(26 Feb ’12)
‘My’ crow is easily
identifiable because he’s lame. He doesn’t have one claw. Why ‘he’? Because he
aggressively demands his roti. Dipped in milk, please; if it’s offered dry,
there’s a ruckus of kaokaokao and flapping wings to deal with. For long years,
I was mostly dropped to work by my husband, by car. On the occasions that I
walked to office, this bird accompanied me. He flew alongside, then rose,
dipped close to my shoulder and thus gave me company right till the main road.
What has fascinated me, still does, is that he could identify me in the crowd,
associate me as the person who gave him the roti, and this was his way of
thanking me. Birds have brains? Basic ones, yes. But do birds have emotions and
thought processes? Very reluctantly, I must say, yes. I’ve come to the flat
after many months. He’s obviously been keeping a watch, for on the very first
day, within minutes of my stepping out onto the balcony, he came cawing by,
fearlessly coming close enough to take a bit of bread from my fingers.
Alongside was another young crow. His offspring maybe? I remember my husband
stopped putting a bowl of water outside for the birds because this fellow used
to pick up decaying fish from somewhere, rinse
it in that water and wipe it on
the clothes hanging out to dry before eating it. Personal cleanliness: an
Indian fetish. Even our crows have it.
The dogs in Sangolda
howl in harmony. I think they’re doing a study on human sleep-deprived
behaviour. Being Goans, there’s music and non-consistency in their method.
First: one dog across the valley, somewhere near Pilerne, sets up the first
notes, low but distinct. The Saligao canines pick up the tune and toss it
onwards to Sangolda. Our dogs improvise upon it. A proper raga evolves over
fifteen to twenty minutes before it progresses towards Porvorim. Whilst this in
progress, the Pilerne chaps have concocted a happier, staccato tarana full of gusto and, like a jam
session gone wrong, devoid of rhythm. I’ve lived in many places, urban and
rural, nowhere have I heard sounds like these. I’m going to tape (I do realize
the correct word is record, for tapes are now extinct) them. Some foreigner
who’s an expert in dog-language will be interested and I’ll make some money.
There are nights when they bark, too. My neighbour tells me she can’t sleep the
nights the dogs have other things to do. It’s like Mumbaikars can’t sleep
without the rattle of trains and rumble of traffic. The same fellows test us in
the mornings to see whether our sleep status has affected our reasoning: we’re
smart, we humans, we are still nice to them and give them pao to throw them off-track. Night after night of no sleep… we’re
conditioned to it now… and we make up by catching up in the afternoons… all
offices in Goa are air-conditioned these days, and sans mosquitoes. Great
arrangement.
Cats are my great favourites because they have attitude. They don’t care
what you think, you better figure out what they want and until you do so,
they’ll mew you to irritating hell. Horses, cows and pigs have more
intelligence than we give them credit for. In Matheran, my husband, who was
once a good rider, decided to take a trot upon one of the skinny
‘rentbythehour’ horses. After returning from the first ride, the horse kept
nuzzling my husband’s shoulder, communicating to him that he wanted to run some
more. The next morning, my husband took him out for a long gallop, up and
across those fabulous Sahyadri hills. When they got back, the horse’s head and
tail were high, there was a spring in its step. And he nudged and pushed my
husband playfully after the latter patted him a ‘shabaash ghoda’. There are no Kodak moments for some moments.
One calf in Jodhpur,
used its budding horns to wrestle with the handles of our scooter. We named it
Lucinda Belchbottom, but later discovered it was a bull, so changed its name to
Mr B. This calf ate up our organic garbage with relish. We need lots of such
animals in Goa. Here, the cats eat the fishy stuff, the cows can tackle the
peels and rice (observe the garbage in any residential neighbourhood hereabouts
and see how much cooked rice exits domestic kitchens) and leave only the
plastic for the panchayats to tackle. As
for pigs: those of us who grew up in old ancestral homes know how our toilets
were ‘tackled’. No septic tanks existed. Come elections and along with
responsible mining, perhaps we should ask future legislators for grunting
sewage disposal systems.
High time we respected
fellow planet-dwellers. Someone said to me: What’s the point spending so much
money on tigers when humans are starving? My answer: It’s the habitat of the
tiger that we need to save. Depletion of our forests will mean eventually
depleting the human race. Comprehend?
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