“Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on.
I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer
Dusting the creaking book shelf, I stumbled upon a chance discovery in the attics, an old journal belonging to Chunnu. The paper was stained in melancholic yellow hues perhaps not due to moisture, but memories.
Chunnu’s Journal. December 26th, 2007:
I have been preoccupied in working on a series of poems that addresses the hitherto neglected segment of Canine literature. By this I mean, not literature about Canines, but literature by canines.
A leap of faith? Surely I jest? A blasphemous equation of human life and dogs? Really, for brainwashed Homo sapiens, brought up to believe in their own superiority (species,race, gender, language, ethnicity, geographic or political uniqueness etc.), it seems incredible that the animals species, and canines in particular, can dare lay claim to equality. The possibility of creating a social revolution is nil, I am realistic enough to acknowledge. But indeed, we feel pain; we love our lives and children, much as you do.
Let me bring to your notice the latest goings-on of a young man who has recently forced his way into my residence. He is a pug, a year old monster named Nemo.
I grant that he is unfortunate, having a genetic problem that has made his hind quarters useless. I employ in my household, an earnest oaf who goes to work everyday and brings home the bacon, so that we may exist in the lavish manner that persons of our class have long desired to. Our duties (the canines in the household), as defined by us, are simple – none. TV, sleep, unchecked wandering in and out, long walks, the finest in food (no leftovers) and health care – we get it all!
Back to Nemo – he has lately had imported from the US, a special wheelchair which allows him to move about reasonably well. The power equation will not change, as I continue to be top dog. But I am happy for him.
Not a day passes without Dr. Chunnu Murthy remembering his canine companion Nemo.
Nemo moves on.
A long illness, endless suffering from the day he was born.
Buried this morning in my t-shirt, covered with flower petals.
Thank you, my dear son.