Don't call me a writer please! Cos that's too much pressure. I write like I speak. I speak as I wish. And to be honest - I hate grammar. I'd prefer to entertain that for payment only! Don't call me a writer please, cos I prefer not be analyzed under the Indian Khadi/Tweed microscope. They are both too linty I say!
I am here to speak on behalf of the dog-fearing people. We are a neglected, oppressed, and suppressed lot. Nobody cares if we die of fang fright or go into permanent woof shock. There is no awareness and no concept of ‘dog-fear enabled’.
The truth is that you know us. We are the people you love to hate. You know the ones who request you to lock your dog up? Well technically speaking we are the Cynophobics, but let’s just call us the dog-fearing people.
But expecting some sympathy is futile. What is more likely is that the Doberman leashers will just laugh and set their dogs upon us. Go, go get those chicken Rambo. And so Rambo goes to get them. And we scramble above our fear soaked pants. And Rambo chases us. ‘Come to papa you tittering chicken’ he sniggers. And then you find yourself running, stumbling, but running at breakneck speed. Rambo is at your heels. You jump above the fence. You clamber around the buildings. You sail across the cars. You can feel Rambo’s breath on your neck. You are hurtling towards the tracks. There’s a train approaching. You don’t care. You’d rather be hit by the train than be kabab to Rambo. And then you slip. You are on your back. Rambo is upon you. You see his big black face wolf down to yours, his fangs drooling that disgusting sticky saliva. Now who’s the underdog? You are rambo’s kabab, you are. And you scream. Your scream sounds like a gargle. Then suddenly it’s all quiet.
You open your eyes, and realize it was just a dream.
A really bad one.
But dog-fearing people know that fear that disintegrates the very bones of your being.
When we are in such states, all else fades. We feel like we are in a hot humid jungle and standing before us is the nastiest wolf in the world. We can’t focus on anything else but the sound of the panting, that little growl. Our eyes are drawn to those fangs, those scary pre-historic fangs. And we can’t stop it - we will look into its eyes and it’s like standing at the brink of hell. Stone-cold fire boring into your very soul. He knows. He knows. HE KNOWS.
There are some dogs I fear but I love. Like the Shepard variety or Labradors. But you know the dogs I love to hate and fear the most? Pomeranians. God, I am not a violent person, but I would happily shoot a bullet into a pom. Bloody arrogant little pricks. I must have been eight years old when I was chased by one. I didn’t do anything okay? I just looked at it and smiled and then it barked madly and leapt - and I just knew it. So I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran, faster than I ever had. And the pom ran after me. Bloody little arrogant prick. Woof-woofing like a catty bitch. Chasing me, trying to get it’s feline claws into me. Blood pounding, heart racing, mouth drooling. Oh I ran. Round and round the front yard, and the back yard, dizzying around the house. Then suddenly, a door opened and a cousin pulled me in. Finally I was safe. But I couldn’t believe that I was chased by something that was nothing more than a rabbit! A rabbit with nasty little fangs.
That same year, another white dude decided to go mental on me. Literally. It was my owner’s dog Rocky. I loved him so much. Rocky and I were great friends. I don’t know what breed he was, but he was huge, and white, and shaggy. His kennel was just under the stair-case to our first-floor apartment. Once, on my way up I saw Rocky sitting there. I looked at him, tilted my cute little head and gave him a sweet smile. “Rockyyy” I said. And suddenly he jumped up with a bark and chased me up the stairs. Somebody saved me yet again. We later discovered Rocky had gone dog mad and he died in a couple of months. But not before making my life hell. I couldn’t step through the gate until he was locked up. He simply hated the sight of me. I was quite sad too because I had lost a friend. At that point I had to believe one of two things. That dogs saw the devil in my face. Or there was the lesson to carry in life:
DO NOT SHOOT SWEET SMILES AT WHITE DOGS.
But there are dogs that I don’t fear. Stray dogs. Oh my darling mongrels. They are so nice and friendly and as many of you know - only chase men. Good I think. My perverse revenge for all those years of eve-teasing that we have suffered. It’s really so much fun to watch the whole batch gunning after the fancy young men screaming like little girls and trying to save their heels from the doggies. Stray dogs chasing stray men. Poetic justice.
But oh beware of the “Beware of Dog” sign. Oh, dog-fearing people, you know the nightmare value that carries.
Then you would think that they would take the dog away? But cheh, no. Oh, he’s so friendly and cute. Don’t worry about him. Paapa, look at him, he won’t harm you. So what – did you think I just always walk into people’s houses looking like the roadside crazy?? But apparently. Then that uzi dog will not leave you alone. And you won't leave you alone. You sit on the edge of that sofa constantly afraid it’s going to suddenly jump from behind or sneak through your legs from underneath. He may he may not. But of course he will definitely come and start sniffing at your feet. Stubbing his hot nose on your ankles. Drooling over your leather heels. Ants crawl on your ankles and your fatty calves quivers. And you just know that it can smell your fear. Relaxxx goes the aunty. Shut up aunty goes your head. Can you take your uzi brat away from here? But uzi brat has to stay to watch you eat. Every morsel. Every biscuit. Warning you. Don’t you dare finish it, let me have my piece or I’ll take one out of you. You accede to him. But brat is Satan amplified. He won’t let you leave in peace. When you get up, he starts jumping about without warning – barking like the king of rabids. Almost hitting the roof in excitement. Down Tiger. Down. But Tiger won’t have it. The leash can’t hold him down. Daddy can’t hold him down. Then he breaks free. Standing guard at the door.Ten people shield you from Tiger and herd you out. But Tiger will have the last word. Before you drive away, he will make sure he pees on your car to show you who’s the boss.
Sigh. You are Uzi Dog You are.
So, did you get that? Did you get what we have to go through when we visit you? And do you know how painful it is when 6 out of 10 people you know are dog owners? You love them. I know that. We are a pain. I know that. There’s too much drama. I know that too. But what to do. The heart fears what the heart fears. The heart leaps, and so does the man crossing your super-energized dog out for the evening walk. I have personally been almost-run down many times in an effort to avoid those leashed dogs straining against their owners to come say a nasty hello to me.
Many a girlfriend has been lost for the fear of a dog. Many a biryani missed for the fear of a dog. And many a man wimped for the fear of the dog.
We are dog-fearing people. We have rights too. Rights to live without fear. Rights to walk on the footpaths without fear. Rights to visit you without fear. Rights to voice our fear without fear of being ridiculed. I dream of the day I can walk about India, without having to change course because of pet dogs, and stray cattle, and jumpy chickens.
I dream of a day when I approach a gate and a dog loves me. Runs to me with his tail wagging, and smiles at me when I smile at him. A day I can turn to you beamingly and say: We are dog-loving people.
But alas my friends, we are dog-fearing people.
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