When the Dog Bites

          There was a time when a member or the other of my family or circle of friends was on a course of anti-rabies injections. We didn’t have monkeys, bats or other infected carriers in our neighbourhood, so the jabs were usually for dog-bites. (Shri Husband had to be the exception, naturally: in his case the teeth that bit were feline. He was trying to rescue a kitten from big-trucks and small scooters during rush-hour traffic. Kitten either didn’t like or was petrified of Shri Husband and reacted accordingly.)

Once, the bites came from a pack of pavement-dwelling dogs who believed entertainment comprised humans shrieking and throwing up their limbs and whatever they’d consumed at a previous meal when they were chased. This particular human (yours truly) fell, had her sari ripped, with bits of skin and flesh attached to the shreds. Once the dogs scampered away, tails wagging in triumph, l stirred, shaken but well, some years ago.

Shri Husband, sneakily reading what I was typing, growled: “Terrible stuff.” I wasn’t sure he meant the choice of topic or the quality of my work. So I kept quiet. No point having an argument when there’s a deadline to be met.

…so where was I?

Another time, it was Bai Goanna’s turn. The criminal was a pet being taken for its daily constitutional when it came across a pack of strays it particularly disliked. The latter reciprocated the sentiment and, finding the pet tightly leashed (safety precaution) and therefore handicapped (side-effect of safety precaution), decided to attack it. At the very moment the barking quarrel turned into a physical battle, Bai Goanna got drawn towards that hostile environment.

(‘Why,’ Shri Husband had asked at the time, ‘do you people get into such situations? Y’all are like magnets for trouble’. It’s a question/statement that mostly has no answer, but Shri Husband regularly asks/says it nevertheless.)

Anyway, in the noisy hullaballoo, the pet chewed off a mouthful of Bai Goanna’s leg-muscle. A shocked Bai Goanna was taken by the even more shocked owners to a medical centre. They offered to pay for the doctor’s fees, nurse’s charge, stitching paraphernalia, cleaning and irrigation of the wound, anti-bacterial lotions, anti-biotic potions, even chocolates and flowers.

Bai Goanna, her placidness unblemished by discomfort and pain, figured that ‘an accident’s an accident’ and accepted only the delicious food and nice new magazines they regularly sent to/for her whilst she was recuperating. Consequently, goodwill won. She and the pet’s owners have maintained ‘good relations’, as we say, over the years. Recalling the incident, she jokes and blames the stars, inauspicious time of day, poor alignment of planets, karma, naseeb, that the dog’s didn’t like her odour, etc., etc.

I have other friends, not unlike dear Bai Goanna, who even show off scars of canine encounters to anyone interested in the narration of ‘what happened’. Bee-stings aren’t as common (though just as impressive), otherwise I’d have a dozen more stories to add here. Like the time my rock-climbing companion was stung by a flock whilst we were hanging in mid-air, attached to a rope, with nil chance of escape. He spent a couple of days in the ICU dealing with allergy-causing toxins, and after a couple of weeks, went right back to climbing again. Modern medicine zindabad. Or the time a solitary wasp hit a target right in the centre of my son’s forehead, leaving him with a permanent ‘bindi’ perfectly placed between his brows.

          This dog-bite-bee-stings topic came to mind when I was recently watching the all-time favourite musical, 7-Oscars-winning ‘Sound of Music’. In the gentle World War II era (paradox!) film, the song, ‘My Favourite Things’ has a sentence that goes “… when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad… I simply remember my favourite things and then I don’t feel so-o bad.”

Immediately after the movie, I saw the news. Delhi was in deep trouble, with cops, lawyers and students all behaving badly. Haryana was burning over the reservation issue. Jagdalpur and Hyderabad were in the news for unpleasant reasons. Young lives combating terrorists were snuffed out in Kashmir.

This is a dog-bite moment in my country’s life, I thought.

I recalled the lyrics of the above song and wondered whether simply remembering my favourite things was going to make me feel less sad. I follow the ideals the tricolour represents and believe that vigorous debate keeps a democracy healthy and vibrant, even though it will occasionally give rise to unpalatable criticism and rude comments.

Thinking about raindrops on roses, bright copper kettles, and brown-paper packages tied with string didn’t help. Seeing houses and vehicles in flames, soldiers in coffins, students being thwacked by lawyers in court and cops standing by allowing the ruckus to happen, television channels spewing more opinion than reportage… my sombre mood plummeted.

Surely, I thought, something nice must be happening somewhere in the country though some trouble-spots were getting rabid. There’s no cure for the disease, but inoculation works one hundred per cent. And then I saw that inoculation happening. Young students all over the country were speaking up, loud, strong and clear…that India will remain diverse no matter which government ruled.

Finally, on television, came some respite. Hilarious respite. Pictures of Amma’s 68^th birthday celebrations. If what the news-channels showed was true, I saw people tattooing Amma’s face on their arms. These days, even something that one sees with one’s ‘own eyes’ can trick one (eg: tapes ‘doctored’ to mislead/misinform).

I found those visuals funny in a sad way.

And I sang along with Bai Goanna words from another song in the same film, ‘…bless my homeland forever’.

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