It's freezing. The rain is endless, cold and sleet like, falling in icy sheets. There's a crazy wind blowing that is absolutely demented with no sense of direction or propriety, blowing tin sheets off rooftops and felling trees in maniacal glee. Other Half is shivering, teeth chattering, face ashen.
'It's very cold!' he manages to blurt out between his chattering teeth.
I laugh.
He's covered in layers and layers of winter wear as if he is back on the Glacier; thick fleece lined inner wear, a warm T shirt, a jacket and a wind cheater. And as if that's not all, he is also wearing thick pure wool socks and thicker gloves, not to forget the wool cap pulled low over his ears in true Bong 'monkey cap' style.......!
'And yet you're cold!'
I giggle again as he gives me a dirty look.
An otherwise hardy, athletic chap who loves the Outdoors, he is surprisingly defeated by the cold.
'Getting old.' I tell him and he makes a face at me, unable to say much more between his trembling jaw muscles. I stick out my tongue at him in retaliation.
That was a few days back. The weather since has improved, the wildflowers have bloomed, the snows begun melting in the hot afternoon sun, the bulbuls have commenced their serenade in the garden, life is springtime like once again. And it is now that Padfoot has made her appearance in our lives.
She is a black stray dog but unlike my old black short-coated pal Kaaloo, she is very furry, like all mountain dogs and I can make out from the white fur salting her jaw, that she is much older than Kaaloo. Someone tells me that she's a Bhakkarwal. I've heard that these Bhakkarwals are fierce, unfriendly creatures and coloured jet black with that thick fur surrounding her skull like a lion's mane, I tell myself, she's just like the Grimm from Harry Potter, that magical dog shaped creature who portents evil with its appearance.
But of course, I'm totally wrong as I find out soon. She's nothing at all like the Grimm. In fact she's just the opposite, friendly, playful and when she brings her two adorable male pups to meet us, I am forced to eat my fears. And so I decide to name her Padfoot instead, after Sirius Black's Animagus form.
Intelligent, Padfoot soon becomes aware of her new name and even begins to respond to it. I'm thrilled, though I think she responds more to my voice and tone rather than the name I've given her.
Meanwhile, Other Half, like an errant school boy, takes to feeding Padfoot and her little family at breakfast and lunch everyday, without fail. We are in a guest house and our food comes from the local canteen; hence Padfoot's food perforce has to be pruned off our share. At first it's just odds and ends and left overs but slowly I find Other Half siphoning off great portions of food from both our shares, chunky chicken pieces, rotis, great spoonfuls of rice, large potato bits...!
Now, I like dogs, that's true but I love my breakfast and lunch too...and when he begins rationing my portion saying that I am anyway ballooning out with too much eating and need to cut down on my food intake, I put my silver stiletto clad foot firmly down in protest. And since hell hath no fury greater than a woman denied her Chhole Bhature, Other Half is made to retreat quietly. But now, instead of rationing my portions, he surreptitiously doubles the rationing of his own breakfast and dinner. And he being the incorrigible bull head that he is, there is little that I can do to stop him.
Now it's freezing again. The clouds have descended down the mountains misting the foothills in grey. It's raining cats and dogs. The wind is playing bad boy again, unceremoniously rattling tin sheets, window panes and bending the silver fir trees into awkward angles. And it's been like this since yesterday evening.
Other Half is restless: his Padfoot has not been seen, neither she nor her two sons since dusk yesterday. Their share of yesterday's lunch and today's breakfast lie forlorn in my microwave-safe-dirty-green Milton casserole dish with the broken lid. Other Half's eyes are worried, his normal happy-in-spite-of-everything demeanor absent. Every now and then, he peers out of the window into the grayness outside or asks me, 'Can you hear them?' But all I can hear is only the wind howling against the gray mountains.
Suddenly, there is a high pitched, almost subsonic mewling somewhere outside the door.
Padfoot!
I yell out to Other Half, 'They're here!'
As I rush to open the door, he rushes for the green Milton casserole dish with its broken lid.
Outside, taking advantage of a respite in the rain, Padfoot has come to have belated lunch with her brood. Other Half rushes out with the precious casserole dish to that stone table where he usually places their grub. The dogs bustle around him excitedly.
The wind picks up speed again and I retreat indoors to pick up my jacket. When I return outside, I find Other Half standing protectively above the dogs, arms crossed against his chest, watching them eat.
The wind resumes it's mad dance and its crazily cold once again. My hands and feet are frozen numb and my teeth are chattering. As I pull my jacket tightly around me, I suddenly realise Other Half is clad only in his Tees and a thin track pant. No fleece jacket, no socks, no gloves, not even the monkey cap, nothing....!
I watch him standing tall, one hand holding that battered green Milton casserole dish with the broken lid, the other in his pocket, silhouetted against the gray mountain, in that blinding gale and pouring rain, sparsely clad, unconcerned of that excruciating cold, watching his wards have lunch, a contented beatific smile lighting up his dark, cold-crunched face.
And I think to myself: to be human, that is so easy, it doesn't require anything special of us; to feel joy, sorrow, pain, dejection, cold... that is all but natural; effortless and automatic. We all feel these things, for we are all humans.
