Aashish's blog

I received a call from my sister today who told me that our beloved pet dog “kaale” died today. For a dog, she lived a long life - she was 15 years old this year. I was grieved by the news although I had been in preparing myself to bear the inevitable news of her (Kaale) since returning from my trip to Nepal. She looked frail and thin, ate very little and didn’t move around much. I shudder even now thinking how thin she had gotten- I could feel her spine sticking out of her back and her ribs protruding out of her belly.

I tried to console my sister who was on tears over the phone. I found it meaningful to talk about how important role Kaale had played in our lives- especially in our childhood. She had been with us, and around us throughout as we were growing up. My sister brought Kaale in the little metallic basket of her newly purchased ladybird bike while she was in her 4th grade. She brought her all the way from the bazaar, from our aunt’s big 4-storied house. I can’t remember how young kaale was at that time, but I am fairly confident that she was under a month old. I think my mom was surprised that kaale didn’t die during that bike trip considering the ladybird bike did not have any suspension whatsoever and my sister had to travel around 500 meters of graveled road along the way. I still remember playing with kaale in the front porch- as I fluttered a piece of cloth and ran around with it in the front porch and the verendah, kaale would chase it and try to bite it. I vividly recollect teaching her how to stand on her hind legs and do a “namaste”. Although her face would twitch a little indicating the discomfort she was having, she would silently obey me. I was a proud elder brother who had taught kaale a trick. I also remember that one time during my 8th grade when my sister and I called the local radio station and told the hosts that we wanted to wish Kaale her 4th birthday. We thought it was ingenious and extremely hilarious. I think we have a recording of that broadcast somewhere in our old PC/phone.

As I was recollecting the memory of Kaale with my sister, I realized that it is the memory of the dead that haunts us. Our loved ones embody the times we’ve had together- kaale embodied our childhood, our innocence, our glee and our mischievousness. Last winter when I was with Kaale, I did not see the crooked old body, breaking apart like the rusted 15-year old ladybird on the roof of our house- battered by the rain, the heat and the wind of sub-tropical hill. Instead, I saw the memories we’d created, and the times we’d shared. As I saw Kaale basking in the sun last winter, looking coldly and almost angrily at the jumping little dog (we had recently got another dog), I remembered W.B. Yeat’s poem.

THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER

Although I shelter from the rain Under a broken tree My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics, Ere Time transfigured me.

Though lads are making pikes again For some conspiracy, And crazy rascals rage their fill At human tyranny, My contemplations are of Time That has transfigured me.

There’s not a woman turns her face Upon a broken tree, And yet the beauties that I loved Are in my memory; I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me

And when I heard that Kaale died, I felt that a part of my childhood had died- I felt little pigeonhole that is Kaale through which I could cherish my memories was closed. Although I can’t imagine Kaale’s suffering while she was dying, I was kind of glad that she was ridden of the bitterness that had filled her life- how time had transfigured her. She who used to be more agile, more talented than that little prick (the dog) who constantly teases her, was now rendered so ugly and helpless by time. In a way, my own childhood and my memories were being mocked by that little prick. I am glad that Kaale does not have to endure the bitterness and the pain of old age anymore. But at the same time, my heart is utterly broken because with Kaale, a part of my childhood just died.