The young woman is pretty and impeccably
dressed. I size her up. She has come a long way since those days from when I
had known her. I knew she was ambitious but at that particular time, she had
been stuck in a rut and her life had not been going anywhere. I had known she was
struggling to emerge out of this doldrum. She had always been what we call a ‘go-getter’,
a woman of gumption, a woman driven, a woman with a single-minded agenda aimed
at success. I know she would have fought, tooth and nail and today I see that
she had finally won.
She is now a successful young woman with the
world at her feet. Her career is flying, her little son cute as a button and
her husband handsome and kind, as always. It is good to see her like this,
totally on ascendant.
But I am wary of successful people. And I do
not hold them in very high esteem. I prefer people who have fought and failed
for failure softens a person, humbles him, makes him humane and human. Well,
mostly. I have seen too many successful people, erstwhile friends and acquaintances
zoom past without even a sideways glance, seen them mercilessly prey on others
less fortunate, seen them turn blind and deaf to those who lag behind, seen
them never to suffer the weak gladly, have little patience and only contempt for
those left behind. No, I am disdainful of successful people and do not hold
them in high regard. {I know, my bad. Perhaps, grapes are truly quite sour.}
This woman too, with the chic veneer of
success that she wears, has migrated to my notebook of people I do not like
that much.
They have stopped for a bit at my home, in deference
to old times. It’s a sudden, very brief visit and they have no time to sit. Once
the preliminary Hello- How-Are- Yous are completed , they rise to leave.
But the woman stalls. “Aibee, may I see
Kuttush?”
I’m taken aback. Kuttush???
She had never
been fond of dogs. Not at all. In fact I could not recall her ever even petting
my Labs. Instead I remember her distinctly making it a point to keep well out
of their way. After so many years, I wondered why she wanted to meet my old
brown Labrador.
I take her to my bedroom. Inside, Kuttush is
fast asleep on my bed. The woman walks up and gently places a pretty palm on
the dog’s head and pats him. “Kuttush, Kuttush.” she says, softly, “Kuttush, kaisa
hai?”
I am frozen with surprise. Kuttush wakes up,
looks around with a quizzical expression on his face, wags his thinning tail in
acknowledgement of the gentle hand on his head and then promptly goes back to
sleep.
But the woman stays, her hand on the dog’s side.
There is an expression on her face which even I, the expert of expressions, cannot
quite fathom. There is affection, yes, but there is something much, much more. But
whatever it is, I know that it is something good, something beautiful and something
very precious.
And I am intrigued beyond description. What
is it that draws this young, successful, fulfilled woman who is definitely not
a dog lover to my senile half blind, fully deaf and slightly smelly dog? Whatever
it is, it warms me towards this woman.
I know, that in spite of all the heady success
that crowns her today, her heart is in a very, very right place.
