I
wake up to a ball of fur brushing across my face. I don’t have to open my eyes
to find out what’s happening. It’s the cat. She’s brought one of her kittens
into my bed with a rather misplaced faith in my hospitality.
“Poochieeeeee,” I grumble wiping at my nose where the cat
hair has tickled it.
She
ignores me, plops her kitten down on the bed and makes herself comfortable, poking
around until she settles on a spot that ensures that her swishing tail is in my
face. The kitten however, doesn’t appear similarly minded. He sniffs around, shoving
his nose in every corner he can find, quite fascinated by his new surroundings.
I am not eager to have a young kitten that has not yet been potty trained in my
bed. I am even more reluctant to have him in a space where he is likely to get
squashed when I decide to roll over onto my stomach. I reach out, pick him up
and put him on the floor by the side of the bed.
The
silence of the night prevails only for a couple of seconds more as his shrill
cries of protest at this undignified eviction rent the air. Poochie jumps up,
confused by the turn of events, now aware of the fact that her little kitten is
no longer a part of the population on the bed. She peeks over the side of the
bed to see her kitten on the floor. She turns and looks at me, her black head
outlined against the white wall, and in the dark I can feel rather than see the
reproach in her eyes. She jumps off, picks him up and gets right back on the
bed. I sigh as I realise that sleep and I are to part ways for a while tonight.
I reach over my shoulder for my phone; it is 12:20 am. Another sigh and I roll
out of bed and pick up the kitten. Sleep or no sleep, this kitten in my bed is
a potential cleaning nightmare that I do not want to deal with in the light of
the morning. This time Poochie doesn’t stir from her spot. She watches
dispassionately as I take the screeching little fellow into the garage to put
him in with his sibling who has been surprisingly quiet. He has now dug his
claws very firmly into the threads of my nightshirt and it’s quite a struggle
disengaging them. I manage. I deposit him safely in his bed in the shelf under
the ironing table and shut the garage door. A window has been cracked open so
that Poochie can come and go as she pleases. The kittens are too small to be
able to climb out themselves.
Back in my bed Poochie has firmly settled
herself in to sleep. She’s purring as gently as a lawn mower. No, definitely no
more sleep in the immediate future. It’s a clear night, there must be stars
out. I like to watch the stars. I decide to go out on the roof.
It’s quite light outside, the moon’s nice. I
take a stroll round the verandah. The verandah runs almost all the way around
the house, only breaking for the steps that lead to the roof, off to the left
side of the house. A railing runs round the verandah to keep the dogs off of
it. The house is ghostly white in the moonlight. I’m at the front, looking out
at the inclined path that leads straight down to the gate and the main road.
It’s lined on both sides with silver oaks which now look like dark sentinels
watching over the hundreds of coffee plants that cover the slope behind them. The
rumble of a truck that I hear in the distance gets closer and in a while I see
the lights whiz past the gate. Swatting at a mosquito that’s buzzing around my
ear I stroll round the right side of the house. A frog jumps into the little
lily pond with a soft plop. I’m at the back of the house now, facing the little
papaya orchard. The twenty trees are heavy with fruit. I’ll have to get someone
to pluck them before the birds and the squirrels gouge holes in the papayas
making them quite unfit for human consumption.
The
dogs have been quiet so far but now they come bounding up to the railings to
say hello. I stretch over and scratch their heads.
“What
have you been up to, you silly little pigs,” I say to them. They are quite obviously
thrilled by this form of address and are not backward in showing their
appreciation. I see only two of them. I suspect the third is away on important
business. A half ‘woof’ and a frantic rustle of dry leaves under the rows of
coffee plants confirm my suspicions.
