Every morning, a squirrel races across the electricity wire outside my house. I like to believe it is the same squirrel every day, although it could be her brother, sister, cousin, neighbour, or any other squirrel living a similar life.

She brings me so much joy. As she skips across the wire, balancing effortlessly above the traffic below, I often imagine her whistling “Musafir hoon yaaron(I am just a wanderer, my friends) from the classic Hindi film Parichay. In my imagination, she is carefree, playful, and simply enjoying her morning journey high above the noisy world.

Reality, however, is probably far less poetic. She is not taking a leisurely stroll; she is commuting. She travels because hunger demands it. Somewhere beyond my line of sight there may be a nest waiting for food, tiny mouths waiting to be fed, or simply another day that requires endurance. The leap that delights me may not be a joyful hop at all. Perhaps she injured her tiny claw while climbing the electric pole. Perhaps she is exhausted. Perhaps she is carrying burdens I cannot see.

I don’t even know whether it is the same squirrel every morning. I don’t know whether it is a he or a she. I don’t care. Some creatures become familiar long before they become identifiable.

Othering is a uniquely human habit. We are often in such a hurry to classify before we connect, to identify before we understand. The squirrel has never introduced itself. It has never offered a name or identity. Yet it has quietly become a part of my mornings. For me, that is enough.

Photos and text by Prerna Jain.