Oftentimes waking up is accompanied by a sickening realization: That some sleep time was devoted to a new painless suicide method. This morning the window net went up to peer down, checking for a clear fall down so many floors to die? Ghastly answer: NO. Pairs of window shades at every level created enough brakes to ensure numerous broken bones, but death was doubtful. One more fail-safe method gone Phoos. Ducking in, an intriguing sight caught my eye. Two scantily clad tall trees stand out in the dense copse below the window, bearing scattered yellow blooms. Close to top of a tall tree sat a baby monkey, surrounded by a gaggle of pigeons determinedly making its life miserable. Perhaps having been chased from feeding grounds by Baby's seniors, methinks. For good ten-odd minutes, the pigeons taunted it, pecking at his back, tweaking the long hanging tail. Baby swatted with all his energy. At some stage wisdom, or perhaps mama's inaudible call reminded him th