The month of May earmarks a year since Kaalicharanpassed away. The world as they say went on spinning, days to months, months to year. And with stoic resignation, I too wandered far and away, never arriving anywhere.
There are doors that will not open, locks so rusted that they only rattle and yet as I type this, I can only imagine if Leo is still by the fountain, wishing for God knows what. But then, do dogs have a god?
I’m just a dog at Trevi fountain but the djinns at Ferozshah Kotla know my name Cathedrals have seen the carcass I’ve become and the Vatican has heard my wails Shrines have seen my paw marks and I’ve trampled at temple queues Mecca, I’d have prayed in, if it welcomed dogs And someday if you happen to visit Paris you’d see your name on a lock in Pont De l’Archeveche I’ve wished upon gods, old and new Thrown the very last coin I had in the Ganges wished upon every shooting star (and when I couldn’t find one, I’ve wished for stars to fall) all to find a god that would return me, you.
At the backpacker’s hostel in Rome, I came across the writing on the wall, literally: There are only two possible stories ― a man goes on a journey or a stranger come to town.
May be if I stayed a little longer, Leo would have whispered, “No matter where you go, boy. You take your wantonness with you.”