A Tail of adoption

This is quite a tail really. A long long time ago, we were adopted by a pet. Meaning me and my family. And yes, we didnt adopt a pet,  a dog at that, but rather, the dog adopted us. And how could that be?

Thois- he adopted us

It so happened that this dog, who happened to be from Ladakh, a very cold and mountainous place in the North West of India, belonged to my neighbour, Mr. Paul. Mr Paul lived in a huge house with a large garden, and a large terrace that overlooked my garden too. So, our friendly neighbour's dog, who went by the name of Thois, had an unfettered view of almost everything that went around in my house. Especially what time I went for a walk, or got up, or brushed, etc.etc. And, smart fellow that he was, he was ever ready to make use of the information. So, on some cold winter mornings, i would get up to find myself being cuddled by a huge furry ball, in my own bed, that went by the name of Thois. Finding himself quite cold on the bitter wintery day, he had found that my bed was the cosiest, especially since I was sleeping in it, and made himself home. And greeted my shrieks of shock with wide-eyed puzzlement, as if to say" What's all the fuss about?"On some other days, when I went for a walk, Thois just came. He came everywhere, to the temple, to the market, to the garden, he just followed.  It seems that he had made up his mind to love and adopt us, as his family. And to use his vantage point on top of Mr Paul's terrace to watch our movements, and make sure he joined in at the right time. 

Its a pity Thois didnt live long. One terrible day, he was run over by a truck. Maybe the fact that he came from the mountains- he knew how to survive in the hardest of terrains, but a stray vehicle he could not handle. And that did it for him.  And, we were orphaned again, in a doggy way. Whatever it was, Thois taught us something really valuable- that you don't  need much to ask for someone to love you, you can love them anyway. And adopt them if you like.

Regards, 

Aina Rao.

The amblingindian.

The irons of Pondicherry

This weekend was one of the nicest ones. An short trip to Pondicherry, a quaint but cute town on the South Coast, beginning and ending with an overnight train journey, always bringing back the many wonderful train journeys of the past, and the time to marvel at the vastness of India- even with a long train journey, barely crossing the southern tip of this vast peninsula. Pondicherry- a  little town, home to the French very long ago, with a small French colony still alive within. Queer and quaint, but enjoyable always. The little French colonial houses, the Promenade- reminiscent of the South of France, preserving in so many ways its culture, in such a foreign, yet far away land. Loved every minute of it, soaking in the unseasonal rain, walking by the Promenade, feasting on the local sights and smells.And buying an iron. An iron, of all things? Yes, an iron, or "Istri"as they call it, coincidentally rhyming with "stree", the female gender. Could be something to do with the fact that it can be super hot and scalding at times, and cool and soothing at others, much like a woman. But why an iron?

French streets of Pondicherry

An iron, ostensibly to be used to carry out mundane tasks such as iron clothes, but maybe with the vain hope that it would somehow, magically, iron out all the wrinkles of my life. At least that's what I wish it would do. Smoothen out the creases of existence. The creases of worry that had built up over the last many weeks. Of a daughter leaving home for the first time, to study in what seemed a faraway land now, Pondicherry. A transition point in life, the time when a young one left an enconsced existence, taking flight like a bird, to find a new place in the world. And the pain that came with it, the pain of being left with a half- empty nest, at best.

And so it came to pass. That I shall, hopefully, visit Pondicherry more often, now that part of my nest and heart has moved here. And perhaps spend time again- looking for an iron, and not just looking, but trawling through multitudes of them, studying their shapes and colours too(specifications nothwithstanding, to indulge the senses). This time round, a plain one will just not do, for a fancy pink I hope to find, to bring back the rosy pink colours into life, and banish the blues from the sea of existence.

More about Pondicherry again- i return to it next week!

Regards,

Aina Rao.
The amblingindian.