A dog, sunk too deep in pensive thoughts, for his own comfort. If you were to pass by 100 feet road, Indiranagar ― you might notice me by the ever-receding shade of trees. Just another Bangalore dog, lost in the humdrum.
Most of my day, I am either sleeping or about to go to sleep. In between my reveries, I do a great lot of thinking.
Of the many thoughts that rattle my skull, the most pertinent is a Bob Dylan-esque question: how many trees would humans chop down before they realize it is too late?
And if trees could just move about like birds, would they?
Now, that brings me to another great conundrum, one that deals with commands we dogs understand quite well – stay or go.
Perhaps all that gets lost in translation, like dead silence of the lovers, invokes you to move forth. I once knew a cat from Coorg who believed intermittent pauses made conversations interesting.
But move you must, remember how sharks must keep swimming or they die?
This is where the sun shines and seasons shuffle but a doggo in a different part of the world would say the same for his land.
I have forgotten much about it but I wasn’t always a stray. I once had a home here. I was picked up from somewhere here and my lady often quipped that she fell in love with me for I could love the broken her. It is a different story altogether that she left me the day she realized I came with my brokenness too (read: mixed-breed).
Every five years, they return. Pagliacci, the clown and Dud, the tightrope walker; Minnie and Mona the juggler-duo and all the uni-cyclists, vying for the crown. Enough vitriol in their veins to put any GoT villain to shame.
As the world’s biggest democracy heads to the polls with as many as 879 million eligible voters ― chimerical dreams are on sale. Fake news, hate speeches and propaganda videos have taken center stage whilst pressing issues peek meekly from bygone manifestos.
Animals don’t vote
Dogs and the Indian elections.
If they did, the world would have been different. We understand the clarion call for Climate Action as we scout for trees that aren’t there; water that has long turned malignant and air that reeks of carbon. We, the dogs, aren’t happy with the state of affairs. Bears, elephants, and dolphins fare no better.
But I’m just a stray dog on the road, a low life, facing the wrath of the sun, day in and day out. No caste card or religion to root for, no poster boy or supreme leader that I trust in but I know when the dust settles it is going to be an even hotter year on record. We’d be engulfing more toxic air, the tree cover is going to dwindle even more and the plastic would be plastered all over the roads. But this ain’t no spoiler alert, you know this.
I hope I am wrong and things take a turn for better. The little girl who pats me during her evening walks tells me they are planning a Climate change march at the school. Hope floats.