My trip round the house indicates nothing out
of the ordinary. I make my way round, to the stairs that will take me up to the
roof. Sam the German Shepherd and Gopi the Mutt (he says he prefers Bharath
Hound but I tell him he doesn’t know what he wants) follow me, just outside of
the railing that separates the verandah from the yard. They look hopeful. It’s
not every night I step out for a casual chat. Maybe, they are probably
thinking, there’s more fun to be had tonight. I look at their silly faces with
their tongues hanging out and decide that their hopes are going to be
justified. I open the little gate and let them in. The dogs and cats of the
household not being on particularly cordial terms, this is not a practice I am
likely to encourage in the long term. For tonight, however, I know that
Poochie’s firmly ensconced in my bed with no immediate intention of leaving it.
I turn toward the stairs and as soon as they know which way I’m going they
scamper on ahead of me (I use the term scamper rather loosely on at least one
of my canine companions, Sam being of a size that renders this mode of progress
quite impossible).
The gate at the top of the steps has been left
open. Getting to the roof a few steps behind the enthusiastic dogs, I am not
disappointed by my choice. I look up and what I see is the stuff of poems – not
just the nursery rhymes, the romantic stuff. I convince myself that I am a
poet, and that the first thing that I will do once I go back inside is to put
pen to paper and give voice to my thoughts. There is however, this annoying
voice at the back of my head insisting that I’ve only added one more item to
the list of things I will never do. The world’s too beautiful right now for me
to care and so I defiantly add ‘learn to identify the constellations’ to this
list.
One corner of the terrace has a small pile of assorted
objects of varying degrees of utility. I step over to it and grab a mat I keep
handy for my adventures in stargazing. I’ve used it at least three times in the
last six years. I shake it out. Always a good measure considering I’ve shared
it with cockroaches, spiders, lizards, red ants and once, with a dozen baby
kraits. A few offended spiders scatter and Gopi immediately gives chase. One
slips into a tiny crack in the cemented roof, and little Gopi sniffs at it with
all the elegance of a vacuum cleaner.
“Oy!” I growl at him, more out of habit than with any
intention of actually diverting him from his activities.
He looks up, casts me a disinterested look and returns to
his rendition of a hoover.
I spread the mat out and lie down on my back, so as to get a
good view of the moon and the stars. It’s not a full moon night, but it’s
pretty enough. I adopt a rather romantic pose with one hand on my chest and the
other upturned across my forehead. I’m afraid I have a tendency to the
theatrical even in the absence of an audience. I heave a deep sigh and paste a beatific
half smile on my lips. Too bad no one’s around to take a picture. The romance
of the moment is only slightly marred by Gopi’s obsession with his spider and
Sam casually taking a leak on a heap of dry leaves in one corner of the terrace.
I send another rumbling “Oy!” out into the universe with no
clear idea of what I want to accomplish with it. This time Sam responds. He comes
up to me and shoves a wet nose in my ear. I push it away only to have it return
and lodge itself firmly in my neck. I heave another sigh - no hint of romance
about this one – and sit up. Sam saunters away to investigate what Gopi finds
so interesting in his corner of the roof. They take up a conversation that
seems largely conducted in the form of a series of sniffs and I relax.
A few minutes of quiet reflection and I lie back down. Not
for long. In a few minutes the dogs have tired of the poor spider decide to
take a turn round the terrace at a thundering gallop. I already regret letting
them come up here with me. I resign myself to my fate and, much like the old
adage, I join them.
We race up and down the roof for a bit, until I’m out of
breath. I stroll over to the edge and lean over the railing. The estate looks
beautiful. The coffee is in blossom and the snow white flowers are wonderful in
the moonlight. A slight breeze and the scent of the blossom wafts up toward me.
The night is quiet save for my rasping breaths in the aftermath of my recent
gallop with the dogs and the occasional faint rustle in the distance. I make
like a tree and take to swaying gently with the breeze. Peace has just
descended when a frantic barking from the far side of the terrace destroys it. Sam
has his head through the railings, and is looking down at the source. Gunda is
back from his romp and objects strongly to that fact that Sam and Gopi are on
the roof with me, out of reach. He feels left out and he barks jealously up at
the other two who gaze calmly down at him. They don’t respond in kind, clearly
believing themselves to be above that sort of behaviour. Sam turns to look at
me with a pitying light in his eyes.