But to have humanity.....now that is an altogether different ball-game; for in spite of all of us being humans, strangely and quite Ironically, not all of us possess humanity........!
'It's very cold!' he manages to blurt out between his chattering teeth.
I laugh.
He's covered in layers and layers of winter wear as if he is back on the Glacier; thick fleece lined inner wear, a warm T shirt, a jacket and a wind cheater. And as if that's not all, he is also wearing thick pure wool socks and thicker gloves, not to forget the wool cap pulled low over his ears in true Bong 'monkey cap' style.......!
'And yet you're cold!'
I giggle again as he gives me a dirty look.
An otherwise hardy, athletic chap who loves the Outdoors, he is surprisingly defeated by the cold.
'Getting old.' I tell him and he makes a face at me, unable to say much more between his trembling jaw muscles. I stick out my tongue at him in retaliation.
That was a few days back. The weather since has improved, the wildflowers have bloomed, the snows begun melting in the hot afternoon sun, the bulbuls have commenced their serenade in the garden, life is springtime like once again. And it is now that Padfoot has made her appearance in our lives.
She is a black stray dog but unlike my old black short-coated pal Kaaloo, she is very furry, like all mountain dogs and I can make out from the white fur salting her jaw, that she is much older than Kaaloo. Someone tells me that she's a Bhakkarwal. I've heard that these Bhakkarwals are fierce, unfriendly creatures and coloured jet black with that thick fur surrounding her skull like a lion's mane, I tell myself, she's just like the Grimm from Harry Potter, that magical dog shaped creature who portents evil with its appearance.
But of course, I'm totally wrong as I find out soon. She's nothing at all like the Grimm. In fact she's just the opposite, friendly, playful and when she brings her two adorable male pups to meet us, I am forced to eat my fears. And so I decide to name her Padfoot instead, after Sirius Black's Animagus form.
Intelligent, Padfoot soon becomes aware of her new name and even begins to respond to it. I'm thrilled, though I think she responds more to my voice and tone rather than the name I've given her.
Meanwhile, Other Half, like an errant school boy, takes to feeding Padfoot and her little family at breakfast and lunch everyday, without fail. We are in a guest house and our food comes from the local canteen; hence Padfoot's food perforce has to be pruned off our share. At first it's just odds and ends and left overs but slowly I find Other Half siphoning off great portions of food from both our shares, chunky chicken pieces, rotis, great spoonfuls of rice, large potato bits...!
Now, I like dogs, that's true but I love my breakfast and lunch too...and when he begins rationing my portion saying that I am anyway ballooning out with too much eating and need to cut down on my food intake, I put my silver stiletto clad foot firmly down in protest. And since hell hath no fury greater than a woman denied her Chhole Bhature, Other Half is made to retreat quietly. But now, instead of rationing my portions, he surreptitiously doubles the rationing of his own breakfast and dinner. And he being the incorrigible bull head that he is, there is little that I can do to stop him.
Now it's freezing again. The clouds have descended down the mountains misting the foothills in grey. It's raining cats and dogs. The wind is playing bad boy again, unceremoniously rattling tin sheets, window panes and bending the silver fir trees into awkward angles. And it's been like this since yesterday evening.
Other Half is restless: his Padfoot has not been seen, neither she nor her two sons since dusk yesterday. Their share of yesterday's lunch and today's breakfast lie forlorn in my microwave-safe-dirty-green Milton casserole dish with the broken lid. Other Half's eyes are worried, his normal happy-in-spite-of-everything demeanor absent. Every now and then, he peers out of the window into the grayness outside or asks me, 'Can you hear them?' But all I can hear is only the wind howling against the gray mountains.
Suddenly, there is a high pitched, almost subsonic mewling somewhere outside the door.
Padfoot!
I yell out to Other Half, 'They're here!'
As I rush to open the door, he rushes for the green Milton casserole dish with its broken lid.
Outside, taking advantage of a respite in the rain, Padfoot has come to have belated lunch with her brood. Other Half rushes out with the precious casserole dish to that stone table where he usually places their grub. The dogs bustle around him excitedly.
The wind picks up speed again and I retreat indoors to pick up my jacket. When I return outside, I find Other Half standing protectively above the dogs, arms crossed against his chest, watching them eat.
The wind resumes it's mad dance and its crazily cold once again. My hands and feet are frozen numb and my teeth are chattering. As I pull my jacket tightly around me, I suddenly realise Other Half is clad only in his Tees and a thin track pant. No fleece jacket, no socks, no gloves, not even the monkey cap, nothing....!
I watch him standing tall, one hand holding that battered green Milton casserole dish with the broken lid, the other in his pocket, silhouetted against the gray mountain, in that blinding gale and pouring rain, sparsely clad, unconcerned of that excruciating cold, watching his wards have lunch, a contented beatific smile lighting up his dark, cold-crunched face.
And I think to myself: to be human, that is so easy, it doesn't require anything special of us; to feel joy, sorrow, pain, dejection, cold... that is all but natural; effortless and automatic. We all feel these things, for we are all humans.
But to have humanity.....now that is an altogether different ball-game; for in spite of all of us being humans, strangely and quite Ironically, not all of us possess humanity........!
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