To all animal lovers (stray and pets), parents of pet-loving kids,
land-lords
and neighbours of pet-owners, friends and colleagues of pet-lovers, vets and all
staff working for pet clinics and animal rescue and rehabilitation centres and
to all my animal loving readers.
A note from the author
All characters whether animals or humans
mentioned in this book are real.
Only the plot may have been very
slightly modified to retain the readers’ attention and interest.
“A house is not a home without a pet.”
- Anonymous
The floodgates of my thought have burst
open. I let it flow like the water of a tributary debouching downstream, as it
joins other tributaries on its way to form a river of thoughts and with a hope to
attain the tranquility of the deep oceans . . .
Laru
When
I came for the job interview, on being asked by the HR if I was married and if I
had children, I lied. I lied because I was in a live-in relationship with my
partner and was an unwed mother of a healthy, grown-up child.
The
child was none other than my pet-cat Laru.
I
found him while returning back home from Sarai Jullena near Escorts Hospital in
Delhi in a cold wintry evening. Generally stray cats don’t respond to human calls.
But this one did. It had the lost look in its eyes and when I carried him in my
hands it didn’t jump off but settled in comfortably in the warmth of my hands. I
named him Laru, Assamese for ladoo* made
of coconut or sesame. Laru stayed with us in Bharat Nagar, a middle-class
locality in south Delhi. Every morning he would arrive at our doorstep at sharp
7 a.m. without fail and
keep meowing till we opened the door for him to enter. He knew that fish and
all non-vegetarian items were kept in a machine called a “refrigerator” and
every time either Arunabh or I opened it he would stare at it greedily. Laru had several catty girlfriends
and it won’t be wrong for me to state that he was a playboy. His good looks
must have been a natural pull for them. Cats are very territorial. So,
when we shifted from Bharat Nagar to a nearby locality called Sri Niwaspuri,
Laru stayed for a week or so in the new house and disappeared. I read in one of Khuswant Singh’s
book (which has some reference to cats) that when the clowder was left many
miles away from home, after several months they returned back. Laru was
never to be found again. Perhaps
he went back to his harem.
Enter Chica
After
Laru, Chica came into our life. Chica is Spanish for a young girl. I couldn’t identify
if it was a he or a she. At that point of time I was pursuing a course in
Spanish from Instituto Espana in Hauz Khas, Delhi and hence the name Chica-
cute and young. (chica also means the rodent mole in Assamese). Chica’s
eyes were of two different colours- one brown and the other green just like
Amitabh Bachan in the Bollywood movie Ram
Gopal Verma Ki Aag. Chica was a friendly little girl. Arunabh, my life
partner would bring her along for the morning walks in his bag with only
Chica’s little head protruding out of the bag as we took rounds around the CPWD
campus. I think it was a
peculiar sight to look at- a young man holding his cute cat in front of him in
a bag as in a Joey in the pouch of a Kangaroo. Chica had a fondness for beds-
anytime, anywhere. She preferred sleeping sandwiched between Arunabh and me. When
we took her to our family friend - Shashi and his wife Sonal (Shashimi as we
called her) who hailed from Madhya Pradesh, she would spring on their bed and
play with her doll. I don’t know from where the doll appeared in our house,
someone with a kid who came to our place must have left it or Chica must have
stolen it from somewhere. Very soon the doll’s hair receded and only her brown
scalp was visible with a few strands of hair in the fringe. We got Chica a
kennel cab which we termed as Chika-dhora*
to take her to a pet clinic in Taimoor Nagar.
Once,
my Ma came to stay with us. It was after Deota*
expired. Arunabh and I had gone to INA market to get fish. It was in the
weekend. After shopping, we got the daily
items from the nearby shops and returned home. When Ma opened the door for us,
I saw Chica running inside (instead of greeting us) with a baby squirrel in her
mouth. She had never tasted blood nor killed any pests before, at least not in
front of me. I let out a very loud shout, so loud that my Chica thought it came
from the animal sandwiched between her two rows of glistening sharp white teeth
that she let go of the baby squirrel. Luckily it survived the claws and bites
of Chica.
On weekends I would sweep and mop the house
because I was never satisfied with the work done by the part-time helper. Chica
would very often pounce on the broom or the mopping cloth and would grab it
with all her might as if to prove her strength and would leave her small pug marks
on the floor and retreat hastily from the battle front. However, on week days
with the helper around in the morning for the chores, she could never be spotted.
Come
Deepawali- the festival of lights, and
all animals- be it a pet or stray, finds a safe place to hide. Chica too
disappeared from home a day or two before Deepawali
only to appear for a few days. She was too beautiful and some kids coming from
Okhla-side (who took our lane for a short-cut to reach their school) must have carried
her away. We searched the length and breadth of our locality but never found
her. Chica’s existence was left
with us in the form of pug marks. Arunabh had the foresight of sloshing royal
blue Chelpark ink on the floor and dabbed it on Chica’s tiny paws. He let her saunter
on it on a plain A-4 sized paper which decorated a side of our almirah even
after she was gone.
Lulu
My
colleague Madhavi rang me up one fine day to find out if I would be interested
to adopt a kitten which had strayed into her compound. She had two huge pet
dogs and wanted the kitty safe. She knew my fondness (or weakness) for animals.
In fact all the female colleagues of Rough Guides were animal lovers namely Karen D’Souza, Lubna Shaheen,
Punita G Singh, Ragini Govind. I was a little apprehensive because I
surmised I may not be able to give much time. When I asked Arunabh, he showed
no such signs and happily told me “I will go to your office and fetch the kitty
today”. I was more of a dog lover and Arunabh a cat lover.
At
the back of my mind I thought when kitty pees or shits it will be I who would
have to clean up the mess. How wrong I was. It’s true that for a few days we
had to keep the litter tray in one corner of our small 2-bedroom flat (we
called it “The Nest”) in K-54, Sri Niwaspuri, a locality between Lajpat Nagar
and Ashram and toilet trained the new member of our home. I remember the day
vividly- It was 2nd July, 2008, the day Lulu was delivered. No gestation period, no
morning sickness, no missed period, no craving for bogori gura* and teteli*.
Lulu was a small, lean and thin kitty when Arunabh and I welcomed the
youngest member of the Borgohain family. It’s true I didn’t give birth to him
but that didn’t ebb my love for him by even a whisker. “There's no need for a piece of sculpture in a home that has a cat.” Truly, Lulu not only decorated our home but added a
new vigour in our life. Lulu became the darling of the Borgohain
family. We even got books on
pet care and cat care for better grooming.
Once
when Lulu was new to our home I searched the length and breadth of the house
but he was not to be spotted anywhere. What if he has gone to explore the
neighbourhood and a stray dog mauled him? I panicked. After much frantic
search, the fur-ball tumbled out of the cupboard from his siesta. So, we got him a beautiful and colourful
collar with a ghungroo* tied to it to
keep track of his movement. However, he absolutely abhorred wearing it.
On festivals and such other occasions when
I would lit the earthen diya*, agarbatti* and ring the prayer-bell, Lulu
would also offer his prayers to Mekuri Bhagawan*
as Arunabh would lift him up and fold his paws in obeisance.
Every time we took out the bazaar kora mona* from the kitchen, Lulu
would get inside it playfully with lightning speed. His all time favourite was
the shoe-box and big plastic shopping bags esp. the one which made the loudest
rustling sound. No bags at home- suitcase, travel bag, backpacks /rucksacks, jholas*, trunk stuffed with books and strangely
even sleeping bag could evade his cat-scan. He had to get inside it by hook or
by crook. The olive green Samsonite bag was all clawed and scratched by him. The
same formula applied to the two almirahs, the box paleng*. If we opened it, he had to strut inside. With the mosquito
net it was an altogether different story. Lulu would use it as a hammock when
we lie dead asleep on the bed at night. And how can I fail to mention about his
obsession for mekhela*-chhador* here. When I wore my
traditional dress particularly the mekhela
on a petticoat and made pleats, Lulu would get inside the ‘cavernous’ mekhela and if it was muga*, the better for him. It was his cat
curiosity which drove my pussy inside the grotto and not to check my ‘pussy’
(pun intended). He would skip on to the pallu* of the chador
and swing on it for a few seconds. Luckily he never experimented it on the cold
fridge. Once he got inside such dungeons, his claws would be out and active and
would pretend to frighten us if we tried to bring him out. His hobby was to quietly
crouch under the table and spring at our feet from behind the table cloth like
Hobbes leaping on Calvin in the comic strips of Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson.
