<p>Does a peacock feather produce baby peacock feathers? No, it’s quite absurd, irrational and incredible. But that’s exactly what one of my class-mates in my primary school had me believe. It was firmly planted in my boyish mind that I could make baby feathers if I had a bigger peacock feather.</p>.<p>One day, at school, during recess, flaunting a big peacock feather and a small peacock feather before my bewildered eyes, my friend narrated so vividly and convincingly how the big peacock feather had given birth to the tiny one. He said he kept the mother peacock feather pressed between pages in his book for some time and a baby was born.</p>.<p>My wondered knew no bounds. Immensely excited at my his experience, I pleaded and urged him to give me one peacock feather so I could replicate his experiment and make more feathers. He complied, and generously, placed a peacock feather in my hands.</p>.<p>Clutching the feather close to my heart, I darted stealthily into the bedroom of our house with an old, fat book in my hands. I placed the peacock feather carefully amidst the pages of the book and delicately kept it under the bed. </p>.<p>Then it became a daily ritual for me: Steal into the bedroom every morning and evening, lift the bed slightly, take the book out, open it gently and peep curiously into the page of the book where the peacock feather nestled.</p>.<p>“No, baby peacock feather today,” I would mumble to myself, “the mother peacock is still brooding. Maybe, tomorrow, it’ll give birth to its baby.” And quietly slipped out of the bedroom. It was a self-imposed, clandestine activity I indulged in, away from the prying eyes of my family members.</p>.<p>One evening, back from school, I was at my ritual. And lo and behold! To my immense surprise and utter joy, there it was! A tiny peacock feather beside the big one. Overwhelmed and unable to contain my tremendous excitement, I screamed, “What a cute baby you gave birth to” and laughed aloud.</p>.<p>Fortunately, nobody in the house noticed my excitement as everybody was away in the family drawing room. The next day morning at school, I was proudly displaying the big peacock feather and the tiny one to all my class-mates. I celebrated the joy of my successful experiment with my class-mates, feeling like a hero at a mega achievement.</p>.<p>Now, in my adult years, I have realised that the tiny peacock feather was not produced by the big one, but in fact, the big peacock feather when pressed within the pages of the book, was torn into two pieces. But I can’t help but smile looking back at my boyish experiment with the peacock feather and my innocent joy. Chewing the cud of this childhood experience of mine, I chuckle at the colourful illusion that fed the imagination of my boyish mind and the childish bliss it offered to my tender heart. </p>
<p>Does a peacock feather produce baby peacock feathers? No, it’s quite absurd, irrational and incredible. But that’s exactly what one of my class-mates in my primary school had me believe. It was firmly planted in my boyish mind that I could make baby feathers if I had a bigger peacock feather.</p>.<p>One day, at school, during recess, flaunting a big peacock feather and a small peacock feather before my bewildered eyes, my friend narrated so vividly and convincingly how the big peacock feather had given birth to the tiny one. He said he kept the mother peacock feather pressed between pages in his book for some time and a baby was born.</p>.<p>My wondered knew no bounds. Immensely excited at my his experience, I pleaded and urged him to give me one peacock feather so I could replicate his experiment and make more feathers. He complied, and generously, placed a peacock feather in my hands.</p>.<p>Clutching the feather close to my heart, I darted stealthily into the bedroom of our house with an old, fat book in my hands. I placed the peacock feather carefully amidst the pages of the book and delicately kept it under the bed. </p>.<p>Then it became a daily ritual for me: Steal into the bedroom every morning and evening, lift the bed slightly, take the book out, open it gently and peep curiously into the page of the book where the peacock feather nestled.</p>.<p>“No, baby peacock feather today,” I would mumble to myself, “the mother peacock is still brooding. Maybe, tomorrow, it’ll give birth to its baby.” And quietly slipped out of the bedroom. It was a self-imposed, clandestine activity I indulged in, away from the prying eyes of my family members.</p>.<p>One evening, back from school, I was at my ritual. And lo and behold! To my immense surprise and utter joy, there it was! A tiny peacock feather beside the big one. Overwhelmed and unable to contain my tremendous excitement, I screamed, “What a cute baby you gave birth to” and laughed aloud.</p>.<p>Fortunately, nobody in the house noticed my excitement as everybody was away in the family drawing room. The next day morning at school, I was proudly displaying the big peacock feather and the tiny one to all my class-mates. I celebrated the joy of my successful experiment with my class-mates, feeling like a hero at a mega achievement.</p>.<p>Now, in my adult years, I have realised that the tiny peacock feather was not produced by the big one, but in fact, the big peacock feather when pressed within the pages of the book, was torn into two pieces. But I can’t help but smile looking back at my boyish experiment with the peacock feather and my innocent joy. Chewing the cud of this childhood experience of mine, I chuckle at the colourful illusion that fed the imagination of my boyish mind and the childish bliss it offered to my tender heart. </p>