Chinna Finds His Herd

Look who's got a new mommy!

We've seen it before, of course. In the wonderous case of Laddu and Kiara. 

Once upon a time, in the Old House, we heard a squeaking behind the bookshelf beneath the attic stairs. We had just returned from Kodaikanal and thought the empty house had invited in visitors. "Shoo, Laddu, shoo! Go chase away that mouse" we said. This continued for a few days. Then it was a Sunday morning and we were spacey and treading softly in our t-shirts and laziness. Again the squeaking. But this time, Laddu snuffled about the bookshelf beneath the attic stairs and returned with a tiny, wet, charcoal rag that she deposited in the middle of the hall. We, the two adults in the house, shrieked and jumped on the diwan. Zui, the child, terrified at the behaviour of her parents raced off to Geethamma's house next door. "What have you done, Laddu?" we yelled, thinking she had killed the mouse and brought it to us. Then we saw it moving... Fie! It must be half alive and dying. I'm not sure if we made a closer examination but a short while later we realized it was a kitten, was not hurt, on the contrary was very much alive and that Laddu the Saintly Labrador had in fact rescued the poor abandoned baby.

We wiped the mite dry and took her to CUPA where we were told she didn't have a fair chance without a mother to care for and nurse her. That it was best we took her home and ink-filler fed her till the inevitable. So we did, with a sense of futility. First, she lay in a box but she was fiesty and it wasn't long before she began snuggling against Laddu for warmth. And Laddu licked and licked her. Licked her so much that one day...

Again it was breakfast time and we sat at the blue wooden table in the kitchen, frying eggs and so on. Suddenly we notice the mite suckling on Laddu's teats. Unreal. We went close and saw warm pearls of milk. Laddu who had never littered, had never had her own puppies to feed had licked the mite so much that she had begun lactating. We named the mite Kiara, meaning dark and light, knowing she was now safe in Laddu's mothering. 

Kiara grew to be the Queen of St.Mark's Road, walking regally into the house through the front door. Three dogs adored her and she lorded it over them, sitting atop my computer falling on the keyboard every now and then, giving any intruding canine noses a soft whack if they woke her gentle sleep as she rumbled on the wooden table amongst the little brass Ganeshas. 

That was then. Now I see little Chinna finding his baby buffalo-self a herd among the three mares. Every morning he chooses to graze with Noorie, hiding against her brown flanks when shy. What new cross-pollinated love will you discover, Chinna, with Quiet Noorie, I wonder? Is it just instinct that draws you to this herd of female hormones? Or do you need her gentle warmth? Do you miss your biological mother, Lakshmi, who is away grazing in the hills during the day? You remind me all over again of my beloved Kiara...

2am Thoughts as Kiara Slowly Passes on

December 7, 2011 at 3:14am

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How can pain be forced to move down

Away from the eyes

So that it's just a burning hole in my stomach?

How shall I stave all thoughts

of her voice

As she peremptorily

Walks in the house

Bell a-jingling

Down the spiral staircase

From the neighbour’s roofs,

the driveway

In through the gate

Rusty self glistening

in the winter sunlight

Head high

Tail high?

“Is there any good way to look at this?” 

asks the other angel of our home

And unformed words about

attachment

about

her good

uncompromising life

tumble out

I often said

She was an urban princess

Queen of the rooftops

Duchess of our lane

Country living

wouldn’t be her scene

But now

I ache to take her there

When she passes on

Plant her beneath 

the lemon tree

in the lap of her mother

“She was Laddu’s gift to us”

the angel, again

“How can we let her go?”

Our Kiara kitten

My eyes don’t 

handle tears 

with any skill

Tomorrow I have to perform.

2.15

Good thoughts:

She caught a mouse 

2 days ago,

And a first,

We said

“Good cat”.

She rumble-purred 

on Challam

3 days ago.

Boss-mama of the dogs

Forever and ever.

Daughter

of a sainted Dog.

Rumtumtugger 

to the neighbour’s

Skimbleshanks.

Kiara, oh

my darling

Morning Cat.

“Sorry Muma...

Why?

“Cause I know

how much

you love her”

.....

Keep the pain on simmer

I’m performing tomorrow.

There’ll be time

after.