People
say that cats and dogs can never be friends. Well, not so for Lulu and Zen-Zen
(the part-stray-cum-part pet bitch). Zen-Zen’s was a slim, brown, three-legged desi* bitch and was a terror for the
locality kids. School children
and other kids crossing our house would often crane their necks to check if
Zen-Zen was around. “Zen accepts her quota of gigi machi but not much adamant on
her diet, being a monk. She is pursuing her Ph.D (Philosopher of Dogs), and
practices martial arts with the street male dogs. She is a feminist but not of
the bra burning type, 'cause she does not need one”- Arunabh Borgohain. She had a peculiar habit of chasing bikes on the move in our lane. Perhaps
when she was a pup her left hind leg was run over by a bike and hence the frenzy
chase after motorcycles strumming with frantic barks. However, the two
had a feline-canine secret understanding and a strong bond. Lulu would allow only
Zen-Zen to enter the house. Lulu’s
scruff would metamorphose into porcupine-like spikes and a ball of raised fur, arched back like a
camel’s hump, an erect tail that ballooned like a car cleaning duster and showing
his sinewy muscles would shepherd away any other trespassing dogs from
our home, like a school
teacher marching an undisciplined student out of the classroom. With the two around at home, it was always
a whirlwind of activity.
How Lulu got his name seems somewhat
blurred to me. One day a kawariwala*
came to our house to collect old newspapers and bottles (yes, Arunabh drank
like fish). He never expected a dog to be inside who would bounce on him. The
poor fella ran out towards the main iron door uttering “Arre, main to lallu ban gaya”. Well, Arunabh never picked up Hindi
in spite of staying in Delhi for more than a decade. However, the word “lallu” or
something similar to it fascinated him. Without finding out what the word meant,
he named our newest member as Lulu.
Cats
are the best barometer for gauging temperature. Lulu preferred sleeping next to
me and would very often place his head on my lower leg. Arunabh would often disturb Lulu in his sleep. He
caressed Lulu’s chest, stroked his belly, trimmed and rolled his whiskers with
the intention of pulling it, nosed and kissed on his face, massaged his legs, squeezed
his balls, tickled his body or simply lifted him up from his sleep. Lulu would ignore his pranks
initially but if Arunabh irritated him for too long he would turn defensive and
lash blows on him with his claws. So, Lulu always avoided sleeping near
him. When my partner would not
let him sleep, Lulu would hop on to the cream-coloured folding chair to doze
off. Once while he was happily dreaming in the chair, we heard a thud. It was
Lulu who fell down in his sleep from the chair. He looked at us as if nothing
happened and walked out of the room. At the back of his mind he must have thought
that it was Arunabh’s handiwork.
Lulu
was very sacred of kids. Any visit by relatives or family friends with kids and
he would hid in his safest dungeon and would not come out even to eat and pee
until and unless the kid left. Our neighbour’s kid Chunni would frequent our
home in the evening on holidays and in the weekends accompanied with her care-taker Angoori
who was no less than a child herself. The moment Lulu smelt their presence he
would either stay hidden in the bed-room under the bed or run away like children when they see
policeman in uniform. Once, Arunabh’s zethai* came from Dhemaji in Assam to Delhi for medical treatment.
When she paid us a visit, she commented that our Lulu looked more like a dhekia-potia bagh*, a tiger cub. He was
strong, well-built and his black and grey stripes combined with big, bulging
eyes (with a slanted cut-mark in the upper eye-lid of one of his eyes endured
from a street cat fight) and an enormous tail radiated a fiery wild cat-like
look. Our Lulu, the house-cat was scared of even other cats- the ones who would
prowl at night from house to house in search of food. Since it was always
chicken for him 24x7 (he hated fish) even the stray cats would frequent our
house for any left-over i.e. if Zen-Zen left anything at all. Food at our home
was never wasted. Lulu’s left-over would be devoured by Zen-Zen mostly and whatever
Zen-Zen left was cleared by the stray cats.
Lulu’s
diet consisted of a boiled egg and a bowl of milk every morning followed by
whiskas- the cat food. He would munch on boiled chicken, mincemeat, rice-chick
balls or chicken very light fried esp. for him. Like dogs, he gnawed chicken bones and made it disappear
in his mouth at an amazing speed. Like his master, he preferred non-veg esp. chicken mixed with ukhuwa* chawl* which we purchased from
the Kerala Store in Sarai Zullena and later from Sri Niwas Puri. A bowl with
chicken leg piece half inserted/ soaked/
dipped? in rice was his
staple food. He also took mutton, pork, buff and lamb occasionally as and
when available in the kitchen but his favourite was kukura*. Arunabh
would also order chicken from Novelty Chicken Corner’s in East of Kailash and a
piece or two also satisfied Lulu’s gastronomic delight. Since his bowl
was always full to the brim with food he would never steal or scavenge the
dust-bin like other cats. Our
first serving of special meals was always offered to Zu-Lu (Zen-Zen + Lulu). Payash*, custard, cake and any other
home-made sweet dish went straight into their stomachs before it reached ours. Zu-Lu
had a very good sense of meal time and when they heard their utensils being
rinsed or at the slightest clanking sound of their bowls, they would emerge
from their nook. He would sit in the gas burner when there was no cooking or
would climb on the kitchen slab . He preferred to sit on the water-filter like
Wilde’s “Happy Prince” and would survey the kitchen while I cooked. However,
the moment the mixer-grinder
was on or the pressure cooker whistled, he
would flee like a fugitive from there.
Arunabh
and I made a comfortable bed for him in the veranda corner near the flower
pots. Lulu would laze around there or would scan the people in the street from
above. But if he heard anyone climbing the staircase, he ran indoors. In this
corner he preferred to sleep during the day time in the cold winter months and
bask under the sun. Thanks to Lulu, no flowers could bloom properly as he would
tear it off or uproot the plant altogether from the flower-pots. However, Lulu was intelligent enough
in his understanding of what was his and what wasn’t. Mostly in the evening he frequented
the terrace. The rooftop was beautifully decorated by the landlady with flowers
of different hue and fragrance which grew in earthen and cemented flower-pots.
These were neatly kept in equally neat rows. Lulu would play hide and seek with
us, hiding between the greenery but never touched a single plant or a flower.
When he became exhausted of running around he would recline on the wall and gazed
at the passing trains leaving Okhla Railway Station.
Arunabh
made him a scratching post out of a bamboo stick circled with a layer of coir
ropes. However, he was
particularly not fond of it which my husband built in-house for him. Lulu
loved to run around with Zen-Zen, his only playmate (apart from Arunabh).
Sometimes when I returned from the office totally drained out of energy, the
sight of Zen-Zen chasing Lulu playfully as the two ran from the drawing room,
past the small corridor next to the washroom towards the main iron door, back
and forth, back and forth, was a pleasure for the senses. I got a grey toy mouse
for him from the mela*, the
key-operated one, and lo! Lulu would run after it as if it was a real mouse,
catch hold of it and fire
missiles with its paws and claws and would pretend as if he would devour
the bloody pest. Oh, what joy it was to see the Tom and Jerry live show, albeit
it was just a toy mouse with a
real tom.
Sometimes Lulu would sleep next to Zen-Zen
and would put his head on her tail for a pillow. Arunabh would at times give masala-malish* to Zen-Zen esp. his legs
when she slept. Sometimes when Zen-Zen was in deep sleep during the day and
Lulu was in a playful mood, he would wake her up by biting her ears and neck or
scratching her body. Lulu was very much a dog in the appearance of a cat. It
could be because of his upbringing and close association with Zen-Zen. I
surmise that Lulu must have thought of himself to being either a feline-dog or
Zen-Zen to be a feline-bitch because sometimes the former would thrust his penis
to the latter’s body, in much the doggie style but no way near the rear, when
their play was in progress. The tabby would catch hold of Zen-Zen’s neck portion
from behind with his teeth in such an act. Poor Zen-Zen! She just surrendered
never realizing that it was Lulu’s pink glossy lipstick-like penis which rubbed
her brown fur coat.
