LifePedia | Anand Sharma
For years now, I have often found myself gazing at the visiting pigeons in my balcony. They are probably accustomed to my presence and have, over time, dropped any semblance of fear rather there is a sense of indifference at my smiling face. Their eyes suggest – for the hand that feeds us, it does deserve to observe us for whatever it might be worth. What they or my fellow human beings can never imagine is the story behind my gaze.
Eons ago, the 21 year-old-me and my uncle waited impatiently at the New Delhi International Airport’s cargo collection office, to collect what was then (way back in the 90’s) a very expensive buy and paid for in US dollars.
About 4 hours later the moment of truth arrived – clad in a pink ribbon, a five-week old German Shepherd from Kiev (then USSR). She was stuffed in a plastic box and comatose as my uncle completed the paper work and the bribing bit.
Later, as we drove out she finally opened her big eyes looked around with indifference and snuffed aside her plastic box in disdain to quickly slip into my lap, carefree and safe while I was still fidgety.
Twelve hours later, the faith was cemented. After having been embraced, loved, caressed and fed by almost every one at home, she chose to hit the bed with me, literally jumped up next to me and made room for herself on my pillow; that was all the space this Communist needed. Needless to mention she had already consumed every inch of space in my heart. I named her Sheeba. Why I don’t know; but yes, that was her, the centre of my universe.
Sheeba would play with everyone; yet her special moments, her memorable antics, like playing with the sponge ball or showing off her rat-catching and crow-chasing skills, would be reserved for me. It was then that I experienced what a one-master dog meant. She listened to everyone, but obeyed only one command – mine. Boosting this 21-year-old’s ego no end, as I would so often show off albeit, at her cost.
She was also my partner in crime as I would exploit her universal affability to break the ice with random girls on the street. Sheeba, on her part would be rewarded with her favourite pork salamis, that would disappear in her mouth only to open empty again and with twice the saliva dripping out.
Sheeba, the new mistress of the house insisted on having her meals only in the balcony area thereby displacing the pigeons from their dining spot. Both of us would chase them away before meals. I would playact while Sheeba had a ‘meal’ intent, thereby earning bad karma from them. Her cue for meals was a loud ‘Bon Appetit’ shout from me. Both Sheeba and I would eat our meals two feet apart – me on my rocking chair and she right below the chair.
The meals would also compensate as bribes or appeasement for my late night soirees. On those days post-dinner, poor Sheeba would often end up going out for her stroll with others only to wait up all night till I eventually took her out for the customary last stroll of the day. It was our version of ‘us-time’!
I would have never known what unconditional love is till she came into my life – the theory of supply and demand hit a cul-de-sac. The only thing that flowed was Love and devotion seen through a non-stop wagging of her thick tail that brought down everything in its path followed by the ‘slurp slurp’ of her tongue all over me. She never judged me and always welcomed me with total devotion.
Slowly Sheeba grew up and in three months’ time, she was now in her elements. After having taken everyone in the house for granted and claiming different sleeping spots at different hours in the house, her final destination would invariably be outside my room or on my bed.
And as ladylike as she was, the element of jealousy reared its head sooner than later when the neighbours’ brought home a Persian kitten who became the centre of attention much to Sheeba’s dismay, one that was expressed through outright sulking (sitting in one corner) to sometimes barking at visibly nobody outside just to grab some of the attention back, and finally by not responding to Bon Appetit or stepping out for the evening stroll. Sheeba’s tactics worked and within one week the Persian cat was duly declared persona-non-grata at our house. The mistress of the house had the last laugh.
Delhi winters had truly set in and the only one at ease was our Ms Ukrainian. Sheeba, often wondered (must have) why my meals tasted so different since I was a pure vegetarian and she a pure non-veg. Our food routine was simple, first we would scare off the pigeons who always managed to give her the slip followed by Sheeba’s sumptuous meal that was quickly consumed and inevitably followed by her immediate arrival at my feet hoping to get some freebies from my plate which she did though, unappetizing by her standards.
Life however, can and is terribly unpredictable. Everything was following a beautiful script of a long and joyous journey together when one fine day just after giving Sheeba her lunch, I quickly got ready for an overnight trip when Sheeba (not for the first time) kept blocking my way and not letting me step out. I did give my ‘drama queen’ one quick examination and as always all was OK. I hurriedly packed my stuff and gave her the customary tight hug and planted her on my bed.
She was my everyday excuse to play deaf and dumb, cop and robber, father & child but 24 hours later she was no more. It was the worst homecoming I ever had. Nobody knew what got to her but she died sometime in her sleep in the morning.
At home everybody waited for me to have one last look at my darling who, I then duly buried in the front lawn. I didn’t have the heart to go back to my room and revisit our hallowed space but it was the unbearable rotten stench that led me inside.
There, under my rocking chair where Sheeba got her freebies from my plate lay a dead pigeon.
That’s when it hit me. For all the meals that I had served Sheeba, she left one back for me – a dead pigeon with just one signature bite on the neck. I was convinced that it was Sheeba’s way of saying ‘Bon Appetit’…just that I had been far away to hear her call.
Anand Sharma, is a Media professional from the Indian TV industry specialising in Content creation in his parallel roles of Creative Head/Director, and Writer (for TV production houses). He has also written a ten-episode audio-book (for Storytel) titled – “Tinderella in Jyotishland” . He is based in Bombay.