The sound of silence

My darling Terri,

Much as I hate to admit it openly, I’m getting used to life without you.

It’s a strange feeling to not suffer from guilt anymore. I have to constantly remind myself that I can stay out late shopping, dining, partying, because there’s no one tugging at my heartstrings, waiting for me to come home.

After 13 years, it’s a new found feeling, and I can’t say that I really enjoy it.

You see, I loved doing things for you. Of course, I complained, but I miss boiling your morning egg, rolling out your lunch and dinner rotis and drinking my evening tea without you prodding me to take you for a walk.

I miss cupping your warm snout in my palm and dodging your licks as I tried to kiss you on the tip of your wet nose. I even miss that dank dog smell that was both disgusting and comforting at the same time.

With you gone, my love, I feel dispensable. I have quit jobs for your sake, refused dinner invitations and exotic vacations since it meant leaving you behind. And yet, I never felt resentful because you had a way of making me feel as though I were the only one who mattered. Perhaps all dogs have this innate gift. I would have to adopt another pet to know for sure.

“When can we get another puppy?” the children ask. I browse Web sites such as this to look for another dog, but the lure of future employment puts a damper on my pet plans.

“Who’s going to watch the dog if I start working?” I reply, citing brutal work hours in India as an excuse. “Besides, our yard isn’t fenced in; I don’t know how to potty train a puppy; we can’t leave him/her in a kennel if we go anywhere; I don’t know what the quarantine laws in the U.S. are if we ever go back."

“But why can’t Appa watch the dog if you go to work?” the children reason. “He’s home!” Your Appa refuses to be drawn into the discussion, using stubborn silence to convey his opinion on the matter.

Despite his reservations on pets, we took the children to the CUPA shelter last week to make a donation. The children and I shared similar levels of excitement as furry puppies beckoned and licked our fingers through the cages. More than a dozen years ago, on a visit to a similar animal shelter, I brought you home, Terri. I was young then, reckless, lonely in a new land, and confident that my new husband would indulge my whims.

Older now and less reckless, I stood surrounded by polite dogs at CUPA, ignoring the children’s squeals of “Please, please, please, can’t we get a puppy?” We fed the dogs biscuits and bread, laughed at the antics of the puppies, admired the limpid eyes of a cow tied nearby, and marveled at the positive energy of the three-legged residents who had lost a limb.

At the end of an hour, I pried the children away from the puppy enclosure and dragged them back to the car amid protests and whines. We wished the dogs well and drove home empty-handed.

I unlocked the front door when we returned, only to be greeted by silence. You may never come back to me, my darling, but loneliness, my old friend, has.

- Mom

Ghar ki murgees

Normally, visitors call before dropping in. But this duo showed up at our doorstep one morning and took the "Welcome" sign on the doormat rather literally.

They pecked at the glass door until mom opened it, and immediately strutted into the house unafraid. Where did they come from, wondered the family.

Before the house filled with chicken droppings, mom lured them out by squatting on the floor and calling out to them. They ran toward her like eager puppies and started pecking at her chappals.

“Feed the kolis rice, madam,” urged the maid.

“But aren’t their beaks sharp?” asked mom, sticking her rice-filled palm at them tentatively. “Won’t it hurt?”

“Of course not,” laughed the maid.

Ouch! Obviously the woman was trying to get her revenge on mom - chickens aren’t half as gentle as dogs.

Yelping, mom scattered the grains of rice on the floor and the birds cleaned up in a jiffy before proceeding to eat the sewer roaches, stray ants and dead flies stuck on the door sill.

“Are these your chickens?” mom leaned over the fence and asked our immediate neighbor, wondering if her Sunday lunch had escaped.

Apparently, they're vegetarians. "Call security," the woman suggested.

Mom ignored her and spent the better part of the morning watching the duo's antics until the children informed her that the birds had escaped from their friend's yard, a few doors down.

"Are they (gulp!) going to eat them?" asked mom.

"They're pets," she was reassured, as the owner was located and informed about the errant birds.

Mom's feathered friends left soon thereafter. As she walked around the block late that evening, mom fervently hoped that the aroma wafting down the street was not chicken-related.

Pay it Forward

Mom hasn’t read the book yet since she’s on a watch-it-first-read-it-later spree. The movie is captivating enough for her to want to read the book, but wouldn’t you know it, our local library doesn’t carry the title.

“So what? Just buy the book,” some of you might suggest, but mom is against buying paperbacks, especially one-time reads, when there’s a functional library nearby. (Yup, she’s cheap that way.)

The film is based on the premise of showering kindness on random strangers. A fifth-grader takes his social studies assignment of “changing the world” seriously and decides to make a difference in the lives of three people. He then hopes that the three people he helps will repay their debt by helping three others, who will, in turn, help three others and thus keep the kindness chain unbroken until it impacts as many people as possible.

The boy starts out by lending a helping hand to a homeless drug addict. He then connives to have his lonely teacher and alcoholic mother fall in love, and finally extends his kindness to save a classmate from bullies on the playground.

Helen Hunt plays the alcoholic single mother who works two jobs to support her son and her habit. She delivers her dialogs with the speed of a semi-automatic – a trait mom found rather annoying while watching her in “Mad About You.” She also looks her worst in this movie, dressing like a hooker with streaky eye makeup as she waitresses in a strip club.

Mom never noticed Kevin Spacey much before, but his role as a burned, scarred teacher who is afraid to love in this movie drew her attention. Despite a never-changing expression on his face, the man makes love to the camera in a subdued, controlled manner, never revealing his emotions but smiling secretly to himself. Each time Helen Hunt throws herself at him, he moans softly and pulls away, leading one to believe that there are men out there who can resist the allure of a semi-dressed, willing woman.

As a large-hearted man, the pedantic teacher falls for a recovering alcoholic and restores some of her dignity. On her part, the woman overlooks his scars and discovers the person hiding underneath the puckered skin.

As a shining example of her own random act of kindness, mom would like to start by adopting a dog.

Ahem … is her spouse listening?