Just because Zen-Zen was friendly with a
pet-cat didn’t imply that she was gentle and non-ferocious. She was the Kali of
the entire neighbourhood even forcing dogs of the same locality to tremble at
her feet at times. It is amazing how she managed with those three legs. She could
gallop on those three legs like a stallion with her fourth one hanging straight
from her slim body like a bamboo pole. Once Zen-Zen followed us to the market
near Hathi* mandir opposite Sri Niwas Puri Police Station. We went to purchase
milk from the Mother Dairy booth from there when we saw Zen-Zen surrendered by
not 1 or 2 or 3 assortment of dogs and bitches but 5, yes five canines, big and
robust and ‘each one standing on their four legs’. The scene of Zen-Zen gheraoed this way in
these dogs territory clearly matched with the Bollywood movies of yesteryears
wherein the hero would be encircled by a fiery ring of often dark, plump, attractively
ugly looking villains with wooly hair. It was a battlefield with dogs at war. I
thought Zen-Zen would be attacked by the pack of dogs but the next minute I saw
Zen-Zen, the fightress, in the centre and she single-handedly fighting with all
5 dogs/ bitches and overpowered one or two while the others ran helter-skelter like
defeated soldiers in a war towards the butcher’s shop which was their den. She
knew the art of war and was street smart. No wonder Lulu made friends with her.
With Zen-Zen with him, Lulu had a Z-plus security cover in the area.
Once Arunabh and I decided to go to Pune to
visit Pranab Koch, Arunabh’s ex-colleague from Thompson Press, Delhi who was from
Dhubri district of Assam. It was in mid-May in 2008. On returning home after a
rejuvenated trip we were surprised to see poor Zen-Zen sleeping in the portico dabbed
with black koyla* and grease. The black soot all over
her light brown body gave the appearance as if she traded in coal and the make-up with
grease on her made her look as if she worked in a motorcycle repair shop in our absence.
The whole picture looked incongruous.
Lulu, the fatso had a fetish for fat books.
Not that he read paperback and hardcover books like his master who was a
voracious reader; he found utmost pleasure in sitting on big, bulky books or to lie his head on to it while sleeping. Encarta Concise Student Dictionary,
which defines a cat as a furry animal that purrs & miaows - (LOL), was his favourite book-pillow. The four-layered iron bookshelf stacked with books of Assamese and English
language and literature, Geography, world atlas, travelogues, pet care, cook
books and a range of dictionaries would once or twice fall down from the peak like
a landslide due to cat-induced seismic wave.
Twice
every year my husband and I would flock to the hill-stations of Himachal
Pradesh or Uttarakhand, to escape the hot Delhi summer and the next, during the
cold freezing winter during Christmas-New Year. With Lulu with us we had to
almost drop out all such future trips since no pet owner can think of
travelling with their pet in a public bus at any point of time or anywhere in
India between Kashmir to Kanyakumari or between Arunachal Pradesh to Gujarat. Majority
of the Indians may be vegetarians but the public is not very pet-friendly when
one is on the roads unlike in the developed western countries wherein pets are
allowed in the tubes/ metros. First time, my youngest sister-in-law (and Lulu’s
tia*) Lenin volunteered. Second time
when we went our kind land-lady/lord happily volunteered to feed and take care
of him in our absence. Lulu would frequent the second floor where our land-lord
lived and he must have feasted there too. Before leaving for McLeod Ganj, our land-lady
got the diet chart of Lulu: what-to-give-when. We also left some cash with them
so that he wouldn’t have to sacrifice his much favoured chicken in our absence.
We
left for the ISBT in the evening to catch the Himachal Pradesh State Transport
Bus that would take us to Dharamshala/ McLeod Ganj. We got the front seat, very
close to the driver and conductor. Throughout the journey we heard Hindi slangs
like Ma ki*. . . or Behen ki* . . . in
almost every sentence uttered by the conductor of the bus. We tossed and turned
in our seats as we crossed the serpentine roads of the Dhauladhar range with the
cries of Lulu’s meow in our mind. How he must have missed us! When we phoned our
landlady to inquire about Lulu, they told us not to worry and to enjoy our
trip. “No animal is a better judge of comfort than a cat” (James Herriot). Our
Lulu was no exception. It seems he never left the cozy comfort of their sofa
and warm T.V./ refrigerator except to attend the call of nature (the litter
tray at home). Believe it or
not, once when the washroom door was left ajar, Lulu entered it silently. Lo
and behold, I saw him poohing in our Indian-type komod* with his face facing the cistern. He must have suffered from
constipation at that time because I saw a huge solid dark lump falling on the toilet,
like a ripe papaya from the tree-top.
Lulu was one tech-savvy guy of the cat
family. He knew how to make calls from the Tata Indicom landline phone which he
did twice- once to my neighbor Prabali Digingia and second time to Arunabh’s
former flat mate Debojit Borah (a.k.a. Lama by the Assamese community in Delhi),
both calls made late at night when people from the I.S.T. zone were in deep
slumber. Then he was quite apt in pawing the keyboard so much so that the letter
‘G’ was loosened with his sharp claws when we tried to remove him from the
keyboard of the laptop. The same letter stood like a child’s loose milk tooth
from the lower jaw ready to uproot any time. With the 2 mobiles phones, it was
his curiosity, as cats always are, in the ring tones and the caller tones. He
would listen to it cat-egorically when the phones buzzed to life and scratched
the covers. The inside of the refrigerator was a granary of food for him and
its top, a warm-inviting bed. He
would paw and play with the water as it entered the washing-machine and ‘moused’
it off at the water exit point. As soon as the machine was switched on and the ghad, ghaad, ghaaad, ghaaaad sound erupted he would parachute
down in fright. The washing machine when ‘off’ and covered was his ‘anytime’
couch. The radio held not much interest to him except lulling him more to sleep
with the constant tuning of Radio Mirch, Radio City, Red FM. T.V. set at our
home came much later in the picture as there was 24x7 live entertainments at
home by Zu-lu. Once after one of his visits to Friendicoes for vaccination, I
took him directly to my office. My work-station was on the ground floor and he
sniffed every square inch it. Next after a quick airdash from Jasbir’s chair,
he landed in my colleague Rajesh Chhibber’s apple computer and pianoed his
keyboard, charting a new map altogether. He wasn’t satisfied with this and explored
the printer and finally settled on the round glass centre-table.
When
Lul’s (as I lovingly called him) was young, he would never shit or piss
anywhere else except the litter tray or in the bathroom (if the door was open).
However, there was only one exception to this. There was a gap in the entrance
iron door through which Lulu could easily sneak in or out (and so could
Zen-Zen). The night cats on prowl that frequented our house for left-over food was
a major cause of disturbance for Lulu esp. there was one particular big-headed tom-cat.
Arunabh and I named him Boonda*-Goonda.
He looked like a don of a Hollywood movie moving like a cowboy. When
Boonda-Goonda came stealthily at night, Lulu would try to wake us up from our
sleep with his constant frantic meows and would keep moving in circles around
the bed and finally urinate inside the room out of fright. Only when we chased
the big-headed tom would normalcy return to him. Luckily, Boonda-Goonda’s
nocturnal visits were few and far between.
