My days go by meandering through meadows that media has long labelled menacing. Through terrains that spill of tyranny and terror threats, I make my way. But did I tell you that sunsets here are still splendid?
On some cold winter nights, Chenab, the old dog, from northern slopes, tells of tales she heard from her flock. How the valley was once serene. How they once sent a dog to space only to never return…
I don’t understand much of what goes around here — from people who pelt stones on my kind to the protests that are there almost every other day. At times, I am confounded as to why Gulfam shoos me away while his sister Nazia always pats my mane so kindly.
All in a home and yet so different.
Manu, the army-man friend of mine often tells of his pets back home — Simba and Bagheera (and getting spoilt with twice the dose of dog love 24*7). On some serene evenings, the philosopher in him mulls how humans – time and again, fail to give it back to dogs the same measure of love.
Once on a laidback summer noon, he read me a story that still wells up my eyes.
The evening is turning greyer by the minute and I smell splinters burning at a distance. Nothing like a slow burn that intensifies into a bonfire.
Go, I must.
May pandemonium make way for peace, take care!
Also read: I am a dog in Vatican City…