IT IS A DOG’S LIFE

A tiny boy with a thin strip of wood ran in front of our car, swaying the strip in the air like a powerful baton, while the policeman with the real baton stood absolutely disoriented, not knowing what to do with it. Two women with six children crossed the road, unmindful of the confusion on the road. The confusion could wait, but life had to move on, so they moved on, while the drivers cursed and whined at their callous disregard of traffic rules.

The Sunday afternoon confusion was never as confounded as it was that day. The road was a weird collage of honking, elbowing, jostling, cursing, spitting, shouting, screaming and brazen jumping of traffic lights.

A two year old girl carrying a rag doll in her hand, hopped in front of our car, and the doll dropped to the ground. She bent down to pick up her precious possession. The car screeched to a halt. A traffic policeman raced in her direction, and gave her a resounding slap, and a severe tongue lashing to the horrified mother. The profusely apologetic mother scooped up the child in her arms, reprimanding her.

Let it be, let it be, the Beatles sang, and almost instantly, she stopped reprimanding the child. I seethed in fury at the cruelty of the traffic policeman, but was relieved to see that the girl seemed to have forgotten and forgiven and moved on. So we too moved on, towards the friend’s house, where we had been invited for lunch.

Lunch was waiting, but we did not know that a bullet also awaited us.

 Huge and dangerously intimidating, this German shepherd growled and thundered and then pounced at us, with all the grace of a bullet.

“Bullet, stop, come here”. The daughter of my friend said.

“Do you not hear, Bullet?’’ The daughter’s mother admonished.

“Bullet, you will be thrashed.” The daughter’s dad shouted trying to stop it.

But Bullet had no intention of stopping; it hurled itself at us, whelping and licking us, pouring what it thought was pure affection, but what we considered bad manners. We flailed our arms, trying to shoo it away. There was a crescendo of oh no’s and its spontaneous   bursts of affection got drowned in this crescendo of indignation.

 Sometime later, looking absolutely woebegone, it lumbered out of the house, after having got a thorough dressing down from each member of the friend’s family. When I went out of the house after an hour or so, I was absolutely intrigued by something which caught my eye.

Bullet was cuddling next to an absolutely shabby, and dishevelled street dog, and appeared to be pouring out its woes into its willing ears .It was leaning on the willing shoulders, probably shedding tears of humiliation. I could almost hear the conversation which went something like this:

BULLET: “An absolutely obnoxious family of dog haters has come to our house.’’

STREET DOG: “Really?”

BULLET: “Yes, I tried to lovingly lick the daughter but she let out such a yell, that I scurried under the divan. ‘’

STREET DOG: “That is bad, is it not? Yes, why should they treat us like dogs?’’

BULLET: “Yes, while I sat licking my wounds under the divan, she bent down and peeped under the divan- what a rogue! And what weird faces she made.”

STREET DOG:“You are too tactile.’’

BULLET: “For a street dog, your vocabulary is pretty rich.’’

STREET DOG:“You should not be too demonstrative of your affection, try to rein in your love, these humans do not understand love.”

BULLET: “But, I merely sniffed her and licked her, and she created such a hue and cry, and I was scolded merely for showing affection, ah I am deeply misunderstood.”

STREET DOG: It is sheer insanity, some humans are real crazy! They understand only violence. Ah, it indeed is a dog’s life! But let it be, forgive them for they know not what they do. ’’

Let it be, let it be, the Beatles’ voice rang out loud and clear, and I let it be, and moved on.