Lulu eyed Blakie, our neighbours cat whose
house was right behind ours. Arunabh referred to her as Bulky. But their
relationship never crossed beyond a few quick shy glances whenever the two met
in the dispensary roof which was visible from our window. Arunabh and I could
distinguish the different tones of Lulu’s voice- the hunger tone, sleepy tone,
anger tone, scare tone, playtime tone, the piss tone and the shit tone like the
different ring tones in a mobile phone. The last two could be heard only before
the work was done and not while work was in progress. We noticed that Lulu ate frugally and as a
result lost weight which got us worried. Ironically, he looked playful and
jolly. Later we realized the reason of his diet control. A beautiful and a
colourful queen had come into Lulu’s life. We named her Pinky because of her
pink nose. He would eat a portion of his meals and leave nearly half of it for
his new-found lady-love. Arunabh had composed a small song based on his
observation on Lulu:
Amar Lulu maina
Gigi machi* khai,
khai-khai dangor hoi jai
dangor hoi mekuri*-suwali sai
Our Lulu baby
Eats
milk and fish
This is how he grows up,
Grows
up to stare at his cat girl-friend
Slowly
we got to know of Pinky’s presence because the tone of his meowing would change
into a miaow which sounded
soft and sweet when she was around. Initially, I just couldn’t believe
it as I made this minute observation about Lulu’s change in his tone. After a
few months, we saw two little and cute scanned copies of Lulu with their
mother, Pinky. Though the
questions of how, when, where all this happened which cropped in our minds
remained a mystery to us. They were too young to scale the dispensary
wall to reach our floor. Hence, either Arunabh or I would throw some food to
them from above. Many days later while I went to check the door before
sleeping, I saw Pinky was happily eating from Lulu’s bowl and her two young
ones playing in our little veranda and their father reclining in his “throne”
in the veranda corner, admiring at his two off-springs. He looked like a proud
father.
Another interesting aspect which brings
smile to me whenever I recollect it . .
. I would usually not undress in front of Lulu and hence would lift him up if
he happen to be in the bed-room and keep him in another room and then only
change my dress. Generally he would not barge again to the bedroom in such a
time but whenever Arunabh and I would be passionately making-love, even when
the bed-room door was closed, he would sneak-in through the window and stare at
us blankly as if asking us “What are you two up to, not letting me inside the
room”? The climax was when Arunabh would carry and drop him in the adjacent
room, Lulu with all his strength would open the window and land like a missile there
again and happily settle between us thus bringing our hot session to an abrupt
end. We couldn’t let him learn about the birds and the bees this way, could we?
Though cats avoid water (except while
drinking), my Lul’s enjoyed his sponge bath esp. in the hot summer days and also
got proper bath once or twice in a year at the peak of summer. He would spread
out his body in sweet surrender when I rubbed his furry coat with a small brown
comb and cleaned his ears by an ear-bud. The regular cleansing made his fur
coat soft and shiny. Very often Lulu could be seen in a self-grooming ritual by
salivating either of his fore legs and then toweling his ears, brushing his shiny
salt-and-pepper coat with his sand-paper tongue all over his body or in one of
his yogic postures cleansing his private parts in deep concentration. Lulu’s cat
nap time was the best part of the day to clip his nails when he felt very
lethargic to move his body away from the nail-cutter. Though his claws were kept blunt, he practiced the art of clawing. The
Manipuri ‘fuck’ (and NOT the English f***), small thick brown rectangular
mattress made of natural fibres which I purchased from the North-East Expo in National
Small Industries Corporation (NSIC) at Okhla in Delhi and the purple and red yoga
mats bore the blunt of his scratching. On weekends when I practiced yoga in the
morning, Lulu also practiced some yogic exercises by aiming at my hands.
It is said that pets resemble their master
in appearance and behaviour. I don’t know if it is scientifically true but one
thing is for sure- Arunabh and I developed a few habits from our pet. Arunabh acquired
the cat-like habit of napping and I, Lulu-like slowly developed an aversion for the cold
weather and would be mostly under the quilt in the cold December-January months
with Lulu by my side keeping me warm.
Lulu was a healthy cat (physical, mental,
spiritual) except his bout of loose motions and worm infection because of which
we had to de-worm him once or twice. No skin infection, no lacto intolerance
like his foster-father, no fatigue. Later on he may have suffered from urinary
cat (tract) infection as the rooms smelled of strong ammonia laced cat piss, cat
piss whenever we entered from outside. Lulu’s scent was on the blue cotton
curtains and the door-mats. It was here, there and everywhere inside our home. If
guests and visitors must have smelt so, none’s nostril signaled so. In his
growing up years he also developed a layer of fine fats, well spread out across
his body. 1 or 2 common feline
disease(s) to be added with inputs from Dr Harish Tiwari.
Amongst the Assamese it is believed that cat
purring is not good and humans should stay away from cats when they purr. I
personally believe it to be a superstitious belief without any scientific research
backing it. I have coined the word ‘helicopteering’ which is equivalent to cat
purring albeit at a much lower decibel because when they start purring they
will land next to you and will close their eyes in deep meditation when you
stroke their neck. The sound emitted closely resembles the hovering of a helicopter
and their legs will march left-right-left like soldiers when they are in the
purring mood. One should try watching online Simon’s Cat in YouTube. Another
superstitious belief in India which is followed by some Indians even now is the
black cat crossing one’s path. It is considered to be highly ashubh*. One can circumvent it by taking
three steps behind followed by a silent prayer on the road itself.
A
year later when I had to shift to East Vinod Nagar in Mayur Vihar in Delhi
because my office shifted from Panchsheel Park to NOIDA, Sec 16A, I packed my
belongings, carrying all of Lulu’s stuffs. That meant Lulu would never get to
see Zen-Zen and his lady-love Pinky nor his offsprings again. I couldn’t
possibly take Zen-Zen with me because I had to put up in a rented place. I ensured
that Lulu was neutered before the shift, lest he runs away. So, I shifted with my things first to
the new place leaving Lulu under the care of Dr Naba Bhuyan, a vet who was an from
Nagaon district of Assam and was working with Friendicoes in Defence Colony, Delhi
who later opened his own clinic in Bharat Nagar, just across the road from
where we lived earlier. He was also known to my husband.
Lulu
had to confine himself to the
second floor of the house initially. The land-lady, Neetu Shukla, was a
kind-hearted woman but a very talkative one as I realized later. She was the
second wife of Sri Pramod Shukla who was a government servant. They had two
sons- Rahul, the elder one and Shubham, the younger, from the first wife. I
didn’t know that the two healthy, quiet, shy but intelligent boys had lost
their mother when they were very young. Neetu bhabi, as I addressed the new
land-lady, was the epitome of love. No one could make out that she was their step-mother
because she was not only an ideal Indian home-maker, a devoted wife but a kind,
gentle, loving and caring mother to the two.
Neetu bhabi couldn’t pronounce my pet-name
Munu. The name Monu came in easily from her tongue. The day I had to get Lulu
from Friendicoes must have increased my BP. Neetu bhabi was very, very, very
scared of all insects, reptiles and animals and any living and moving thing
which was non-human. How could the two live under the same roof? She being the
land-lady had all the right but Lulu being just the pet of the tenant was in a
dicey position. Lulu meant the world to me and I could never think of parting
from him. I had to take every precaution to avoid Neetu bhabi and Lulu’s
encounter inside J-34 in East Vinod Nagar. I had only read about man-animal
conflict in the newspapers and Assam was in the limelight very often in the
national dailies because of man and elephant conflict esp. near Deepor Beel,
Guwahati’s largest fresh-water lake and a haven for migratory birds in the
winter. But I didn’t wish to see such a conflict in the metropolitan urban
concrete jungle of Delhi with my land-lady Neetu bhabi aiming the rolling-pin,
pestle, ladle and whatever came in handy to her from her kitchen to cat-of-war
Lulu. Vociferous Neetu bhabi’s scream was enough to scare him off.
Thus my Lulu
became a solitary figure without any companion since he was kept confined
within the second floor of the house initially. In the evening I would take him to the terrace so that he
could play hide and seek with me.
Once when Lulu and I were relatively new in
the house, I heard Neetu bhabi’s screeching. I thought Lulu must have ventured
out to the first floor or ground floor where the landlord’s family lived. When
I went downstairs I saw Neetu bhabi standing on top of a wooden chair in the
dining hall but I couldn’t figure Lulu in the scene. He must have escaped
upstairs hearing the lady’s shout, or so I thought. When I was about to turn
and go upstairs, bhabi cried for help. She pointed out to the lizard in the
kitchen wall and stood frozen on the chair.
I thought my Lulu could never see the
ground if I stayed there in Neetu bhabi’s house. Luckily her husband and her
two sons were not scared of animals. In fact, the
land-lord’s youngest son Shubham did take care of Lulu, sometimes patting him
or gently spoke to him which Lulu understood. Slowly but steadily when she saw Lulu play with Shubham
did she let go of her fear. I with the help and support of bhaiya and his two sons
trained her in to diminish her pet fear. It started with bhabi calling Lulu’s
name followed by some offer of food to him. Lulu would respond to her calls
each time he heard his name being called and it resembled somewhat like
attendance time inside a classroom. This was followed by bhabi forcing herself
to touch Lulu (I had to hold Lulu’s head and had to cover him seeing her all
this time). By God, Lulu and Neetu bhabi never became good friends but bhabi passed
her test in ebbing pet frights from her mind.