Ten Years After

Have you heard of a band called Ten Years After? Hmmm...That would be us this year. 2016. Ten years after we first sat on the rocks beneath the banyan tree in a faint drizzle. ten years after we hoped that this time we'd be lucky. Ten years after we sat beneath the tamarind tree with a group of farmers who managed to raise the price that we'd hoped to lower. Pattabhi was unwell by then, unconscious to what was happening. We dreamed that his eyes glimmered when we told him the land had rocks and custard apple trees. In a short while, he would leave us. May 6th 2016 was that day.

He dreamed the same dream as us for many years not caring that our dreams were usually unsucessful. The three of us would drive out of the city, constantly on the look out for that one piece of land somewhere restful, where the cow light would quiten you in the evening, the dogs could run, some vegetables could grow. We had several near misses. Once in Bannerghatta, then with Sunbeam Motha trying to figure something in Kollegal. We were so keen, we even looked at some flat and quite dull land off Sarjapur Road with a giant pylon plonked in the middle of it. We held Leila's Visharnthi Farm up as a beacon, anything we found had to have the same lovely charm.  

Then we found you. Shankar from Centre for Learning had shown us a couple places and it was nearing twilight. He said "There is one place, but it has terrible access." Sounded perfect to us. Thus we found you.

This summer, the kids had their 10th Anniversary Summer Camp. Theme Queen. Hee hee. 

"I'm burning through the sky, yeah..Two hundred degrees, that's why they all me Mr.Fahrhenheit. I'm travelling at the speed of light, I wanna make a supersonic man outta you"

Really not. More like the buffaloes slowly making their way to the water and then sloshing gently around for a while. But the kids bring the supersonic in, that's for sure.

Zara and Chand Pasha

Yesterday I found the ethereal yet crabby Zara grazing on the toor plants amongst the arecanut trees, a bleeding scratch on one knee. Then there was Anjali of the funky mane with four feet of barbed wire caught in her tail. Vineet found Noorie chewing on my script of Wolfram Höll's And Then. Basically all three behaving as if Kothaiah was nowhere around, which in fact he wasn’t, since he was in Nellore getting married. Long and the short, horsie wild times were going on. It took about an hour of running and prancing (on my part) and luring them in with words and tomatoes to get them in their paddock. And then, is right.

This morning Chand Pasha came over to check on Zara’s wound and do a general check on all hooves. Chand is a farrier and this got me to thinking about this noble craft. He lives in RT Nagar and has been working as either syce or farrier since he was a little boy. He started by helping his father who worked at the Bangalore Turf Club. Three of his nephews as well as his younger brother work with horses in Saudi Arabia. He says everyone in his family are close to horses. His assistant, Rajesh, also works in this trade but is the only one in his family to work with horses. Later I learned from Sandesh Raju of Samabhava Equine Rescue that Rajesh is only Chand Pasha's assistant on hoof care. At the Samabhava Palace Ground premises, he is Shelter Manager to 17 equines. The work is consistent though, as there are enough horse owners in Bangalore to keep them in employ but I feel Chand most likes working with Samabhava, because Sandesh genuinely loves animals and is not dazzled by much except others who care about animal welfare.

We watch Chand and Rajesh for 2 hours this morning. Their firm yet loving bilingual speech…”Kya hua Zara…baby…kaal etthu…zarra oopar karo….nahin Zara nahin…Irru, ondhu nimsha…aayathu…” The dogs are underfoot, snapping up the hoof shavings like the tastiest morsels of calcium cookie possible. We lean on the paddock watching in a soporific haze. Ultimately calming, beneath a blue, blue sky to watch as the farrier rasps and shaves and hammers and knocks. The horseshoe sits in its secure and familiar curve on a rock. Chand Pasha in his leather apron leans over and knocks it into shape, hammer and stone his tools. The sounds of the hammering and the distant rooster crows the only sounds we hear. Tuk tuk tuk, kokro koo koo, tuk, tuk, tuk. Every now and then a whinny from Zara and Rajesh soothes her.

The etymology of the word farrier is from the French ferrier, meaning blacksmith, and the Latin ferrum or iron. Traditionally, a farrier combined veterinary skills with blacksmith skills and was the person in charge of equine hoof care. While the history of farriers is apparently not easy to trace there is evidence of some ancient cultures having made use of them. For instance, military cultures with cavalry like the Roman Empire would have employed farriers. Celts and Druids perhaps used them. The Roman writer, Vegetius, writes that farriers were exempt from the battlefield.  Anyway, it is safe to say that the history of farriers is tied up with the history of the horse shoe itself. With the domestication of feral horses, came the horseshoe and the need for farriers.

