Dog-ged

The coolest creature on Indian roads. (No, that’s not the catch line for Bajaj’s latest 125cc bike.). In my opinion, this creature really is the only one that moves and exists in a completely different time-frame to the fast cars (they may be moving only at 5kmph on Hyderabad’s so-called flyovers, but they are in eternal hurry) and the people scurrying about. He lays cool, resting on his belly, with his face on his crossed legs, at the corner of the metalled roads, choosing either a spot on the pavement or one on the tarmac, whatever suits his fancy. He will yawn and spare a glance at the pair of headlights that zip by within a metre of where he’s lying. Nope, he won’t flinch or even bat an eyelid as the two globes of light come precariously close …Oh sorry, haven’t I mentioned what I’m talking about here? Trust me, it’s not the suspense I’m aiming for…honest. I’m talking of the Indian street dog.

Yeah, the same one that manages to find peaceful sleep on the busiest crossing at Chowringhee, on the pavement bang opposite Janpath, and in the crowded lane beside Alpha hotel. Sometimes, I wonder. Is it really sleeping that peacefully, or is it just feigning it, to make me and all the people rushing to office or rushing back home jealous? I mean, lazy bugger, do you have to let me know that I have to get to office while you can afford to laze away? ‘Bitch,’ I mumble enviously, reflecting the next moment the odds of it actually being one are 50-50. That’s based on the assumption of course that their sex ratio is better than ours. I mean, I can’t imagine them being a patriarchal species where a chauvinistic dad would beat up a bitch for giving birth to another bitch.

But coming back to the general life of the dog, it’s quite an ironical statement, don’t you think - ‘A dog’s life.’ Hell, it doesn’t look so bad from the window of a crowded bus full of smelly armpits. Honestly, deodorants should be subsidised in Indian metros. (Spare my digressions).

So, while I squeeze my way out of the crowded local train, come out of the Begumpet station, trying to smooth the creases on my white shirt ineffectively by tugging it here and there, this dog gets up from where it was lying and starts busily walking beside me, his tail wagging, his tongue hanging. It casts a glance up at my face and looks ahead at the road again with a newfound concentration. I feel good for a moment, thinking, not bad…even he has to hurry to somewhere today! Another 30 yards ahead though, it flops down in the shade of the chaiwallas shop. As I try and coax an autowallah into charging me 10 rupees extra (in stead of his demanded 15), he glances again at me. I swear the look on his face reads ‘Too bad you just have to go, and can’t decide when not to.’

I just can’t explain how it doesn’t feel fear when a vehicle passes it by on the busy road. He just coolly holds his ground, leaving the onus of saving his life on the man behind the steering. Amazing! He does it every minute, with every passing car. And then, ever so lazily, it gets up and ambles across to the other side of the road, exercising just enough muscle to jog the 10 metres. A cat will scurry, you know, even though drivers will invariably brake to let it pass. A dog, however, will just not bother. Hit me at your own risk, it seems to say. What risk? Dog only knows!