Lulu’s
only escape route was the terrace which always remained closed. On reaching
home after office hours as soon as I rang the calling-bell he would come
meowing from the second floor to greet me. All the tiredness of the day would
drain out of my system with his loving animal words. Lulu and I would talk and
understood what each other spoke. I would take him upstairs where he would run
around and play hide and seek with me for some time. When he became tired he
would climb the raised platform above the terrace and keep his eyes fixed on
the vehicles moving along the National Highway- 24. Lul’s favourite place for an afternoon siesta was the white-coloured
hand-wash basin next to the washroom. The size of the basin just fitted his
huge body well as if it was fixed only for him for his cat naps. There
were two young boys, my neighbour’s son who wanted to pat him, but Lulu being
Lulu, he would never let them touch him. The youngest couldn’t utter the name
Lulu, when he called it always sounded Who-lu. Who says animals are not
intelligent? My Lulu always responded to his name- either by turning his head
towards me, or by meowing or by circling me round and round or by a gentle leg
rub with his body. He never reciprocated to those addressing him with a corrupt
version of his name. With Arunabh of course it was different. Almost every day
there was a new name for Lulu, names Arunabh must have come across from the
innumerable books he read- Barrel, Lalten*, Omelette, GPS, Shera et. al. I
guess more than anything else animals understand the language of love.
In
August 2010, I resigned from my job to join a GIS-based company in Gurgaon. It
meant yet another change in Lulu’s territory. I took up accommodation at Q-237,
Sector-40, Gurgaon- a place which was not very far from IFFCO Chowk and Rajiv
Chow (Gurgaon), closer to the market, in close proximity to the meat-shop and
nearer still to vet Dr Virendra Yadav’s Clinic in the community centre of Sector-40, Gurgaon. After
almost a month in Gurgaon, my helper left for home. With no houses in front,
behind and to the right but only a strange next door neighbor to the left, I
felt the pangs of loneliness. It was also visible in Lulu’s face. It is then
that I decided to bring in another pet to give Lulu good company. Around that
time, Lubna my former neighbor from Dispur, Assam and also my former colleague
from the publishing house in Delhi informed me that her friend Satish in
Greater Kailash had a few kittens. So, one day I straightaway hired a cab from
Gurgaon and headed towards south Delhi after winding up my work for the day even
though I was snowed under. The guy had 5-6 kitties and all were adorable. I got
the one in black and white marks which gave him a close resemblance to a pirate
and with a light pink nose. I named him Chum-Chum (Chum for kiss in Assamese).
Day
one of Chum-Chum’s entry into the house was not much to the liking of Lulu. Lulu
was never selfish. Perhaps he took his time to shake paws with the newest
member. Chum-chum was one friendly kitty and he would go after Lulu. After
about 3-4 days Lulu surrendered. I saw
the two moving in and out together. The veranda of the 1st floor of
the house was as huge as the size of the room(s). It was neither a single room
nor a double room. It stood somewhere in between. One and a half room, you may
say. I wonder which architect designed the house. So, when my new colleagues
would ask me if I lived in a one room, two rooms or three rooms house I would
hastily reply, “It’s one and a half”. They must have found my answer to be
grotesque.
I love flowers in much the same way I enjoy
being in nature’s lap. Sometimes I would cycle down to the crossroad to the
flower-seller to purchase a few bunch of rajnigandha*,
roses and gladiolus stalks which I kept in a white vase. But, naughty Lulu would
deflower (pun intended) it from the vase as if he wanted only his piss to incense
the room.
Chum-Chum filled the void in Lulu’s life
once again, though Chum-Chum replacing the vacuum of Zen-Zen’s would be wrong
to state. When he was still a kitten and the weather was cold and foggy,
Chum-Chum would inch himself next to the laptop and slowly but surely would
doze off on it. His first encounter with a mouse was with the mouse of the
laptop. He also loved to curl up in between the red and blue cobweb duster.
Gradually, the two became fast chums. Their
eating, drinking, sleeping, peeing and shitting habits matched with respect to
time, quality, quantity, so much so that almost all their activities synchronized.
If Lulu jumped on the morha* to take
a cat nap, Chum-Chum would also hop on to it. If Lulu slept next to me with his
head on my lower leg, Chum-Chum would be inches away from Lulu and lie sandwiched
between my thighs. Chum-Chum emulated Lulu. So whatever Lulu did, Chum-Chum
would follow closely until it became his habit. There was no display of
selfishness in their love for each other or when they ate but if one saw the
other being patted by me, then he would demand his share of patting too. The
picture of the tabbies that I best remember is the two snuggling up in their sleep atop the morha, Lul’s face facing heavenwards, with
his mouth slightly open and his tongue slightly thrusting out as well as his two
shiny upper canines protruding out and Chum’s head on Lul’s body and foreleg on
his belly as in a tight hug. The very picture radiates one of happiness and
bliss, more so with the light yellow and light green ‘smiling’ sun-flower
soft-toy (a gift by my former colleague Jasbir Sandhu) in the backdrop. The
other memorable ones are of them in a fine balance of ‘yin and yang’ sleeping
position, sleeping facing each other with forelegs on each others’ body. But
mostly it was lighter Chum-Chum on the heavy weight Lulu in winters and all
eight legs stretched out in eight different directions during summers. With
Zen-Zen, it was young Lulu sniffing at her, sleeping neck- against-neck glued together
like Siamese twins or sitting cross-tailed.
The duo would often be hand-in-gloves in
all their mischief. The only marked difference which I observed is Lulu never
preyed while with Chum-Chum, it was his natural instinct. Think Arunabh and I
had killed Lulu’s natural instinct to hunt. Even when Lulu saw cockroaches at
home he never bothered to hound it down. The lizard was the only reptile which succeeded
to capture his attention. Perhaps spotting a lizard was the one and only time
when the cat in him came out as he emitted a guttural sound and would stare and
stare at the reptile until it evaded his radar. The countless pigeons which
flocked from the innumerable pigeon-holes and rats from rat-holes were all safe
from Lulu’s prowl and prying eyes. Lulu’s association with hunter Chum-Chum
taught him to chase only the shadows of pigeons in the terrace, nothing beyond
it.
After
a month of shifting to the new house in Gurgaon, a newly-wed couple came to
occupy the ground floor of the house. They were the Bangia family- Deepa and
Varun Bangia from Delhi and let me tell you they were godsend for me and my
pets. My work took me to different cities and towns and thanks to my work again
it kept me in my toes. It was either the husband or the wife or both who looked
after Lulu and Chum-Chum (Lu-Chum is short) in my absence. They would feed the
two souls whiskas or boil eggs or keep slices of chicken in Lu-Chum’s bowls so
that my pets didn’t go hungry. Such neighbours are rare to find in today’s
world. God bless you Deepa and Varun wherever you are.
My
other neighbor, yes, the ones to the left of my house were a family who loathed
animals including other’s pets. Very often I would get calls from my land-lord who
stayed in Kalkaji of south Delhi that my cats have littered their terrace (when
there were so many stray ones outside they knew it had to be my cats). Once
around evening when I was sipping a cup of coffee the door-bell rang. I saw from
upstairs not a gentleman but a man in his vest and a lungi*. He was complaining of his damaged bike seat. The culprits
according to him were my two tabbies. I went downstairs, opened the iron-gate
and stood there in front of him. He was still shouting on top of his voice even
when I was standing right next to him. I told him politely, gently but firmly
that I would take a look at the damage and pay him accordingly. Only when he
heard me quoting the word “money” did he stopped howling (like the stray dogs).
My pet-loathing neighbor accepted the money and stopped bothering me until my
colleague Pallav Mathur’s marriage which was solemnized in his hometown Bikaner in Rajasthan.