Zara requires corrective shoeing (the equine equivalent of podiatric shoes) because of her poor, damaged fetlocks. The other two are easy enough to shoe. Noorie and Anjali make no fuss at all. They are checked and shoed, eat carrots from Rodney and Carolyn and go off to graze, all very rapidly. Zara has a hissy fit when they vanish and proceeds to hare up and down her paddock till Chand Pasha returns and calms her down.

Why is it that syces, largely, come from Muslim families, I wonder? Is it in their culture and tradition to look after horses? Has it to do with tanga owning? Or the armies of Tippu Sultan?  The Moghuls? Again, Sandesh to the rescue. Apparently, farriers are mostly Muslim on the Deccan Plateau thanks to the early Persian horse traders and the Bahamani Kings. In North India, however, there are entire villages in UP and Rajasthan where the farriers are all Hindu. Hmmm…the sun is warm on my face and I’m getting drowsy. Why are horseshoes lucky? This one’s easy. Firstly, because iron was said to ward off bad luck. Second and more interestingly, there was a 10^th century blacksmith called Dunstan who went on to become Archbishop of Canterbury. Apparently, one day the Devil (albeit, in disguise) walked into his smithy and asked that his horse be shod. Dunstan recognised the Devil and nailed his foot down instead of shoeing the horse. When the Devil yelped, Dunstan said “Ok, but in the future stay away from homes which have a horseshoe hanging on a wall. Now, scat!”

Rodney blows bubbles at Noorie who looks interested but would rather have a carrot, thank you very much. Chand Pasha and Rajesh have cups of coffee, get on their scooter and head back to town. We named Zara because we thought she was beautiful and the name Zara means "the pinnacle of". Noorie we named Light despite her being brown. Strange that Chand refers to the Moonlight. Zara is the pinnacle of grumpy, that's for sure. 

I will hold onto those tuk tuk tuk moments forever.

PS: Same morning, I saw a keelback come up for air and then, a Cat on the Hot Tiled Roof.

Roosting Roosters

My chicken have come home to roost!

Seriously, the farm began sounding like a real farm the day Annie Cariappa brought Vito and Maria Cocklioni over. Of course, she didn't know that would be their names, she just knew them as her noisy naati kolis. But Zui was watching The Godfather Trilogy - Director's cut that season and the rest is history. 

There is quite nothing like the sound of a crowing rooster to make a yard, Old McDonald’s own. Maria laid 13 eggs that ended up in 5 full grown chickens – 1 hen and 4 roosters. Shankaramma’s standing complaint is that this farm spawns only male children. No eggs, no milk, they serve no purpose at all, sell those damned bulls, she pleads, but we just look at Chinna, (the latest in our stream of male spawn) his kind eyes and can't imagine selling him to an unknown future. At some point though, this will have to stop. Lakshmi will have to be kept away from the bulls. Maybe we should acquire another little female calf.

The chickens, meanwhile, have made the wall near the outdoor shower their space. They sit there looking picturesque all day. In the night, they make a flappy, short flight upwards and roost in the trees. 

Notice the number of combs? It'll be a short while before the rooster fights begin. Maybe I'll get some guinea fowl and geese to counter these.

Kothaiah got married yesterday so the whole family is away in Nellore leaving us in charge with help from Narsamma and Narsappa from the village. Yes, they share a name and are very happy to do so.

This morning, I found Anjali (the dark pony) with 4 feet of barbed wire caught in her tail. Try as I might, I couldn't get it out. Everytime I grabbed the wire she ran and I had to let go before the barbs ripped through my palm. Eventually, Narsaiah got it out. Next mission was to get all three horses into their paddock to prevent more of the same happening. It took about 45 minutes and the joint efforts of three of us - Narsaiah, Konarak and me. Call as we might, the horses just ignored us and went about grazing on the new grass that the rains have brought.  No amount of cajoling worked. Eventually Konarak brought out some Amul cheese and a tomato, imagining the horses like pizza, I assume. They ignored the cheese but the dog's got at it pronto. The tomato had better chances but suddenly Zara began bucking and running causing me to run too. Noorie finally walked into the paddock, having responded to my dha dha dha sounds and not to the tomato. Anjali in her short tempered way, followed and got chased a while by Noorie. Zara took sometime, but eventually and most huffily, she walked in too. Phew. I need a glass of wine.