Injay.

“One needn’t give birth to become a mother” 

I believed this since a sultry afternoon of 24th May, 2002. 

That was the day you came into my life. 

Who said black and white

can’t make a rainbow?

My father kept driving and I sat at the back wondering what the surprise was.  Finally, we reached a house. It smelled. Oh boy, it smelled a lot. And why wouldn’t it? I was greeted by a huge Alsatian and a Labrador. I looked at my father wide-eyed and followed him in. The room had a huge bed and he pointed towards it. What was I supposed to look at? And then I saw him. Black and white and tiny.  He was sleeping. His ears spread out like little black paatishapta (Bengali sweet dish). “We’re taking him home”, my father said. I nodded my head in excitement. He dozed off in the car. And I kept looking at him, patting him gently. I didn’t know then that all our happiness was about to multiply itself a million times over.

The First Picture.

In a naughty mood post his bath.

He made me grow with him. From a single child who was selfish and pampered, he made me feel like a responsible parent. Those who knew me then, knew how awfully possessive I was of my belongings, especially my clothes. So, one evening, after his meal of Cerelac, when he was playing on my lap, he became over active and threw up on me. And to everyone’s surprise, the materialistic girl got busy in caring for him instead of cribbing about her favourite t-shirt being spoiled. That was just the first of the many surprises that he was going to give her.  He went ahead to make multiple holes in her favourite dupatta, puncture marks in all the slippers and covered her favourite blanket with strands of his hair. And yet, the spoiled teenager sported them proudly. 

“It’s my jacket now”

The blanket is mine too!”

Being away from him for five years was probably one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. On the drives back from the airport, my glee knew no bounds in anticipation of seeing him after months. And my anticipation would be met with an immense dose of “obhimaan”.  He would greet my mother, run around here and there but completely dodge me. It was only after a long time of holding out my arms and calling him incessantly, that he would come and bury his head in my stomach. A few moments of silent love and he would start running around my luggage with eyes that read “Open it and give me my gift!” Needless to say, he slept peacefully only after I was completely unpacked and my bags were put up in the loft. For him, my luggage bags were the evil that separated him from me. I wish I could borrow his innocence. 

The “obhimaan” filled eyes.

“I ain’t sharing my gifts!”

We all know that dogs are very emotional. But that the emotions could be so varied was something that he showed me. Owing to my hostel habits, I always went to sleep very late.  On nights, when I was up watching a movie, I would see him come out of the adjacent room, looking all sleepy and irritated. He would stomp up and down and nudge me a million times as if meaning to say, “I can’t sleep in so much light! Why on earth are you not coming to bed?” When my mother or me, hugged each other or anyone else, the little green eyed monster would raise his head inside him. He would come straight at us and place himself right in the middle demanding to be showered with kisses. I used to go for my internships or random outings almost every day, but the day I was supposed to leave the city for a long long time, he always knew and his eyes showed that he knew. He would walk beside me, matching every step, making his final attempts at making me stop, and when he realized it was futile, he would just sit on the sofa, and keep staring till the door closed. Those who have a dog will know that the loving bites are a part and parcel of this relationship. But sometimes, the bites got hard and he immediately understood that he had crossed his limits. With his head bowed down, he could come and hold out his paw and gently lick the place where he had bitten me. Sometimes, to get his extra affection, I would fake a scream at one of his regular bites, to which he would raise his eyes, not move an inch and mean to say, “Yeah right! Nice try but I know you’re just pretending!” The scaredy cat that I am, I think I passed that trait to him as well. One evening, my nap was broken by him barking away to glory. It had turned dark and stormy outside and the curtains were ballooning up. And there he was, cowering into the wall and shouting at them. On seeing me, he confidently came up to my side and the courageous duo went ahead and closed the windows. He had quite a competitive streak too. On cold winter nights, when the bed was being made, he would eye me and then the bed, and then we would both make a run for it. He defeated me most of the times and parked himself comfortably on my pillow and I curled up with my head on his belly and went off to sleep. Somewhere, in the middle of the night, I would wake up to see that he was sleeping near my feet, leaving the pillow for me. I wondered who the parent was. 

“Everybody must love me!”

“I won. It’s my place”

*snore*

“Are you going away again?”

