Meet the cleverest thieves you’ve never noticed. On a rusted billboard above Alandur’s snarling traffic, a gang prepares to strike. Not men with knives, but crows with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. Their target? A steaming parcel of vada, tucked beneath a banana leaf on a passing truck.

Raghu was their leader — one eye lost from a long-forgotten battle with a bus mirror, the other still burning bright. His feathers were rough, and his wingtips were ragged. However, his mind was all sharp and filled with old instincts.

Minnal was his right wing — lean, fast, and as silent as the heat rising off the tarmac. Though she spoke little, she flew like a bullet.

Then there were the twins, Kuttu and Kutti — small, loud, quick, and as full of mischief as a firecracker box.

And today, they were all hungry.

Below them, the traffic oozed around the bend near the metro station — rickshaws were weaving like drunken beetles, trucks were groaning under their morning loads. Smells of fried batter and dust floated up in the heavy air.

Raghu ruffled his feathers once, sizing up the road with a professional’s eye. “There she is,” he muttered.

Minnal leaned forward, to spot the target. She saw a white mini-truck sagging under the weight of banana leaf parcels.

Kuttu clicked his beak excitedly. “All right, old man,” he chittered. “What’s the play?”

“The same play that works every damn time,” Raghu said. “You two raise hell at the front. Minnal, you stick to the back. I want that vada out before the driver even scratches his head.”

“And if it’s pongal instead?” Kutti asked, half laughing.

“Then you eat it and shut up,” Raghu said, flashing a crooked grin.

The truck slowed, forced by the bottleneck of honking cars and the sharp bend near the metro station. The time was not right yet. The gang waited for the right moment.

Then, the signal came. It was a gust of exhaust and the screech of brakes.

“Go!” commanded Raghu. That was their moment.

The crows took off in a single swoop, a flurry of black wings against the dusty sky.

Kuttu and Kutti shot down like black darts, cawing and flapping at the truck’s mirrors, bouncing off the windows. The driver swerved and shouted, waving his arm out like a drowning man.

Minnal slipped in low and fast, her claws catching the tarp’s edge. A few sharp tugs, a twist of her beak, and the bundle began to loosen.

Raghu landed beside her with a grunt, anchoring her against the jolt of the truck.

“Third one on the left,” Minnal cawed. “Smells like a wedding feast!”

“Get it!” Raghu growled.

Minnal wriggled under the tarp and yanked — a flash of gold tumbled free: a fat, greasy vada wrapped in banana leaf.

She clutched it tight and gave a shrill call.

In a heartbeat, the whole gang swooped in to grab their share with their sharp talons. And soon they were all airborne with the vada dangling triumphantly as horns blared and the driver cursed at ghosts he couldn’t catch.

They landed back atop the billboard, the sun striking their feathers into sharp gleams of blue and black.

Kuttu collapsed laughing. “Did you see his face? Looked like he sat on a chilli!”

Minnal puffed up proudly, dropping the prize in the centre. “I guess,” she said simply.

Raghu circled his vada once, his good eye gleaming.

“Breakfast, boys and girls,” he said. “Earned the hard way.”

They dug in, beaks clicking, the rich, salty taste of triumph filling their mouths and their laughter echoing into the rumbling, endless noise of the city.

Below them, the city roared on, unaware that the cleverest thieves of Alandur had struck again.

— The End —