Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Wisdom, rain and three-legged cat.



Some people have considerably greater capacity to hurt you than others. That is not the real issue. The real issue is that they know they have this ability.  


It has been raining in Delhi for the last few days rather heavily. Driving back home from office is a nightmare. Traffic jam lasts longer than you can imagine. I curse Delhi government and those who run the Delhi government. I make desperate calls to someone high-up, to basically tell i am stuck in a traffic jam for foreseeable future, and it sucks, so do something about it, they tell me that they will do something about it, they have done something about it, but will do nothing about it, they have done nothing about it for decades. They think, perhaps, that traffic jams, when it is raining cats and dogs, is a tourist attraction, roads turn into canals, and people are stuck inside their cars till perpetuity, because cars are not boats. At least the pedestrian are moving, wading in knee-deep muddy water that stinks. 

Yesterday, i drove back very late from a party, so missed the traffic jam. My friend Kiran fed us with the best cooked Andhra mutton ever. I was satiated. The driving time from her place to my home was just ten minutes. I see my neighbour having a roof-top party. They wanted me to join in. I was too tired to attend another party. Instead, I walk into my bedroom to find it flooded with ankle-deep water. The water came down gushing from the stairs, entered my room from the main door and settled to form a big pool. Somebody left the roof door open. My Persian-carpet-look-alike-rug was floating in the water. I did not do anything about it. I just switched on the fan and went off to sleep. I felt like sleeping on a boat in the middle of a lake. In the morning, the water level had subsided, there were some dry patches on the floor, but it was raining outside threatening to disrupt Delhi life, again.

I have a pet now. 
A three-legged cat. He is primarily white, with some black patches, old and dignified, likeable and proud. He has made home on top my of shoe-shelf in the balcony.  He looks straight into my eyes, is cute, furry and moves around lethargically, as if telling 'don't bother me.' 
I have started feeding him leftovers. He loves it. 

He seems to wait for me every evening. I make sure there something to feed him.

He is domineering. The dogs of the street don't bother him. He never steals, nor insist on coming indoors. And ever since, i patronized him, the thief cat--small, dark, thin, ugly and slimy one--has stopped coming. 

My pet, I call him लंगरु बाकैत (crippled nincompoop), has marked my house as his exclusive territory. 

We have developed mutual regard for each other.




 

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