Striking Up A Friendship
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How do we make friends here?
How do we forge an acquaintance? Do I knock on someone's door, The neighbours', to begin with, And say, 'Hey, I am so and so; A visitor from India, The land of Krishna and Buddha; I want to be friends, To know something about you, To tell you something of me.' No, that is not done here, I am being cautioned. Strangers of whatever vintage Don't walk through others' gates, Least knock on their doors, Nor go out of their way To open a conversation. It's okay to make a bow, Or smile, or wave, at someone While passing by on the road; It's okay To say 'hi' or 'good day', But no more than that. It is okay to observe a face - Just a peek or a side glance - But you don't gaze too long Nor turn your head to stare While you have moved on. People respect others' privacy And fiercely guard their own. You don't strike up a friendship Just for the heck of it. Did that mean One couldn't strike up a friendship, Not even make an endeavor Here in Hackberry Creek, Where I was visiting my daughter? Yet I refused to give up hope That somehow, somewhere, I would find my way With friendship, one day. Like it happens in stories, One languid afternoon I was walking Mikey, Just as I would every day, Along the quiet sidewalks Of this gated community With hardly a soul around. By the way, Mikey is Shereen's dog, And Shereen is my granddaughter And she is more than happy That I volunteered to walk her dog For all the days I am here Since I have time, and to spare. Besides, it is her summer break, And she loves to sleep till late. Well, I held Mikey on the leash, That is what I was counseled, For you don't let your dog A free run on others' terrains Or into a headlong encounter With a Saint Barnard or a Bull Terrier. As is his wont, Mikey went into the ritual - Walking, looking around, Sniffing, smelling, peeing - Now on tree trunks, now on bushes, Marking territory - As it kept leading me - Now rolling in grass, now scratching, Now stopping, now tugging, Testing my equanimity. Suddenly, Mikey uttered a woof For no reason whatever, And I thought I heard a woof Ahead of us, from somewhere. I saw a man across the street Walking his dog away from us, The dog yelping in our direction, The leash in my hand tensing As Mikey tried to run across. We stopped - Mikey and I, They stopped - the man and his dog. Across the road, The dogs looked at each other, Their eyes transfixed; Both of us tightening the leashes While they exchanged more woofs, Pulling stronger In trying to accost each other. I bided my time, He bided his, But his dog pulled strong And he didn't tarry long As they crossed the street To stop just a yard from us, A faint grin on his face. The dogs eyed each other, Emitting friendly growls, Tugging at their leashes Play-bowing, Wanting to come nearer. His dog was small like Mikey - A jet-black snout and kohl eyes In striking contrast To its shiny golden-brown fur; A tail, rather long and bushy And curled deftly forwards Almost parallel to its back; Ears large and drooping, Resting lazily on the sides. We eased the leashes somewhat To let the dogs come closer Almost to a touching distance Letting them sniff each other. While the canines were engaged, Our eyes met briefly - his and mine - And I felt it expedient To open a dialogue with him. 'Oh, hi, how do you do,'I said. 'I am good, thank you,'he replied. You have a cute little dog,' I said. 'So have you,' he said. 'It seems to me,' I continued, 'Our dogs want to be friends.' 'It does seem so,' he replied. What do you call him?' I asked. 'Ace,' he said. 'Ace?' I repeated. 'Like ace of spades,' he explained. 'Oh, I see,' I said. He just nodded his head. There was silence for a while But I wanted to carry on, So I ventured again: 'We call him Mikey.' 'That is a good name,' he said. But what is in a name, I thought, A dog is a dog Just like a man is a man; That is if he is, Name or no name. Thank you,' I said. He bowed his head. There was another pause, But I was determined Not to let the chance encounter Go down as a tame affair. 'How old is Ace?'I asked, He pondered a while and said: 'I picked Ace in two thousand.' 'How old was he then?' I asked. Barely two months,' he replied. 'That makes him fifteen plus,' I said; 'a long innings, and going strong?' 'But growing old like me,' said he, rather pensively. Then, suddenly, kneeling down, He addressed Ace affectionately: 'Ain't you, my buddy; aging like me?' And started petting his dog, On its back, and under the chin, Ace looking at him gratefully, Wagging its tail furiously. 'Mikey is just about nine,' said I. 'Much younger than mine,' said he, As he stood straight up And started to turn back. 'What breed is yours?' I asked. Norfolk Terrier,' he replied. Mine is a Chihuahua,' I said. 'Yea,' he said, nodding his head. 'Yea,' I said, nodding mine, As the dogs kept sniffing, Pawing, Growling playfully. Suddenly, he pulled the leash, And fondly addressed his dog: Time to go home, my boy; Say good bye.' Before I uttered the words 'Goodbye, Ace; goodbye Mr ...' He had crossed the road, His dog trailing after him, Looking repeatedly over its shoulder, Casting longing glances at Mikey, While Mikey and I watched, Unblinking, Until they turned into a side-lane And disappeared from view. Now, I wonder how he looked, For I had not looked in his face Save a few side glances; I was not supposed to stare Nor betray much inquisitiveness. Now that I consider, He was white, around sixty-five, With close-cropped flaxen hair, And overly creased face, Blue eyes with a faraway look, A strange loneliness of sorts Oozing from his frame. I had not asked his name Nor had he asked mine. But what is there in a name? (Briar Crest Drive, Hackberry Creek, Dallas, USA) |
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 *Dr. K L Chowdhury retired as a Professor of Medicine, Medical College, Srinagar. Presently he is the Director of a charitable institution, Shriya Bhatt Mission Hospital and Research Center, Durga Nagar, Jammu.He is a physician and neurologist, a medical researcher, poet, social activist. He writes on diverse subjects – medical, literary, social and political and has numerous research papers to his credit, his pioneering work being “The Health Trauma in a Displaced Population” which was presented at national and international conferences. He has published three anthologies namely: 1- “Of Gods, Men and Militants”. Minerva Press (Pvt.) India -2000 2- “A Thousand-Petalled Garland and other Poems”. Writers Workshop Kolkata – 2003 3- “Enchanting world of Infants” Peacock Books, Atlantic Publishers and Distributors-2007 He was declared Shehjar's 'Kashmiri Person of the year' for 2007. |
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