Yes, I carried him in my lap. Yes, I fed him. Yes, I cleaned his potty. Yes, I indulged him. Yes, I played with him whenever he wanted. But it was he, who was my biggest anchor. After a day which left me absolutely drained, his cold nose that greeted me at the door kept me going. There were days when he pounced on me and wagged his tail and I pushed him away owing to my bad mood. He would walk away sadly, only to run back to my arms when I realized my mistake and called out to him. I don’t think anyone can tolerate me the way he did. I talked to him for hours together and he would silently take it all. I gave him suffocating hugs, only because I needed them more myself. I wet his fur with my tears because I knew he wouldn’t judge me. His eyes spoke a thousand words and comforted me endlessly. Emotionally and otherwise, I have always been a very private person but he was my outlet, my secret keeper, my support system all rolled into one. 

“You are safe in my arms”

His ear scratches – My stress buster.

And all my worries melted 

away into nothing.

The only word that made him jump and run to the door was “cholo” (let’s go) and the place where he loved to go most was the terrace. From chasing the crows, to playing ball, from pretending to be a horse to pulling the slippers off my feet, he did it all. The AC was his favourite companion during summer and his ears would fly much like Bollywood heroines, as he sat before it. Like a true Englishman, he craved a Sunday breakfast of bacon and eggs and like a true Bengali, he cherished his rosogolla (Bengali sweet dish) and paan (betel leaf) post his meals. They say dogs are colour blind, but this one was very choosy. Out of a pile of freshly washed clothes, he would always pick a red one to take under the bed and sleep on. When he got bored of fetching the ball, we played rounds of hide and seek. Although he was an animated little fellow most of the time, he stayed put as he patiently waited for me to hide. He loved it the most when I hid in the kitchen. Sunday afternoons were his lunch invitations to my uncle’s place and he kept giving us reminder nudges from 1 o clock. But the lazy bum that he was, he dozed off even before our first drink was over.  He loved his belly rubs as much as he loved waking me up in the morning with a wet kiss. Listening to mobile phone ring tones, tearing plastic bags, dragging quilts across rooms, snatching away the Éclairs wrapper, getting blow dried, staring outside the window, devouring vanilla ice cream, having lunch in the balcony, kicking his legs in the air… these were a few of his favourite things. 

It’s play time.

His happy place.

And he took my slippers away.

For the 11 years, and 318 days that he was with us, he was a perpetual three year old baby. Right from being fed at the dinner table with a bib around his neck, to waiting for his feet to be wiped clean if he went for a walk in the rain. His childishness turned all of us into children. I remember walking on all my fours to give him company and also to see how the world looked from his eyes. His playtime became our playtime. His toys occupied two old Nike shoeboxes and they came out almost every day. His favourite was a blue soft toy cum car which was lovingly called the Beetle. He was also a very helpful fellow. Whenever the milk was on boil and it was about to spill over, he would always alert us. We avoided chocolates as much as possible because it was harmful for him. God alone knows that I felt like an absolute criminal when sometimes he caught me stealing a bite of Dairy Milk and the only way I reduced my guilt was by giving him a dozen chocolate laden kisses. There can be no end to the memories he gave us. I only wish there would be no end to the time that he was with us. 

“Someone feed me! 

It’s one o’ clock already”

Contented with his Beetle.

“Where are you guys? 

The milk is spilling over!”

When I was little I had read a story where a little girl is crying because her dog had died and her father tells her, “Do you know why dogs go away so soon? It is because God sends each of us to this world to learn to be good and to lead a good life. Dogs learn that really fast, hence God takes them away.” There has not been a moment since 8th April 2014 that I have not missed him. I miss his smell. I miss calling out the million names I had for him. I miss wearing clothes full of strands of his hair. I miss fighting for the blanket. I miss dozing off next to him. I miss him in the family pictures. I miss his cold nose nudges and warm licks. I miss watching him run towards me. In short, missing him has become a part of me. But someday, sooner or later, I will see him.  Till then, knowing that he is happy and peaceful wherever he is, keeps me okay.

Must be driving all the women 

crazy up there.

I am reminded yet again of that sultry afternoon more than a decade ago. Little did I know that, when I got that two and half month old baby into my life, he would venture deep into my heart, occupy it irreplaceably, and make me love in a way I never thought I was capable of. 

My first baby and the best one ever.

HAPPY 13TH BIRTHDAY, INJAY. I LOVE YOU.

Wishing you with sunshine and kisses forever.