The Summer of '22 and Many Others

- May 02, 2024

The Summer of 2022 was not an ordinary summer break for me. It was an adventure from one roller coaster ride to another and the most remarkable was the trip I made with my students to Karnataka. Though I was visiting the same places for a third time as the accompanying faculty; to be honest, each visit was equally exciting and refreshing to me. But this trip was extra special as I could share it with my son who was my tour partner this time. I wanted to take my daughter too but she respectfully passed. The little girl had her holiday schedule carefully chalked out and didn't want any unwarranted last minute disruption to her grand plan of taming three stray kittens and making them her pets. It seemed even more adventurous than climbing the Himalayas, let alone the jeep trekking at Chikkamagaluru as she had to evade the hawk eyes of her grandma who stalked around like a born terminator to all living creatures on Earth, canine, feline, fowl or fish.

By the time we reached back home she had succeeded in her mission and the kittens were not afraid of coming inside and playing with her. They seemed a little unsure of me initially but soon they overcame their fear. She had worked on them tirelessly climbing over the fence to our neighbor's putting out milk and bread, more often bread soaked in water. She even built them bridges with wooden planks so that they could cross over the fence and come to ours.

The tenacity with which she labored to tame those wild strays astounds me. I wish she would exhibit this trait in every walk of her life. But then to have a pet of ones own is a dream we all have at some point in our childhood. The folk tales and fairy tales we grow up listening to and reading about, and these days watching, leave us with a desire to have a pet.

Labby, Lenny and Luchi with their mother Luna

I for that matter have always gone big in that area. Growing up I had not dreamt of having pets but of owning a farm land with lots of animals. In fact I think it still is in my bucket list. But unlike my daughter I did not have the lucky charm in adopting any beasts as my pet, though I had tirelessly worked on the mission.

My first encounter to have a start at my dream presented itself in the form of an injured bird that happened to be in our backyard. My maid and childhood companion Bindu Cheche was so excited to find it that she with all her eagerness brought it home much to my mother's dismay. We tied it with a jute thread, fed it water and banana, employed our medical expertise to treat its wound with the pulp of some green leaves - a magic paste that I would later apply to 'heal' many of my pigeon friends' wounded wings during my Mahilalayam school days. We had the bird for over a day and a half. My mother threw such a tantrum about it that we had to let it go.

But it did not discourage me from pursuing my dream. I have always been impractically hopeful.

My thirst to have a career in stock raising could not be quenched with the frequent visits I had to my granny's at Perumbavoor or to my father's at Arakunnam. Tipu, the dog, Rani the cat with her kittens or the coop of hens and cocks were hardly any pacifiers. It was hard to realize my dreams under the watchful eyes of my mother. So I came up with the grand plan of beginning a formicarium. Thus began my days as a myrmecologist.

It was the Summer of 88. As was customary for old folks in those days, and even today, my mother and Bindu Cheche had the habit of having afternoon naps. Taking full advantage of the afternoon siesta I set out to begin my new career. I spent the first few weeks studying the ants in my yards, both front and back, in an attempt to decide which variant should I adopt and how I should make them follow me.

I remember the numerous afternoons I sneaked out of our yard tip toeing, partly not to disturb my possible pets and mostly not to wake my mother up, observing how ants behave, their dietary needs and daily activities. After weeks of endless research, I decided to go with the common black ants. I had even come up with a whole spectrum of names for my ant army beginning from the twelve disciples of Jesus. But the only issue now was that I had not figured out a way to make them follow me. I tried to lure them with jaggery, Jeeraka Mittayai, the candied cumin seeds, rock candy and sugar. They seemed to love them all. But instead of befriending me, the generous supplier of sugar and all things good, they got together, carried them and hurriedly went away. I had to change my strategy. So I decided to go with one ant at a time and not the whole army.

The very next afternoon I waited for my mother and Bindu Cheche to retire to their respective sleeping quarters, the bedroom and the veranda. I set out on my expedition with all that were needed for the task. After multiple failed attempts I finally succeeded to scoop one up without crushing or squashing. I put him in an old microscope slide holder I got from my mom's college. I named him John after John the Baptist, but later on decided to called him Johny as he seemed to have a special liking for sugar.

I had him for a day or so before he broke out of his 'home' and set out on an expedition of his own. I was terribly disappointed. All the proud smiles I wore that night on the success of my mission had worn out of me in a snap. Though I had captured Johny with out anyone's notice and had hidden him away from the prying eyes I could not hold on to him.

