Finding Nemo

“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.

"Nemo the pug, RIP my pet"


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.


RIP Nemo.

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Happy New Year!

The Rayban puppy
Pocket full of happiness

“I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live.”
— Jonathan Safran Foer (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)

Another year passes by— seasons swept, lessons learnt, pains endured and pleasures pined. The year that was witnessed some sweeping changes; the world’s most wanted fugitive isn’t Osama bin Laden anymore, no more is there that longing for the next of the Harry Potter movies. And no longer is the dog a man’s best friend (personal computer has won over the dog). Now I know the reason behind this brouhaha about the world coming to an end.

my precious puppy

The incessant noise of life; shrill as dynamite, subtle as a cat’s walk. Clutter of cacophony that chokes. Engulfing yet another iota of innocence lost to workplace cynicism.

Plotting a blueprint for life, we miss out on the pleasures of today.

This coming year, may you wander off the paved road and follow that inherent dream. For it takes but a twitch to recapture that forgotten child-like wonder. The revelry of the sight of confetti and crumbled gift wraps on floor. Sometimes the rustle of a leaf is louder than the roar of an engine.

I hope you hear it.

Wishing all readers a Happy New Year!

"happy new year"Image courtesy: fernfly Originally shared on facebook

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