Location
Bikaner railway station, time- early in the morning when Awadh Assam train, one of the slowest and dirtiest (mind
you, after it crosses Bihar as it heads westwards) trains in India,
reaches the last station Bikaner. In Assam, it is said about Awadh Assam train that if a passenger waves
the train to stop at any place in Assam along its track, it will halt to pick
up the passenger. I get a frantic call from my land-lord Mr Mehta. He asks
me, “Karobi, where are you?” I reply, “In Bikaner to attend my colleague’s
wedding”. Then he throws the bombshell telephonically “Arre, arre, tumhari
billiyo ne parosi ka deewar mein daag laga diya hein” (your cats have left
their paw marks in the neighbour’s wall). On hearing this, my humourous
colleague Bipasa Das advised me to relax. She asked me “Karobi, do your
neighbour have kids?” “Yes”, pat came my reply. She suggests- “When you reach
your house, take a bottle of ink, ask your neighbour’s kids to come out, pour
some ink on his palm and leave the imprints on your wall. It would be
balanced”. When I returned back I craned my neck to see the paw marks on my
neighbour’s wall but it was not very prominent. I didn’t investigate further.
So much for keeping pets. Phew!
Then
there was another stray dog that showed signs of distemper- a disease in
animals. When I spotted him first in the street near my house he was a one skinny
and bony piece of a live animal belonging to the canine family. For the lack of
a better name I named him Distemper and he seemed to respond well to his new
name. Even though in the neighbourhood there were no people except to the left
of my house, the place had no dearth of pigs, a few stray dogs and the occasional raids by monkeys.
Kali, was jet black, a slim and trim bitch. Then there was Temuna who had a small
prominent hard swelling on its head between the ears, the linga*-like
red swelling which grows on the tom in Tom and Jerry shows. These Indian pariah dogs gelled well with each
other. I would feed them very often and kept an earthen bowl of water outside the
gate for them to drink water which the countless pigs loitering in the vacant
area would also gulp in the peak of summer. Once I saw a very strange
scene- a monkey
enjoying a piggy ride near South City-I market. The trio- Distemper, Kali and
Temuna never chased or attacked the duo. Lu-Chum maintained a safe distance.
Gurgaon was not connected with Delhi by
metro rail (under DMRC) before I shifted to the place. The less said about the
transport and communication system within Gurgaon in those days, the better. Shared
autos plied from one chowk to the other ‘only’. Since I didn’t own a
four-wheeler (and don’t think I ever will), my mountain bike Merida (gear
walla) became my bahn. After HUDA City
metro station came under the metro map, connectivity with Delhi and NCR
improved tremendously. You may think why I am mentioning about metros here,
right? Well, on some weekends I would take the metro to Delhi and explore all
the places of interest, one at a time, even though I have been to those places endless
times with endless streams and waves of relatives, friends, patients and
attendants etc. from home or attend any events in India Habitat Centre, Dilli Haat
or any cultural programmes in the capital-city. It took me not more than 10
minutes to cycle from my house to the station. The only time Lulu looked
curiously at me was when I wore the cycling helmet.
Once on such a weekend I headed to HUDA
City metro station. I was on the main road that connects the station with
Subhash Chowk on Sohna Road. After a few minutes I realized Distemper following
me behind. No matter how much I shooed him, he kept behind my wheels, like the faithful
dog following Yudhistir on his journey towards the Heaven. The CISF security
personnel posted at the entrance chased him away when he tried to sneak inside
the station (without a ticket). After 2-3 hours, I cycled back home in the
evening only to find Distemper half-way in between the metro station and my
house. My heart just melted for him for being so loyal and faithful.
Once
I went for a morning walk to a nearby park behind my house. Since it was winter
morning and the grass was covered with dew drops I thought of walking on the
dew-covered grass. I kept my pair of sandal in one corner of the park and
continued walking. The two- Distemper and Kali came following me and kept
chasing each other in the park. After about 45 minutes I went to wear my sandal
but lo! One sandal was missing while the other pair was still there where I had
kept it. I knew it instantly that it was the handiwork of the dogs, working
hand-in-glove. I took the other pair in my hands and returned home barefooted. After
wearing another pair of slipper I searched the park again. It was not to be
found in the park so I returned. Just to the right of my house there is a person
who comes to press clothes during the daytime. He has a makeshift structure for
carrying out his work. The other pair was secretly kept hidden there behind a
rock by either of the two.
Out of the two pet cats, Lulu enjoyed
watching T.V. esp. when he heard the sound of any animals. During the Common
Wealth Games held in Delhi which was aired in the T.V., he would keep staring
at the mascot Shera. Sometimes I felt he watched more T.V. than me.
There was another time when Lulu and I had
a strange experience. This was before Chum-Chum came into our life. If I
remember it well it was either on a weekend or on a holiday. Every Saturday and
Sunday and on all holidays I had a tendency of waking up a bit late. I would make
a cup of black tea and with the Hindustan
Times in hand I would take sips whilst reading the news in the big veranda.
Lulu would clamber up on my lap if the temperature plummeted. As I was poring
over the news I could hear the faint sound of someone whimpering. Almost
simultaneously Lulu got down from the warm comfort of my lap and dashed inside
the house. I looked down, my eyes focused on the road to spot the animal but I
failed to mark any. I then went inside my room and just while I was about to
close the door I saw a mother monkey and her infant staring at me from behind
the morha, a few inches from where I
sat just a moment ago. No wonder Lul’s had fled from the front, leaving me behind.
I have heard of raids by troop of moneys in Delhi who were not scared to barge
inside the house and ransack the kitchen, opening fridge to eat whatever they could
gorge at. On impulse I hurried to the kitchen and immediately took the bananas
that was on top of the refrigerator and very carefully peeped out. The clever
mom stood on the iron railing of the balcony nearest to the door with her baby
clutching its mother as tight as possible, upside down. Only my right hand protruded
out of the door as I stretched my hand holding a banana and offered it to the
mother monkey. Within seconds she gulped it down and I kept a watch on the two
through the window, there stood the duo waiting eagerly for the next. I went on
offering as mother monkey readily accepted my offering and vanished into thin
air with her baby when the offer ceased to come out of the door. All the while
Lulu was nowhere to be seen. He safely hid himself on my colleague Ravi
Banshtu’s belongings.
Ravi was from Rohru, a beautiful village
near Shimla in Himachal Pradesh and he was based in Chandigarh from where he
looked after the field team and his office work. Prior to shifting in
Chandigarh, he was in Gurgaon’s Ardee City. However, when the home office in Chandigarh
was set up to look into north Indian cities’ database he was delegated the job.
It meant no more field work with him and Vihar Poojara, another colleague of
mine hailing from Ahmedabad. Ravi had kept a few of his belongings with me
before he left for Chandigarh and Lulu to demarcate his territory and define his possessiveness
made it a point to sleep on top of Ravi’s two big potli-like
belongings, wrapped up and tied with old bed-covers, which I had kept on top of
the almirah. When Ravi came from Chandigarh to collect his things he felt a
thin fine layer of Lulu’s hair. Lulu loved Ravi because whenever he came with
Sucheta Rani, another colleague-cum-friend hailing from Meerut, he would pat,
scratch or cuddle him. Lulu would rush towards Ravi to greet him and go round
and round him in circles forcing Ravi to pat him until he purred with
contentment.
Who says only the female of the species
admires in front of the mirror? It could never be me with no long hair (like
other Indian ladies), no solah-singaars*
and absolutely no time. At my residence the real narcissus was Chum-Chum. He was
beautiful, had feline-feminine traits, would cat-walk like super models, flaunt
his body and loved to gaze himself in front of the almirah mirror and when my
gaze would fall on him staring at his reflection, he would immediately start
playing with the key-ring dangling from the key-hole in the almirah. When I
went to Chennai and Puducherry on an official field visit, I got a sticker of a
girl cat for Chum to admire his virtual queen, which decorated one side of our almirah,
the one where Arunabh kept his clothes.
I
shifted to South City-I near my friend Poojas Sharma’s house. Pooja also was an
avid animal lover like me and she even loved all beasts, insects, reptiles and pests of varying colour and species, genus,
family and order. She
had this thirst of animal worshipping in her blood. It flowed in her veins.
