The month of May earmarks a year since Kaalicharan passed 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.
She was the dog who knew me.
The dog who loved me
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.”
Also read: For those who have lost a dog…
I miss you my little bear. One of these days, I’ll see you on the other side…