Mansoor was a humble shopkeeper in a quiet village, known for selling everything from teacups to tennis rackets. But one day, he decided to add something new to his shop: a talking parrot. Not just any parrot—this one came from the city and, according to the salesman, “had more personality than most people.”
Excited to draw more customers, Mansoor placed the parrot right near the front window, next to the discounted socks and the slightly expired chocolate bars. He named the bird Rafiq.
On the first day, a customer walked in to buy a can of lentils. The parrot squawked, “Oh great, another lentil-lover! Try buying vegetables sometime!”
The customer paused, blinked, and then burst out laughing.
Word spread. Within a week, people came from neighboring villages just to hear what insult Rafiq the parrot would throw at them. He mocked hats, mismatched socks, and even once shouted, “Did your haircut lose a bet?”
Sales went up. People came for the parrot and left with rice, raisins, and regrets about their wardrobes.
But with fame came trouble.
One morning, the village elder walked in. He was known for his wisdom, dignity, and a beard that could shelter a small family of birds.
Before Mansoor could say a word, Rafiq shrieked, “Here comes the mountain of wool! Someone hide the comb!”
The entire shop went silent.
The elder raised an eyebrow. “Is your bird… unwell?”
Mansoor panicked. “He’s… uh… fasting?”
The elder left without a word, but the damage was done. Over the next few days, more complaints poured in. Rafiq had mocked someone’s cooking, called a young man’s mustache “a fuzzy accident,” and told a woman that her perfume “smelled like angry flowers.”
Finally, Mansoor had enough. He dragged Rafiq’s cage to the back room and said, “Listen here, you feathered menace. One more insult, and it’s the village zoo for you.”
Rafiq looked him dead in the eye and said, “Fine. I’ll be nice.”
The next day, a customer walked in.
Rafiq tilted his head and said sweetly, “Nice shirt. Did it come with batteries?”
Mansoor facepalmed so hard he left a handprint.
That afternoon, the imam came to the shop. Mansoor held his breath.
Rafiq chirped, “As-salamu alaykum, respected sir. May your day be filled with blessings!”
Mansoor almost fainted from relief.
The imam smiled. “That is a very respectful bird.”
Mansoor nodded rapidly. “Yes, he’s changed. He’s a reformed parrot.”
As the imam left, Rafiq leaned toward Mansoor and whispered, “Let’s see how long I can keep this act going before I explode.”
The moral? Never trust a parrot who pauses for comedic timing.