Both her mother and father cared for animals and were nature lovers. We met
accidentally when she
saw me calling my cats downstairs and them responding to my cat-calls (pun
intended). On the day I had to shift to South City-I, I don’t know from where appeared
the locality’s kids of all shapes, sizes and ages. I wonder how they got wind
that a cat was shifting with his owner. Shifting with the furniture was not a
big issue for me but moving with Lulu and Chu-Chum was what petrified me. I
thought I must get Lulu first inside Pooja’s car thinking Chum-Chum would
follow him without any difficulty. So Lulu went inside first. I was right to
this point but the moment I opened the car door to put Chum-Chum in, Lulu
sneaked out and this time he ran towards the house. Finding the doors closed,
he ran towards the terrace and finally disappeared into my not-so-pet/animal-friendly-neighbour’s
roof-top. Meanwhile, all the neighbourhood kids in their excitement ran after
me literally howling in excitement. I think they really wanted to help me in
catching Lulu but on the contrary Lulu must have got the fright of his life since
it was not one kid but an entire battalion running after him, not to mention
the Babel of noise they made. I lost no time in trespassing into my neighbour’s domain and when
I met the lady of the house, I informed her through my panting that I was
shifting and if she would mind if I went to her roof-top to take him with me. Ah,
what happiness radiated from her face as she nodded her head! Billi wali
neighbour se chootkara!!! (Good riddance from the cat-owning neighbor).
My
new land-lord was one Mr
M Jaishwal who owned a grown-up brown Labrador called Duke. Every time I came
in or went out, Duke would get up if he was sleeping and wag his tail. A bond
developed between me and my land-lord’s pet instantly. On Saturdays and Sundays when there was
no office, I would take an unused mug half-filled with water and sit down next
to Duke and enjoy the few minutes of collecting ticks hidden in his fur mass which sucked his blood.
It was a pastime which both he and I enjoyed. Lu-Chum could never go out
through the main entrance because of Duke’s presence. They kept themselves
confined to the terrace and would venture out through the neighbour’s
staircase. Cat-scan and
lab-test, both under the same roof. HUDA City metro station was visible from the
verandah and Lulu would slump on the table kept outside the verandah and watch
the metro shuttled in and out from the station.
I realized that Lulu’s and even Chum-Chum’s
likes and dislikes in relation to humans (esp. those who got under the skin) matched
with their mother’s, not biological but foster. Lul’s seemed to like my
colleague Jasbir from the Delhi office and Ravi from the Gurgaon office, then
landlord’s son Shubham from East Vinod Nagar and Gaurav from SNP, my friend
Pooja but was not much fond of my Gurgaon landlords Mr Sunil Mehta (who came
without fail in the beginning of every month all the way from Delhi to collect
the rent) from my accommodation in Gurgaon Sec-40 and Mr Manish Jaishwal and
his sharp-tongued and brusque wife from South City-I.
Believe
it or not, animals can also feel and care for each other. My Lulu would be
three years on 2nd July. In the morning when I woke up I was shocked
with surprise to see a dead squirrel under my bed. I was somewhat angry with
the two for bringing in and killing a squirrel and secretly hiding it under my
bed and so beat up the two but ensured that I point at the dead animal while a light blow went behind their
backs. Later on in the evening
as I reflected on the incident I knew that Chum-Chum was the culprit. It
was a purr-fect birthday gift from him to Lulu.
I
decided to return back home to Guwahati in Assam to be with my family. I had a
kennel cab before which was damaged. So I called Dr Naba Bhuyan and ordered two
kennel cabs through him and it was quickly delivered. He made all the necessary
arrangements for the transportation since animals are to be certified by a vet
before the flight including the medicine for sedating them during the journey.
Before
I bid adieu to Pooja, her parents and her troop of dogs (Simpy, Gora, Chote et. al.) I gave the
two the right dosage of the sedative. Slowly their distraught meows inside the
kennel cabs decreased in decibel. My next challenge was to take out the two,
one at a time for scanning/ weight check. The renovated Indira Gandhi
International Airport, New Delhi with the new terminals is huge in area and I
had only one fear at the back of my mind. What if one of them escapes from my hands
while taking him out of the kennel cab? How will I ever capture him? Already
passengers waiting for their flights had crowded near me to look at the two
animals as if they were some wild cats having escaped from the national park or
the Zoo. They had to undergo the trauma of being trapped inside a kennel cab in
a totally new environment. When I landed in Lokapriya Gopinath Bordoloi Airport
in Guwahati before I entered the airport to collect my luggage from the
conveyor belt the two could be heard meowing feebly. I rushed to them and tried
to soothe the two. Outside with the two kennel cabs and a bag I waited for Ma
to arrive. Already onlookers mainly drivers and those who came to receive
passengers were curious to see what was inside it. I heard someone from the
crowd commenting “One looks as big as a tiger cub”. That was Lulu he meant, I
am sure.
Apart from Lulu-Chum-Chum, we had a series
of pets- Nene (kitty), Niño (kitty), Paw-Paw (pup) and Hibu (pup). Nene was
Arunabh’s pet when he was a bachelor and stayed in Motibagh near the Gurudwara
before joining J.N.U. Niño’s stay with us was cut short by a tom cat. The
kitten died right in front of my eyes. Niño lies buried in the park behind Mata
ka Mandir in Bharat Nagar.
When Deota expired in 2007 both Arunabh and
I left for home immediately. I came to know from the landlady that on the day
we left there was an orchestra of dog sounds at night because when we left in a
hurry poor Paw-Paw was latched inside the kitchen and the door locked. Luckily
we had left the main door key with the landlady.
Hibu
was named so because I was familiar with the Mizo word from childhood days
since my Deota frequently uttered it. In Mizo language, Hibu means the ‘little
finger’. She was a pahari* pup from Dalhousie
in Himachal Pradesh. Arunabh narrated that when he came to board the bus to
Delhi, he carried Hibu in a bag and he took a horse-ride to the bus depot. Hibu
was Arunabh’s accomplice when his master was in a mood for eating baked fish
wrapped in banana leaves. They raided the banana leaves from near a temple. When
I was a child I saw Deota when he was in a jovial mood picking up the kittens
at home and letting their tiny pink paws run under water and saying “Nijor Hubu
nijay kha” as he thrust kitty’s soft paws playfully into its mouth.
Then there was CFy (we name him CFy, short
for colourful) who was not actually a pet as he never allowed us to pat him
even once. He came to our house only at dinner time. He was an angry young man
who never allowed us to touch him. He came, he ate and he went.
I
have read somewhere that pets in the developed countries esp. in places like Japan
are fitted with a GPS device so that if their pets go missing or get lost from
home they could be tracked. I wish I had two such devices to track their
movements because after hardly two weeks both Lulu and Chum-Chum disappeared
from my home in Dispur. Possibly Caesar, the pet dog- a Dalmatian, scared them
off with his barks. My heart goes
to those in empathy who have lost their pets like me. Even after many
days of their disappearance, when I call on Lulu and Chum-Chum’s names, Caesar
would go in search of the two circling the entire compound and stare at the
corner behind the house, scan for a few minutes where once Chum-Chum climbed on
the wall to escape from his clutch. In a way I feel morally responsible for their disappearance and losing
the two. Perhaps they would have stayed with me in Delhi, Gurgaon or anywhere
in India if only I would not have relocated back home. May be I failed them in
just the same way Arunabh failed me when he took his life. The pain of losing
Arunabh followed by Lu-Chum’s disappearance from home was terrible for me to
bear. But I found solace in James Herriot’s story of Billy
Dalby’s widow- “Only them as has them can lose them”.
My story would be incomplete if I fail to
mention Konika Rai, a caring and dedicated helper hailing from the Dhubri
district of Assam. She was with my Ma earlier in Guwahati but later joined me
in Delhi. Neetu bhabi and Konika were like friends and every day in the evening
the two would religiously go to the Mother Diary booth in Mayur Vihar, Phase II
or to the nearest market to buy vegetables and other essential stuffs. When I
was in East Vinod Nagar, Konika was in charge of folding the fort in my absence.
The list must also include Manorama/Manowara (from SNP), Begum (from Gurgaon) and
Ferzina (from Gurgaon) who took good care of my pets after Konika left for home
when I shifted to Gurgaon.
