it always left Rola Cola wishing he had a head so he could scratch it or bang it against a tree or both. But Center Fresh felt privileged to be under the wing of Rola Cola. Over the course of a few months, Rola Cola too learnt to handle the constant questioning and began to feel a sense of responsibility to show the newcomer the ropes. Come September, the rains had begun. The ground was afresh with the smell of petrichor as the litter in the park got sludgy mud baths. Rola Cola liked the chilling yet warm embrace of the wet mud while Center Fresh was rather uncomfortable with the mud getting into his zig zag folds. But despite their differences, they had found a way to co-exist in peace. They’d passively cheer the everyday joggers and place bets on the new ones to see how long they’d last. They’d keep up with love sagas of the couples on the bench. And late in the evenings before darkness set in, they would watch the rats taunt the snakes with their disease flavoured meat until the mongoose warriors would come to their rescue. Their days were filled with a balance of nature and new litter, rats and garbage alike.

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One early morning, the canopies of the park’s guava trees were teeming with chirps and calls of the rose ringed parakeets. Every monsoon, the parakeets of the park would engage in their very own love saga - picking a mate for that year. As the crescendo of the chirps and calls began to rise, Rola Cola lit up with excitement. It was the first time Center Fresh had seen his mentor so thrilled with something, considered most of the time his emotions were more on the brooding scale.

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“What is it, chief?”

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“It’s the parakeets! They’re going to breed!”

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“Uhh... And you like watching that?” asked Center Fresh slightly bewildered by Rola Cola’s strange fetish.

“Not like that, son. Every monsoon, the parakeets perform a breeding ritual to choose their mate for that year!”

“Oh! So what do they do? Wrestle?”

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Rola Cola was excited to find some company this year in watching the parakeets’ breeding rituals. Although, his agenda was also to win some bets owing to his years of experience in witnessing the annual rituals. He explained to Center Fresh everything there was to know about observing this phenomenon. The rose-ringed parakeets were largish green birds with blue tails, a distinctive pointy beak and mischievous beady eyes. They were almost as long as a student’s plastic ruler and most of their length owed to their tapering tails. When perched on the guava trees at the park, they sometimes camouflaged into the background – their heads hidden in the canopy and their tails merging into the sky.

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“To an untrained eye, the male and female parakeets look identical;” boasted Rola Cola, “Observe that parakeet over there. See the red ring around the neck?”

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“Uh-huh”

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“That’s a male… And uhh that one over there without the ring, that’s a female”

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“Ohh!”

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“Yeah, well the male can also have a black ring and the female can have a grey ring. But basically bright ring versus light ring or none: the easy way to remember!”

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“Oooh okay so, that one over there, is that a female?”

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“Son, that’s not even a parakeet!”

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The mating ritual of the rose-ringed parakeets was indeed fascinating. A female parakeet would be the centre of attraction flocked by many male suitors, who would all one by one bring her food, perch beside her, lift one leg and then feed her. In the end, she would pick one suitor by twittering while flapping her wings and drawing semi circles with her beak in the air indicating she wanted to fly off with him into the sunset.

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So it had begun, upon the only banyan tree in the park was a female parakeet with a grey ring around her neck. Many male parakeets were scouting about in other trees for the best gourmet. Some even flew down to the ground for a quick second on mistaking a clay bead for a berry. The female parakeet was enjoying the feast - pieces of guava, a chilly, raw mangoes, berries and morsels of cooked food laid out by the neighbouring humans.

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Upon the next tree was another female parakeet with a few suitors whose taste of parakeet cuisine was far less interesting - they picked up seeds, which had fallen out of the provision delivery, or old soggy berries. She was slightly smaller in stature and her curves were more straight than curvy. Rola Cola was quite like the male parakeets; his eyes were drawn towards the winner of the parakeet pageant contest. He was trying to figure out just which suitor would get the girl and with years of voyeuristic experience, had also decided that it was the alpha male with the bright red ring. Without another thought, he decided to place his bet on the alpha male chuckling in his head at Center Fresh’s earlier observation.

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“My bet is on that parakeet.”

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Center Fresh did not respond. He was too busy observing all the trees and the parakeets amok among them. He was still struggling to differentiate between the male and female parakeets. Rola Cola retired to waiting for the love story between the alpha male and the bombshell of a parakeet unveil. A couple of hours later the silence between the two candy wrappers was broken.

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“Chief? You see that parakeet over there?” Center Fresh said pointing to the adjacent guava tree.

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“Yes”

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“I place my bet on that one”

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Rola Cola looked at the parakeet and muttered under his breath, “Well, at least, he got the species right this time”

He turned to Center Fresh. “Uhh… Son, that’s a female parakeet. You’re supposed to bet on the male suitors.”

“Yeah… I…” Center Fresh began to respond and he was interrupted.

“You’re new to this, so I’ll let you skip this bet. It’s the alpha male, son;” he said, pointing to the large male parakeet of his choosing. “It always is”

“Well, I’m pretty certain that it’s that female parakeet that’s going to win.”

“Suit yourself,” said Rola Cola, now certain of his win.

Rola Cola began to observe the situation. The smaller female parakeet hadn’t even moved an inch. She just sat there disinterested in absolutely anything around her. In fact, he was quite certain that this parakeet was probably the runt of her nest and had somehow made it to adulthood.

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Afternoon approached and the crescendo had now turned into cacophony, as it does with any sound that grows too fond. But still, no winner was decided. Some of the male parakeets had given up, moved on to other parakeets and gotten lucky. The sun was going to set soon and while Rola Cola was confident that his decades of experience would not let him down, he began to feel a little anxious about the outcome. On the other hand, Center Fresh was feeling quite calm with his choice.

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Hours of parakeet cacophony later, the sun began to set and Rola Cola was positive that at the end of this big fiesta, the female would fly away with the alpha male. But to his surprise, the alpha male was nowhere to be found. He seemed to have flown away. And while his eyes scoured the canopies for him, he noticed his female parakeet beginning to hop about. She carefully chose her next landing branch, hopping in a stealthy manner like she was in an undercover mission. She drew closer to the other female parakeet, who had been suitor-less for a while and was just admiring her talons.

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Center Fresh looked shot a glance at Rola Cola who was now the one looking bewildered. Just as he was about to react, the larger female parakeet flew away. Some of the remaining male parakeets flew behind her. And for a few minutes, the outcome of the day’s ritual remained unknown. The smaller female parakeet remained perched in the same position and was just observing a squirrel on the other tree. But just as Rola Cola and Center Fresh were defeated by the lack of a clear climax, the larger female swooped right over them with a fresh grape in her beak. She flew over to the smaller female, did a few acrobatic swirls around her and perched on the branch next to her, lifted one leg and fed her the grape.

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The smaller parakeet ate the grape, looked up at the sky, the squirrel and her talons and then inched over to the larger parakeet. She spread her wings and with a darling call began to flap them, drawing semi-circles with her beak. Just before they took off into the sunset, they leaned in, put their beaks together and sealed their love with a kiss. They rose into the air and flew towards the sunset, playfully racing one another while breaking into a free falling embrace now and then.

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Center Fresh looked at Rola Cola and smiled. Rola Cola was flabbergasted and tongue-tied. Never in his entire time at the park had he ever seen such a thing.

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“How… it’s impossible… How! How did you even know that would happen?”

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“Well, they were exchanging glances. You know the ones we saw between those two in that group of college kids the other day?”

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“But it isn’t natural!”

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“Natural? What does that mean, chief?”

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“That which is found…” Rola Cola gulped “… in nature, son”

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