It's a dog's life



I should be Kalu, or Kalia or Blackie. Maybe Karuppan. That is how the world would want me to be called and recognized. I know it.
No prizes for guessing who I am.
But kalu, Kalia, Blackie or Karuppan are not me. Raja is what I think and feel like. In other words I am convinced my name is Raja, though no one has as yet called me that – or anything.
So I am Raja the ink black, jet black pup, with a tail curved in a (capital) C. I am a fair couple of weeks old. I was born with almost half a dozen siblings, close to a municipal garbage bin. After a cosy infancy of shared teats, warmth near Mummy and sibling fights and frolic, our life changed. Mummy just shook herself off us one fine day and went away, trusting her instincts and ours. We hung around together for some time but then found our own callings. Among us was one with a white mark on his forehead and with paws which made him look as if was wearing white socks. When he had strayed a few yards away from us, a young girl came, declared him ‘cho chweet’ and carried him away. The rest of us wandered about, learned to eat whatever we found. One fine day one of my siblings ran after a plastic bag flying across the road. He was crushed under the wheels of a car. His pitiable yelping frightened the remaining siblings. We huddled together for a while but Nature taught us to move on.
Then I found that I was not like the others. The other ink black pup forever raided the garbage bin, the greedy pig! I disliked this habit and decided to move away from there. It is while walking in the narrow lane, all by myself for the first time, that I realized I had a mission in life. The question ‘who am I?’ arose in me. Rather it was the other way round. Unless I got the answer to that question I could not find what my mission in life was.

I did not run away into a forest seeking enlightenment. I decided that since I was born a dog, I needed to find out as much as I could about the life of dogs, in whatever way possible. So I learned to keep my ears and eyes wide open at all times. My mind had to be lucid and objective.
On the one hand I felt wild instincts in me. My growing teeth longed to pull, chew and bite anything. I wanted to mark my territory and shoo off invaders. I wanted to growl and snarl. On the other, the capital C tail of mine felt the urge to wag at whoever came my way. I wanted to follow some human into submission. I have a complex character, I thought. How will I be when I grow up?
I began to observe as many dogs as possible. I saw a diseased dog with his coat all gone and a mere thin line for tail. The sight made my stomach churn. There was a poor lame fellow hopping on three legs. Having four legs was a great blessing. One day I saw a huge brown dog (8 times taller than me) on a leash, walking like a dainty lady with a man. Another day it was a tiny doggie, twice smaller than me, with a silly shrill bark, sitting on a lady’s lap. I was repulsed as much by the leash as by the lap. One day I followed a man walking with a sick pup to a vet’s clinic. From a vantage point, I saw some animals there; I didn’t waste my time looking at the others, but trained my attention on the dogs. Some had bruises on them, some were moaning in pain. Their masters were comforting them as if they were babies. Lucky animals!
And yet, there were those who said that Indian street dogs were smarter and healthier than all those imported fancy pets who needed air conditioned comfort to survive. I felt proud to be an Indian street dog though I could not as yet tell if I belonged to a distinguished breed (because I had distinguished thoughts). I thought I would do my best to smarten myself up further. Whenever I could find a glass door or a mirror, I would look at myself. A side glance showed me a bit of my profile. I had a snub puppy nose, 4 short legs, a smooth, non-furry black coat but it was the capital C which stood out elegantly. I have heard people say non-complimentary things about a dog’s tail. I think a dog’s soul resides in its tail and for sure the tail should not bend to outside commands. I hoped that some day my flat nose would grow long and pointed, that my baby ears folded in half would open out into two sharp, shapely perked up ones. Of course I needed long legs to be a dog with a mission. I took care not to roll in mud and dirt to keep my coat as black as possible. When I came across a leaking street tap or a water tanker, I dutiful washed and shook myself. But no one thought I was chweet. Some people shooed me away, some walked away afraid, most were simply indifferent to my presence. Since I was Raja with a mission, I did not let myself be disappointed by such trifles.

