Mocha and sitcom

My roommate has a bunny. Not the white ones like we often see in India but he is a brown fur ball, running across the rooms, often chasing nothing. His favourite spot is under the big bed or under our coffee table. He would just sit there, very still. I often think he is looking at me.

He has a big cage which houses his water, food and this small plastic tunnel sort, where he goes to sleep. The cage is big and airy and is kept near this large window, through which, every morning sunshine pours in. There is a tree right in front of our house and can be seen through this window. Since it fall here right now, the tree adorns beautiful warm colours. They often remind me of my mom's bright orange saree. She usually wore it on days when she went to the temple. Her big, red bindi, deep black kajal, hair neatly tied in a bun. She looked so pretty. My mom. Memories. What must these colours trigger in bunny? Anything at all?

The bunny's name is Mocha. We call him 'Bunny'. My roommate also calls him 'Handsome' while I like 'Baby' too. On days when we are both off to school, we let him out the cage. I let him out even on days when only I am at home. He runs around for a while and then goes off under the bed. It is right in the corner, the very corner, he sits still. He looks at peace. His cozy corner. 

Bunny has his nose continuously move in a manner that it looks like he is sniffing. I often imagine like he is saying something. How would his voice be like? I have never heard him make any sound. At times, when it is just Bunny and I in the house, while I lay lazily on the couch, he stretches himself flat on his stomach and always faces me. He just sits there and looks at me. I pet him between his eyes, he likes it, I know. 

My roommate takes good care of him. Only giving him the best food, regular vet check-ups, lots of 'carrot' love, grooming and petting. It looks like a happy place for him to be. I cannot think of anything amiss. He has the best of the world and in everyday language, 'things are perfect for him'. Except that it is not.

He is born to be free, running around in the woods, nibbling on whatever he feels like. He is meant to be running around that beautiful tree in front of our house while taking in the warm sunshine. Not watching it from the window. He is to make a burrow for himself, just big enough to accommodate him, no extra space. His cozy corner is below the earth, not above it. He is to sit and watch the beauty of nature with his other friends. Not lay still and observe the concrete walls of our house. Maybe he is saying something but we will never understand it. 

The other day, I had left the balcony open, worrying all the while that he would jump off from there but secretly hoping that he does too. He didn't. 

I feel like Bunny sometimes. 

There are moments when he lying on the carpet and I slumped in the sofa just keep looking at each other with the television sending out its funny one-liners. It is most often some sitcom.

Situation Comedy.