My neighbour’s dog loves to poop right in front of my house. Deep somewhere in my heart, I have a strong desire to kill the dog someday. But, then my ‘sanatan‘ (don’t confuse with satan) and human upbringing concedes to dog’s animalhood. The dog always barks loud whenever I try to sneak-in after late night parties, announcing my escapades to entire mohalla. That whole night I curse the dog, and the morning it poops back again strategically centered between my door and car to never go unnoticed.
I wished to investigate the dog psychology and special affinity to me. It seemed dog attempted at all neighbourhood houses, but been assaulted, booed, and bullied back everywhere. I never resisted the dog, and chose to hop over the poop to my car and cruise away. This gave a sense of pooping security to dog.
In my childhood days, village dalits would poop right on the edges of pond in front of our haveli. My one of the favorite pastime was to shoo them away. Its truly embarrassing and utterly painful when someone has to run with pants down, and pooping urges. But, they were pretty athletic poopers quickly running off unabluted to next pond.
I studied in Bengali mohalla, which is a mini-bengal in almost every corner of India. Traditionally bengalis are bhadramanush or cultured pleasant people, but two bhadramanush seem to alter the manush dynamics a bit. Everyday at some or other block, two bickering neighbours shouting in sasse bengali, pulling up kurta sleeves was a ritual. I would get down from bicycle waiting for real kick-ass fight. But, it never happened. In fact, they both would be sitting after a while with a ‘The Statesman’ newspaper, Chandidas hymns in background two-in-one (old world stereo), and discussing Rabindro literature.
During my Patna student days, we were supposed to walk with shirt collar turned up, chest forward and head held high. No tickets in buses and trains, and no signs of timidity. Jo dar gaya, samjho mar gaya (One who fears is dead).
Once our small group just walked out of a litti-chokha joint, in casual way saying ‘likh lena‘. For unawares, its a lingo frequently used with paan-cigarette waalahs to keep a tab of accounts. It was an unsecure loan, and with college goons, moreover was a loss, or ‘non performing asset’. Littiwaalah pleaded for money, only to be booed with threats of shutdown. I returned later to pay him back. When I enquired why does he run this loss-making business, he said there are enough stupid chamanlals like me who pay. In fact much more than these dadas.
Some drunk fellows passed some lewd remarks to one of my girl colleague. To be precise, something like ‘beautiful ass’. I just walked to them, requested them to stay away since she is local neta’s daughter. It worked wonders and they apologised, but the girl preferred to be abused about ass than to be called a neta’s daughter.
My netagiri and political desires could never bloom because of hollow timidity of bihari bhadramanush.
If I were a neta, wouldn’t have paid at litti counter which runs on chamanlal taxpayers money, and surely would have killed the dog by now.