I heard stories about brave dogs, adventurous dogs, saviour dogs, police dogs, guide dogs. They were my role models. I found that I was at my meditative best when I lay on a heap of (clean) sand, with my feet up. Maybe the pose brought me good, positive energy. I heard of dogs minding sheep in some parts of the world, of dogs rescuing people in the mountains. I clearly could not aspire to such noble careers given that I was living in a crowded Indian city. When my day to day survival was itself an adventure, I could not think of rescuing others. While walking along a shady avenue, I saw houses with gardens. Some had pictures of fierce dogs with ‘beware of dog’ written on them. I paused at a gate to catch a glimpse of one. In some time a huge black, furry dog came running to me, all growls and snarls. I backed out, careful not to tuck my capital C within my legs (that is for lesser dogs). Then another day I passed near the Police grounds. I watched open –mouthed as lovely black dogs (do they polish them?) stood in a row, alertly listening to the commands they were given. I wished I too could be part of them. Never mind. Standing outside the gate I imitated them, jumped when they jumped, ran when they ran and pretended to fetch things when they did it. Like Eklavya I thought I would do my best before a teacher thought me worthy to be trained.
I learned through observation and listening that stray dogs were routinely stoned, caught or killed. I felt sorry for them but at the same time disapproved of those fierce dogs who made life hell for poor ragpickers or who chased bikes and car barking like fools. We might have had wolves for ancestors but today our lives were intertwined with humans’. As long as I was a street dog with my mission undiscovered, I had to keep a low profile and not get on anyone’s nerves and remain healthy. Love affairs would be a big no no to keep sane. And then there were some good souls who bought Parle G biscuits by the packets and thought it added good points to their karma to feed street dogs. I thought it was not really demeaning to take the offer, as I would be promoting their karmic bonus. Plus the biscuits were branded. Unlike that useless sibling of mine, I stayed away from unhygienic bins. When hunger gnawed, I would quietly sit near a tea stall or a butcher’s and more often than not, get a bite of a bun, a small sip of milk or a small chunk of meat and bone.
Then I heard about the dog which took a train on his own to follow his master. Though I had no master to follow (as yet) I tried to enter a train station. It was no problem as there were as many dogs there as humans. But getting into a train was not possible. My legs were too short and from the way people jostled about, I would surely end up as a jet black puppy paste under their feet. Never mind, I told myself, that may not be my mission. In the station I saw some really impressive dogs with policemen, sniffing at odd packets left on the ground. I tried to imitate them but I did not know what to sniff out and why. Perhaps one day I would….
The other day I saw a strange sight. Passing near a big house I heard barks in different pitches. When I peered in through the slits in the gate, I saw a dog party happening. Pups like me, wearing caps on their head, some with frilly costumes were running about here and there. The owners of the dogs were shrieking in excitement. They had games for their doggies and some lovely looking food too. Did I envy them? No. I much preferred my freedom and my way of living to theirs. Did they enjoy these parties? Did they like wearing those silly costumes? I wouldn’t. Especially when I had a mission in life.

Now that’s a lot of experience for a little pup you would think. While lying on a mound of clean wet sand – the building boom assures me of finding them everywhere – I thought to myself. I have survived thus far. I am not born to be a heroic dog, nor a guard dog. I cannot aspire to be a police dog. So far I have no clue of my pedigree. Then what will I be?

And the answer came one day after a month or so. When I was resting under a tree, someone came near me. He was a boy of about 10. He sat down near me, nearly crushing my Capital C tail. While I tried to move away he gently touched me. He felt my body with his hands and said ‘puppy’. I understood that he could not see me. He was blind. Like a flash of lightning, I knew I had found my mission in life. I needed no training to become his guide dog. My capital C wagged with all its might, unrestrained. I licked his face as if I had done it throughout my life. I saw a tear trickle down his shut eye and felt my own eyes moisten in empathy. I placed a paw on his hand and he called me by my very own name. Raja. He was as homeless as I was and together we felt owned. By each other, by the street, by the whole wide world.