“So uncouth,” he seems to say, “Has the man no self
respect?”
Sam’s superior manner aggravates Gunda even more. He goes
into a frenzy, barking his insults in the most vicious manner possible. He’s
saying many things that are going to be hard to unsay once the light of reason
shines upon him. I join Sam and Gopi at the railing and throw a few ineffectual
‘Shh!’s and ‘Quiet!’s into the mix. These only cause Gunda to check long enough
to cast me an apologetic glance while he continues to tell the other two
exactly what he thinks of them. I give up my attempts at mediation and prepare
to wait out the storm. Suddenly it’s over. I look over the side and Gunda is on
high alert, ears up as far as they will go. He’s by the papaya garden, looking
beyond it into the darkness under the coffee plants and I hear a faint crack in
the distance – a breaking twig. His ears go down and he looks sheepishly up at
me and with a little whimper he exits the scene. Something’s off.
When it comes to self preservation, it’s always advisable to
take your cue from the animals.
“Always listen to the dogs. They know what’s going on.
Always,” my grandfather used to tell me.
I think it’s time to go in.
I turn to head down the stairs whistling to Sam and Gopi
over my shoulder to follow. They seem strangely reluctant. I should have known.
I insist and they trail along only up until the little gate at the top of the
stairs. They allow themselves to be thrust just outside of it as I shut it
behind me and refuse to budge from the top step. My walk down the stairs
(including my little struggle with the dogs at the gate) puts the papaya patch
out of view for only a little while – thirty, maybe forty seconds on the
outside. That’s why I’m surprised when I turn the corner and I can’t see the
papaya trees. Being of slightly more than average intelligence, I realise that
this is because there is a rather large elephant blocking the view, standing as
it was, just outside of the railing.
My brain allows itself a few moments of coherent thought
before the fear shuts it down almost completely. Foremost is the amazement I
feel at having allowed an animal as dainty as this elephant sneak up on me
without much more warning than Gunda’s show of courage. This wondering done, I
am frozen to the ground, unable to tear my eyes away from the expanse of
elephant behind a mere ten feet in front of me. The elephant has now realised
that she is not alone and turns in a leisurely fashion to examine the latest
addition to the scene. I vaguely register a baby elephant frolicking among the
papayas in the background. Things aren’t looking too good for me. Mama elephant
fixes me with a beady eye as it hits me that two-foot high railings, while most
effective at keeping dogs out, are unlikely to feature on Elephant Weekly’s
list of top ten toughest hurdles. Showing great presence of mind, I collapse
against the wall at my back, nails digging in as I utter a petrified “Nyerkle”.
(That’s what it sounds like when you try to swallow and whimper on the same
breath. Try it.)
Elephant’s still looking me dead in the eye and I can almost
hear her thinking. She’s doing a quick assessment of threat levels. My system
meanwhile is showing a remarkable lack of commitment to the cause. Every cell
is in flight mode, but with a deplorable lack of unity, each is attempting to
escape in a different direction. The resultant is a shuddering mass of organs
unable to introduce anything remotely remedial to the situation. I think the
elephant sees this. I see a distinct curling of the lip. This is followed by a
rather derisive snort. I still can’t move. Then, slowly, slowly, she turns. She
turns until she’s facing away from me and starts to amble unhurriedly away. I
hear the sound first. It’s like the air brakes on a large vehicle – a lorry, or
a bus. I’m confused. I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Then the smell hits
me and my eyes water from the pungency of the hot air, to term it politely,
that has hit me full in the face. The elephant tosses her head slightly as she
rips a young papaya tree up from the root. She has, in no uncertain terms, told
me what she thinks of me. Sam, that traitor, slinks slowly up from behind. I
turn to look at him. He sniffs at the air and exhales in a rush, almost
immediately. He looks embarrassed for the elephant.
