Pari’s Reflections

The morning began like any other. The metro line rumbled with its usual rhythm, carrying office-goers to distant parts of the city. The cars sped in opposite directions across the traffic-divider. The vegetable vendors were setting up their stalls, and the aroma of fresh jalebis from Janata Sweets Shop mixed with the yagna fumes and the fragrance of mogra from the temple nearby.

I had taken my usual spot near the Shiva temple, sitting erect on the cool marble steps, watching the world wake up. From here, I could see my boys - my three-year-old Yogi lounging near the pedestrian crossing on the divider, and my youngest, Chanchal, already chasing his own tail near the society’s nukkad.

* Well, if you are wondering who we are, here’s a hint - We are considered to be ‘man’s best friend’.*

I am Pari. I've seen many monsoons wash over the streets of Mumbai, many festivals light up our neighborhood and blow up our eardrums, and countless humans hurry past our small territory within Shanti Kunj society near the main road market. My black coat with its golden highlights has grown a bit thin with age, but my eyes still observe with gentle curiosity.

Harsh passed us by, as he did every morning on his way to school. I watched him pause and look at us with those familiar curious and inquisitive eyes.

That particular afternoon, something magical happened. After Harsh returned from school, I noticed him talking to the old monk who comes to pray at our Shiva temple every Monday. The monk was whispering something into Nandi's ear - our sacred bull who listens to all devotees' wishes. Harsh looked so earnest, so hopeful, as he closed his eyes and whispered his own prayer into Nandi's stone ear.

Nandi, in his infinite wisdom, must have heard his pure-hearted wish, because suddenly, I felt a warm tingle in the air around us. Probably it was modifying its bandwidth to align the wavelengths. The temple bells seemed to chime more melodiously. I knew something wonderful was about to happen.

When Harsh opened his eyes and looked at me, I saw recognition flash across his face. It felt like an undefined and incredible channel of communication had got activated between us.

"Pari?" he said tentatively, and I heard him - not just his voice, but his thoughts, his confusion, his hope.

"Yes, Harsh," I replied, and watched his eyes widen in amazement. "I can hear you, and you can hear me!"

He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the temple steps. "This... this is impossible! Am I dreaming?"

I chuckled - "Dreams are just another kind of reality, Harsh. But no, we are awake. Someone has granted you a very special gift for the day, and thanks to the nature of your wish I am also being gifted."

He sat down on the temple steps, staring at me with wonder. "Pari, don't you… don't you like to mix with people? You never come near me, you never wag your tail like others… I feel like you just ignore me… maybe because you never bounded up to me like Chanchal did, or approached me directly like Yogi sometimes would.”

I didn’t see this coming, however I quickly clarified, “I respect boundaries - both mine and others', I would never want to impose my presence on anyone. Isn't it better to be wanted than to force yourself on someone?”

But sometimes, quietness gets mistaken for aloofness, and patience for indifference.

I nuzzled his hand softly. "I like you, Harsh. I'll be happy to be with you, if you want to share a quiet moment, if you'd like a gentle companion. Actually, I am grateful that you brought this up."

Harsh's eyes filled with understanding, and something else - was it tears? He laughed then - a sound full of relief and joy. "What about Chanchal? He's so... chaotic. He scared away three aunties just yesterday by jumping on them."

I turned to watch my youngest son, who was currently engaged in an animated conversation with a pigeon near the parking area. "Ah, Chanchal. He reminds me so much of little Priti from the adjacent building. You know Priti, don't you?"

Harsh nodded. "Yes, they say she has ADHD. She's in my cousin's class."

"Though we are not aware of such jargon as ADHD, we understand that his mind moves faster than his body can keep up with and he gets overwhelmed by his own excitement. When he runs up to people and jumps or mouths them, he's trying to say something like 'Hello! I like you! Can we be friends?! Will you play with me?!' But his enthusiasm gets the better of his manners."

For us he's just Chanchal - energetic, loving, sometimes overwhelming, but always one of us.

Harsh looked stunned. "I never thought... I mean, you all can have ADHD too?"

I saw Harsh processing this, and I knew his young mind was making connections. I offered, "Would you like to meet him with me? I think with your new gift, you two might actually understand each other."

We walked over to where Chanchal was now investigating a discarded samosa wrapper with the intensity of a forensic expert. "Chanchal, come here. See who’s there with me."

My youngest looked up, his tail immediately going into overdrive. He bounded over, and I could see Harsh tense, expecting the usual chaotic greeting.

