Foreword: When a picture came alive, through words. This write-up a first, by Ms Shuvechha from Mumbai (India) is very simple and easy to read.
In the author’s own words, rather raw. I disagreed with her. To me, this write-up was something straight from the heart and helped me to visualize , the exact picture. Every line below was drawing a new line, adding a new colour and helping to complete the picture. Sometimes, rawness is better than polish as it captures the essence of the story. Shuvechha has been following the blog for some time and like many of you here has been very supportive of my endeavour. I believe, though I started alone, the true joy lies, when others also join in and enriches this blog in many dimensions, with their own experiences.
This post doesn't need a separate picture, it automatically gets drawn in the reader's mind.
I always have been a dog lover and strangely found to be in the company of one or another. As a child, I spent most of my summer holidays at my maternal home in Rourkela (in the state of Odisha) and thereafter in Kolkata.
The first memory of a pet was a dog named Foxy. He was a mongrel, brown in colour. I don’t have a picture of him. I can recall the scene of calling out to him, first thing in the morning and he would come wagging his tail, poke his head into the mosquito net and try licking my hands. Later, when the family shifted to Kolkata, Foxy was replaced by Jenny – a cocker spaniel. Jenny was a sweet girl with a weird choice of the palate. I say weird because her favourite food was “Muri” (puffed rice) followed by bananas and stolen vegetables from the refrigerator – unusual for canines.
She was well-natured; however, she rather got irritated by cooking gas cylinder delivery vehicle and the accompanying person. Her ears would pick up the sound of the vehicle once it entered the neighbourhood. What would then follow would be a concert of her barks till the vehicle left. Jenny passed away within a year of my grandfather’s demise. They say dogs get easily attached to the person they care about or the person who cared about them.
We never had any dog in our house, however, throughout my childhood I have spent a considerable amount of time with street dogs. We have harboured one or two in the backyard of our residential quarters and they were quite a company. Quite unusually, wherever I go, I have found myself in the company of such beings.
I remember one such day when I was gravely sad and went out for a walk. After a while, I sat down on a roadside bench to catch my breath. It was a warm afternoon and there was hardly a soul in sight. I was engrossed in my melancholies when suddenly I was greeted by this little lad – a 6-months old roadside puppy. It crawled onto my lap, for a moment played with my hands and then found itself a comfortable position. It then dozed off to sleep for some time.
It was a distraction for my stressed mind, but for that beautiful 20 minutes, I dwelled into unfathomable happiness. The moments spent with the little chap gave me a mood lift for the day.
I often come across these comforting souls – they are kind – they may not be human but are indeed humane. There is so much, to imbibe from these humane souls….but do we?