Don’t do this, don’t go there, don’t chase the butterflies…! Santosh Bakaya spots a bunch of confused dogs with their equally confused masters where everything that the dogs attempt to do was something which is not to be done.
Yesterday night it rained heavily, the spirited raindrops lashing against the window panes with an incredible verve kept creating a music which lulled me to sleep.
In the morning, a couple of sparrows went berserk knocking and pecking at my windowpane.
The manners of the birds are the same everywhere, be it Jaipur or Jammu. Even in Jaipur they had nudged me into going for my morning walk. So conceding to the insistent demands of the spunky sparrows, I ventured out on to the rain drenched lawn. Grey clouds still hung from the sky, waiting to burst open any moment, but in no time, a determined sun had nudged them away, and now looked down at the earthlings with a golden grin.
The naked trees fringing River Tawi seemed to be sending some esoteric message skywards, which I was not able to decipher. Even the bulbuls delicately perched on slender branches, were twittering some message of hope, peace and goodwill.
As I stood facing the east, the early morning rays made golden patterns on my hair, infusing some gloss in them. Some rays fell on the bench in the lawn, some on the swing, some filtered through the luxuriant trees, cascading down on to the garden in heart-warming patterns. Crows and eagles cruised nonchalantly in the blue skies, oblivious to the pulsating world around them.
River Tawi, almost water-less and drab, roaring with all the gusto of River Lidder which brought a smile to my lips.
Hidden from view, a pigeon was yodelling away. The goats boldly scattered in different directions, refusing to listen to the goatherd’s call to come back into his fold. A couple of truck drivers were washing their trucks near the river, snatches of their conversation reaching up to me on the railing where I stood watching life unfold in variegated hues. A slight breeze played with the goatherd’s unkempt hair, bringing a smile to his lips, and the River Tawi roared on.
The keenu, lemon, mango trees swayed merrily, the petunias, pansies and zinias in the garden smiled dimpled smiles in my direction as I walked barefooted on the lawn.
This Jammu morning was different from my mornings in Jaipur, the terrain was different, the ambience was different. There were no labourers around, no burgeoning concrete structures, but dogs aplenty. So armed with a stick, I left the lawn and went out of the gates. The moment I was on the road, I found myself in the middle of an interesting scene.
“No Bruno, no!”
“No, don’t do it, Oscar!”
“Tiger, stop it, will you?”
“No! Bullet! No.”
The masters of the above named dogs were hurling restraining orders at them in differing tones and inflexions. I realised that none of them was asking them to do something but stopping them from doing anything.
What were the poor dogs supposed to do? Don’t do this, don’t go there, don’t chase the butterflies….It appeared that they were in the midst of a dystopian dog world where everything that they attempted to do was something which was not to be done!
Feeling sorry for them, I walked on, admiring the resilience of the spunky raindrops still clinging to the leaves and rivetted by the sight of a lone poppy shooting upwards in lone splendour, from the overgrowth of weeds all around.
“Don’t, Bruno, don’t!”
Bruno’s master was asking him not to chase a squirrel.
This was not a day for dogs, I concluded, as I saw a squirrel scurrying towards the bushes.
I walked further but could not ignore the angry spark of protest in Bruno’s eyes. Soon the sounds of another morning started creating a din – whelps, chirps, chattering of monkeys and a cock-a-doodle-do from a neighbouring house, filled the atmosphere.
In no time, I was back home, listening to the sounds of silence and humming to myself on behalf of the confused canines…
Jaayein to jaayein kahaan,
Samjhega kaun yahaan
We are editorially independent, not funded, supported or influenced by investors or agencies. We try to keep our content easily readable in an undisturbed interface, not swamped by advertisements and pop-ups. Our mission is to provide a platform you can call your own creative outlet and everyone from renowned authors and critics to budding bloggers, artists, teen writers and kids love to build their own space here and share with the world.
When readers like you contribute, big or small, it goes directly into funding our initiative. Your support helps us to keep striving towards making our content better. And yes, we need to build on this year after year. Support LnC-Silhouette with a little amount - and it only takes a minute. Thank you
Got a poem, story, musing or painting you would like to share with the world? Send your creative writings and expressions to firstname.lastname@example.org
Learning and Creativity publishes articles, stories, poems, reviews, and other literary works, artworks, photographs and other publishable material contributed by writers, artists and photographers as a friendly gesture. The opinions shared by the writers, artists and photographers are their personal opinion and does not reflect the opinion of Learning and Creativity- emagazine. Images used in the posts (not including those from Learning and Creativity's own photo archives) have been procured from the contributors themselves, public forums, social networking sites, publicity releases, free photo sites such as Pixabay, Pexels, Morguefile, etc and Wikimedia Creative Commons. Please inform us if any of the images used here are copyrighted, we will pull those images down.