"Namaste, Harsh!" Chanchal's mental voice was as energetic as his body. "I've wanted to talk to you for so long! Every time I see you, I get so excited I can't control myself!"

Harsh knelt down and, instead of backing away, held out his hands. "Namaste, Chanchal. Thanks buddy, for helping me understand."

Chanchal's joy was infectious. "Mama always tells me to calm down, but sometimes the happiness just bubbles over, you know?"

The three of us spent some time together, with Chanchal finally able to express his thoughts instead of just his overwhelming emotions. It was beautiful to watch Harsh's fear transform into understanding, and then into genuine affection.

"What about Yogi?" Harsh asked. "I used to think he was aggressive, but lately, he seems so... distant."

"Yogi," I said thoughtfully, "has always been an old soul. Come, let's find him."

We found him at his usual spot on the traffic divider, sitting in perfect meditation pose, watching the world flow around him like a river around a stone.

"Yogi," I called softly.

He opened his eyes and smiled at us with a serene expression that had earned him his name. "Ah, the day of understanding has come," he said in his calm, measured mental voice. "Namaste, Harsh. I've been waiting for this conversation."

Harsh approached cautiously. "Yogi, you used to play with everyone, even fight sometimes. But now you're mostly alone. What's the mystery?"

Yogi raised his sturdy body with balance on his hind legs and placed his front paws gently on Harsh's shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. "Not alone, dear friend. In solitude. There's a difference. When I was younger, I thought I had to fight for everything - food, space, attention. I was so focused on getting what I wanted that I forgot to appreciate what I already had."

"But what changed?" Harsh asked, automatically placing his hands on Yogi's sides in a natural embrace.

"I learned to listen. To the sounds of our neighborhood - the children playing cricket in the evening, the aunties gossiping during their walks, the temple bells, even the metro trains. I learned to watch - the way the light changes throughout the day, how the vendors arrange their stalls, the different expressions on people's faces. I found peace in simply being present. And I learned to feel…"

"Like a real yogi," Harsh said with admiration.

"Ha ha, and I love this soul to soul connection," said Yogi, looking deep into Harsh’s eyes.

The three of us sat together on the walkway, watching the evening crowd begin to gather in the marketplace. Street lights were starting to flicker on, and the first bats of the night were beginning their dance around the metro pillars.

"This has been the most fabulous day," Harsh said, and I could feel the warmth of gratitude radiating from him. "But I have one more question that's been puzzling me for months."

"Go ahead" I chuckled.

"Why do you choose such peculiar sleeping spots? On top of that blue car near the kids play ground, under the red car in the parking area, and right here on this concrete divider in the middle of the road. Isn't it dangerous? And... uncomfortable?"

We all burst into laughter.

"Oh, this is our favorite topic!" Chanchal pitched in from a distance, practically bouncing with excitement.

"You see," I began, "I choose the car roof because I'm the community's undesignated watch-person. From up there, I can see everything - who's coming and going, if any of our friends need help, if there's any trouble brewing. Plus, I love to claim it as my place of grace and royalty."

"And I like being under the car," Chanchal added, "because it's like a cozy cave! The sound of the engine starting in the morning is my alarm clock, and I can feel safe and hidden while still being close to the action. At times I play a secret agent on surveillance duty!"

Yogi's explanation was characteristically philosophical: "The divider is the center of everything - equal distance from all parts of our territory. I can feel the vibes and sensations coming from all directions. But more than that, it's the crossing point. I like to think of myself as a blessing guardian - sending peaceful thoughts to everyone who crosses this space. And yes, sometimes the municipality trucks come by at night, but I've learned their schedule. Besides, a little adventure keeps life interesting."

Harsh shook his head in amazement. "All this time, I thought you were just... random… whatever…” And he laughed heartily.

I thought, “We're not so different, you and us. We love, we worry, we hope, we dream. We just express it differently."

As the evening deepened, we heard the temple bells ringing for the evening aarti. The warm glow of the oil lamps cast dancing shadows on the temple walls, and the air filled with the scent of incense and the fragrant bakul flowers.

"The day is ending," Yogi observed quietly, and I knew he was right. The magic would fade with the sunset, and tomorrow, Harsh would only hear our barks and whines again.

"Will you remember us?" Chanchal asked, suddenly serious. "Really remember, not just remember that we're here?"

Harsh hugged each of us in turn.

As I settle down tonight on my pedestal, watching over our little community, I smile at how this special day brought us invaluable experience, simply through a hearty conversation.