Lulu
would be more than 5 years now and Chum-Chum would be three years young. I can
never forget the two, or even Zen-Zen for that matter. I remember vividly . . . After I lost my husband, my mother took me home where I stayed for two
months, leaving Lulu behind with my landlady in Sri Niwas Puri. At that time I
felt lone, lost and insecure. Even though Lulu was not a human child, he was
someone whom Arunabh and I had nurtured and nourished like a child. He was
ours, our own. When I returned from Assam to K-54 in Sri Niwas Puri to collect Lulu I was with my land-lady upstairs in
the second floor. As soon as I opened the door of the second floor where the
landlord lived I saw Zen-Zen sitting outside the door, waiting for me. Zen-Zen
had never climbed to the second floor all the years when Arunabh and I stayed
there. It is a wonder how he sensed my presence there after two months of
staying at home in Assam. Whenever the picture of Zen-Zen waiting behind the
door for me comes to my mind, my eyes become moist and my tears trickle down like
two parallel rivulets cascading from a melting glacier.
Strange but true- friends, when they are
too occupied with their family and work, may disappear from your life when you
need them the most, in-laws (in India) may still curse you when you lose your
husband, prying neighbours may gossip about you and spread news much faster than
BBC, Times Now or News Live but like a mother’s love for her child which is
pure and true, the four-legged ones whom we call ‘animals’ will shower uninterrupted
supply of unselfish love and affection on you without ever expecting anything
in return. If you give them even half of your love, you are sure to receive its
double. Animals, like books, are man’s best friends and this I write without a shadow
of doubt. They know no English or Assamese, no modern Indian languages or
foreign languages or even Esperanto for that matter but they understand the
universal language of love. They will lick your face with their lolling tongue
and shower you with a drizzle of kisses, hold your hands inside their mouth
between their sharp pointed teeth in gaiety without a scratch on your skin,
pull at your clothes while wagging their tail, jump on you in merriment or roll
over their back as they dance with joy. No humans will ever perform a parikrama* around you by going round and
round you rubbing their body against your legs to prove their faithfulness and
loyalty except pets. They will make you laugh with their somersault, stunts, postures
and actions until your eyes become a swimming pool. They will never let you
down unlike humans, will never make you cry except when they suffer or die. They
become a part of our family. The bond with their master can never wane and be
eclipsed. Their hearts’ are the cornucopia of love overflowing with sweetness
and tenderness. They will be with you and will follow you like your shadow. Love
amongst humans may wane, they may be unfaithful and disloyal but all these come
with 100 % guarantee when you get a pet at home. “Every peak has its deity,
every valley its temple and every spring its shrine.” Similarly, every living
animal has a soul which connects to God.
The soul of animals is noble
and when they become your pets or even if you feed them or care for them
without actually adopting them, they bless you because in each and every creation
of God, resides the Almighty- God, Allah, Bhagawan . . ., different names but
all meaning the same. If you call milk as dudh*
or as gakhir*, it will imply to the
same white liquid substance derived from cows, goats, buffaloes, camels, yaks
etc. etc. Animals bless you in much the same way the market toy squitten* sitting in an upright position
keeps blessing with her left paw like Bastet*.
Lulu and Chum-Chum were my closest companions when I was all on
my own in Gurgaon- often lonely and depressed. They are the ones who saw my
tears when I cried alone, sometimes clinging to my breast as if to hug and console me when there were tear drops on my
pillow. The picture of Chum-Chum’s
cat-fur body on my yellow t-shirt from Ladakh, that has the faces of five yaks all
in a straight line with “YAK” written below each face, and his chin pressed on to
my breast is crystal clear to me.
In
my grief I would often sing a lullaby to them, Tennyson’s poem, ‘Sweet and Low’:
“. . . Sleep and rest, sleep and
rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon; . . .”
Lu-Chum would force me out of
my bed with their constant meowing when I was in no mood to eat my dinner. They
are the ones who made me burst out into tears of happiness with their postures
and gestures, acrobatic skills and playful actions. They were my saviour during the dark, gloomy days.
It is “they” (and NOT it) who kept
me going through the highs and lows, the troughs and crests of life.
Lulu
never knew how to hunt. When Arunabh was alive, he would not allow young Lulu
to venture out of the house but I insisted that a cat ought to know how to hunt.
“What if something happens to us?” I would question him. I wonder how he
managed to hunt and to kill and more so eat his prey, something which he never
did while in Delhi or in Gurgaon. Chum-Chum had the killer instinct. When their
thoughts come to me I am reminded of Jack London’s stories- The Call of the
Wild and White Fang. I once
read in the Inner Voice in Hindustan
Times about two pahari* stray
dogs. The writer with a friend was on their way in some hill-station in the
western Himalayas. Out of the two dogs, one was mowed down by a fast-driving
vehicle. Its partner stood guard next to his dead companion. The writer was
deeply touched by the sight of the voiceless, humble dog. I hope clever and
street-smart Chum-Chum also guides and guards Lulu.
The
good God, and if there is a Mekuri Bhagawan as Arunabh very often
used to say, will look after them, is what I believe and pray, as Lulu lies await for his master
Arunabh. I think I hear their cries somewhere Ma-O, Ma-O . . .
Clowder/ clutter- group of cats
Clatter,
roaring- helicopter sound
“Cats
are the connoisseur of comfort”. James Herriot
GLOSSARY
Agarbatti- incense
sticks
Ashubh-
inauspicious
Bastet- the
Egyptian Goddess represented by a cat (cat-headed woman)
Dudh- milk in
Hindi
bazaar
kora mona- Assamese
for bag for carrying vegetables and fruits from the market
Behen ki . . . - slang meaning sister’s cunt in Hindi
bogori
gura-
powdered berry
Boonda- Tom cat in Assamese
Chawl- Rice in
Assamese
Desi-
local
Deota- Assamese
for father
dhekia-potia bagh- from the tiger family
dhora- to hold/
catch
diya- oil lamp
gakhir- milk in
Assamese
gigi machi- milk and fish
respectively (Arunabh’s self-coined word ‘Gigi’ meaning milk)
Ghungroo- small
metallic bell
Hathi- elephant
Kawariwala- scrap
dealer esp one who picks old newspaper, tins and bottles from homes
kukura/ murgi- chicken in Assamese
komod- squat
toilet in India
koyla- coal
ladoo- round Indian sweets
Lalten- lantern in Hindi
Linga- In Hinduism, it is a representation of Lord
Shiva who resides in the mountains. In the temples across India, the linga is worshipped with the offering of
mostly milk and bel leaves.
masala-malish- massage
Ma ki . . . - slang meaning Mother’s cunt in Hindi
Mekuri- Cat
mekuri
bhagawa- God
of the Cats
mela-
fair
mekhela-chhador-
traditional dress worn by Assamese ladies. Mekhela
is the lower garment, like a sarong, with pleats to the right. Chhador is the upper garment and draped
like a sari.
morha- cane
stool
Muga- a type of
silk in Assam golden in colour
Lungi- a lower garment worn by men in India made (popular
by the song “Lungi Dance”).
pahari- from the
mountains
Paleng- Assammese
for bed with box under it for keeping things
Parikrama-
circumambulation
Payash- sweetened
rice
Rajnigandha- tuberose
Solah-singaars- 16
different Indian-style of make-ups
Squitten- squirrel
+ kitten
Teteli- Tamarind
Tia- aunt in
Spanish
ukhuwa- boiled
rice in Assamese
Zethai-
aunty in Assamese
Calcu:
1
page: 350 words approx.
Word
count: 2350, (7691 on 29th Dec’13, 8588 on 30th Dec’13,
10889 on 31st Dec’13, 12,999 on 2nd Jan’14, 13,204 pages
on 3rd Jan’14)
T
= 6.7 or 7 pages, 21 pages approx. as on 31st Dec’13, 26 pages on 2nd
Jan’14
S.No.
|
Date
|
No. of Words
|
No. of pages
|
Remarks
|
1
|
29th Dec’13
|
7691
|
|
|
2
|
30th Dec’13
|
8588
|
|
|
3
|
31st Dec’13
|
10889
|
21 pages
|
|
4
|
2nd Jan’14
|
12,999
|
26 pages
|
|
5
|
3rd Jan’14
|
13,204
|
|
|
6
|
|
|
|
|
7
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
