Maybe:

There’s a crow which lives on the tree just outside my living room window. He knows he’s different. Because I often find him spending time clearing his throat, making strange guttural sounds and then cawing in his own peculiar manner. He sounds like a teenager whose voice is just breaking. He keeps cawing continuously trying to sound normal like the other city crows. I feel bad for him….. ‘cause he sounds desperate in his effort to mingle with the others, sound like them….and not stand out from the homogenous mass. I wish I could tell him that he’s normal because he sounds like the crows in the Himalayas….only that he’s in the wrong place.

I wish I could tell him that I love his voice because he’s different….that it reminds me of my haven…..which now seems some light years away….
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More than three decades, and now it seems like a lifetime. A phase where things do not bother me like the way it used to before. Things are far from satisfactory but I feel calm.
There’s still lot to be done, lot to learn and I think I can roughly chalk out my path ahead. But what refuses to let go of me is this feeling since my childhood….this strange vague sense of longing…of searching for something which is perhaps not there. Usually the feeling is suppressed and lost in the daily grind…so much so that I don’t even remember it. It’s only when I sit by the sea looking at the sky turn orange and then purple that it boils over. Everything around me turns unreal and then all I want to do is run and escape….to some real parallel universe…..