Chapter 2: Plant response to elevated CO2 - DRUM - University of ...

She switches on the old radio, balanced on the fridge roof, and the RJ’s
bubbly, shiny voice spills into the quiet of the morning and spreads in concentric
sound waves across the home and beyond to Heeruben as she stands calling “Aa
Aa Aa,” throwing fountains of grains to the pigeons, who, obliged by old
survival instincts look carefully around the small gray compound of Kothari
Sadan before picking the grains on the broken slate tiles and through its crevices.
Heeruben makes clucking sounds and moves slowly, shifting her weight from
one foot to another. The pigeons flock around her, the ones familiar with their
benefactor, venture further and are bold enough to peck at her feet. Heeruben’s
compassion for pigeons has her walk slowly out of her room — the last one in
the long corridor — every morning and only serves to irritate Roopaben who
feels that she, herself, is more deserving of her mother in law’s concern than the
stupid pigeons who shit all over the compound. And even more so, since later
she has to make repeated entreaties to Sarla, Roopaben’s maid of twenty years to
clean it.
Daily, the soft cooing of the pigeons interjects Rasikbhai’s pooja, breaking
through his concentration, during that one interval of the day where his mind
dulls and relaxes into the repeated intonation of “NAMO ARIHANTAANAM”
so that he feels cleansed and new, like the glittering soap commercials, in which
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