I, Chicken

I’ve been cramped up inside this small cage for far too long. The steel wires are constantly abrading my feathers, leaving me a little more naked with each passing minute. But this nakedness is not my concern right now. It’s temporary, and shall last only till the time I’m alive.

Nudity works differently for us chickens. We’re covered with a thick layer of feathers all of our adult lives. It’s only after we’re dead that we get fully denuded.


But my death isn’t too far. My brother was the last one to get slaughtered by the butcher last night. His small head flew a few feet due to the bad angle along which the butcher brought his knife down. The poor butcher must have been tired, my brother being his last slaughter of the day, the last one after hundreds of chickens since dawn.


I have a feeling that I’ll be the first one to go this morning. All the other chickens in this cage were stuffed just an hour ago. Their bodies are still shiny white, whereas mine is a messy creamish pink. Remember my nakedness?


Okay, here comes the butcher. Time to go folks. Remember me after I’m gone.

“Bhaiya, not this one. It looks diseased. See how patchy its body is.”

“Arey. No madam, it has just lost its feathers a bit. It’s a perfectly healthy chicken. Very tasty it’s going to be.”

“No. Give me that other one. Yes, the one in the corner. Yes.”


Okay, now this was unexpected. It looks like my death has been delayed for some time, until the next customer comes. A few minutes max.


Being a chicken sucks because at least humans can appeal multiple times before they get executed. We get no Supreme Court petitions, no Presidential pardons. Just a swift drop of the knife and…


“Yes sahib, lean meat is always better than mutton. Yes, one kilo fifty grams.”


Oh fuck!



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