These minor set backs could not daunt me a bit. I kept on working tirelessly through the afternoons of that Summer of 88. I did have a few success but none were long lasting and the only accomplishment I had was that I could do it all without anybody's notice.

The failed career in Myrmecology did not dampen my spirits. As farm life was not in my cards I turned my focus to becoming a wildlife conservationist. I even offered to bring home cheetah cubs once when my English teacher, Shobha Kochamma jokingly asked my class whether anyone would volunteer taking them in. In fact I was the only one in my class who said yes to the fictional scenario.

It was, in the Summer of 89, that it finally happened. One of my granduncles, from my dad's side, gave my dad a special gift - a black puppy dog. The present came from somebody who could not be refused and so my mom had to take the puppy home. I made the initial step towards my grand start up - a farm.

It was a 'she-dog' and we called her Judy. The whole family seemed to be excited to own a dog. Everyone was assigned roles to perform. My dad was the proud dog owner, giving instructions with broad smiles. My mother fussed about the additional chores and responsibilities she has to carry from now on, but her protests were rather mild and sweet. My cousin sister, who happened to be with us on the 'big day,' turned out to be an expert in doggie care. She knew her ways around the dog, feeding the pup from bottle and engaging her with different tricks. I was assigned my usual role - the one I had mastered to do with one-hundred percent proficiency from constant practice in the nine years of my life - the benchwarmer.

Thus I watched my mom and cousin fuss around Judy from the next room - I was not allowed to come anywhere near the dog. This schedule lasted for a few weeks and gradually the curfew lifted and I could get near the dog, play with her, stroke her and what not.

Now, we might not be cynophiles, but we were mildly acquainted with the dog breed - Doberman and sure did know a couple of things about them. We knew that they are Police dogs and their tails need to be docked. So when we decided to take the dog in we made sure that she was a Doberman pup.

Proud owners of the police dog we decided to get the tail out as early as we could. Thus, the first Saturday my dad got a holiday Judy was taken to the vet to dock her tail. On the day Judy was all tied up to the carrier of my dad's Bajaj scooter, all ready for her first doctor's appointment.

I wanted to be there for Judy during the difficult time in her life. I knew it will be painful as I myself dreaded the visits to my doctor. I could not even handle my shaking tooth being pulled out. Here Judy a baby has to get her tail removed. But I dare not open my mouth.

Though nervous, my mom and I decided to treat ourselves to a glass of lemonade. But before we finished our drink we heard the scooter in the porch. They were back. My mother was surprised at their speedy return. She quizzed daddy with thousand questions. But he evaded them all with a sneaky smile. Daddy untied Judy and there she was standing happily after her ride in the scooter; her tail intact!

Now what happened was that Judy turned out to be a Labrador pup and unlike Doberman, Labs keep their tail. We might have known things about Doberman dogs, apparently we didn't know how they looked. My dad was definitely disappointed over the news and mildly embarrassed that he could make such a mistake. But the vet consoled him saying that Labrador is even a better police dog which compensated for the grave mistake we made.

Judy was a very loving and gentle dog. She was my travel companion and playmate. We played fetch and frisbee. She waited for me by the door when I came back from school, jumping upon me wagging her tail. Judy remained with us for more than a year until she was given away to my dad's brother.

Later I tried my hand at felinology with the stray cats we had in our backyard. I befriended a kitten, Poochakutty as I called him. He ate the chips and mixture that I generously offered and unlike the ants, he seemed to recognize my voice and followed me around.

The summer of 2022 was just a beginning. After the kitten trio we homed an array of pets. They conquered our home and our hearts. The one we particularly cherished having came in as an unexpected addition during the summer showers of 2022 - Lucky. If we adopted our pets, with Lucky it was the other way round. Though he looked famished when he came, he had a lot of dare in him, walking about with his tail up in a giddy state of happiness chasing after butterflies.

Lucky with the other two kittens, Labby and Lenny

Kitty love - Labby and Lenny

But it was the lock down days in the Summer of 2020 that gave us the sweet sour taste of barn life. The kids enjoyed their stay at their granny's with the cattle and hens. Waking up early to milk the cows, taking them to the field later, mucking their stall, sleepless nights when you wait for the birthing of a calf, letting the hen out of the coop, the heartbreak of loosing your chickens to hawks and mongoose, the pain of watching your cattle getting sold...I have enjoyed these pains and joys as much as with my kids. Afterall they were my goals once upon a time. Having a farm might seem an impossible dream. But, dreams come true when we least expect it.