This was his home. He was born just a few bends down the winding road to the valley below, not more than 700-900 yards or so, where there now stood a grand hotel overlooking the river down by the highway, which was now out of bounds all credit to that security guard, that damned, heavily mustached, middle age paunched guard who didn't appreciate his kind being an eyesore for his hotel guests - sahabs and memsahabs of repute; and many a times he had been chased away by that panting puffing bully in this endeavour. “All I want is to go and spend a few days in my place of birth, now is that a lot to ask for? I remember, there used to be an under construction building site when I was young. Ohh! Those were the days of playing with my brothers and sisters in the little hills of sand and cement interspersed on half built rough cemented floors of the hotel with their dangerous open edges with protruding TMT bars looking down on the narrow road corner below, under the watchful eyes of the mother.” he fondly recalled the memory of his childhood for those who cared to listen. The mom had passed a few winters ago of age, before the hotel was inaugurated. The siblings, who he hadn't met in years, had all left for greener pastures, some had shifted to the little hill town's main market area, around 5 miles east, where he had heard the food and amusements were plenty, or had settled down in the semi permanent tin shed markets by the river, along the highway, that sold locally grown apples and apricots and fresh caught sweet water fish - simply battered and fried - to passing cars and buses; The immediately younger brother, the adventurous one, had hitched a ride in a passing rickety truck trudging towards the snowy higher altitudes, to cross the high mountain pass to the next valley where it was said flew a river bountiful of soft fleshed plump fish and flourished plantations of fruit - sweet, exotic and unknown. But he was content here, he didn't dream of traveling to far off places, or of fancy abodes.
He woke up early with the rising sun and slept when it retired behind the mountains, and roamed the roads of his area by day, resting under the scant shade of the apple trees in the orchards that covered the slopes, when the sun was at its peak. He moved around greeting and meeting with the neighbours, the kind mountain folk of calm demeanors and short statures, who gave him enough food in alms to get by. A few were kinder than others, especially the lady in the third house from his place of rest, the one that stood out with its bright pink exteriors; she made sure he was fed, come rain, hail or snow. But she was at her loquacious best when he ate the rotis with buttermilk or the rice and dal she served, going on in length about the excitements of the mundanities of her life largely confined to the household, talking about how her mother in law had appreciated the vegetables she had cooked for lunch the other day or of those bright dresses her husband had brought her from his latest trip to the first big city down in the plains, in addition, ofcourse, to the rumours she had heard about the neighbours on the grapevine. “I don't mind lending an ear, even though I only nod in earnest while I eat, it gives her an escape to lighten her heart, and if you really listen you can find amusement even in the most mundane of talk” he was once overheard saying to an acquaintance after being inquired on this peculiar meal routine. The reader may also draw surprise at the simplicity of the food the subject ate, of rotis and dal and rice. Well, the justification is found in the simplicity of the denizens in the mountains, his palette wasn't as yet privy to the abundance of food found in dwellings of greater opulence. Though every once in a while, he did gorge on chicken curry, a local delicacy, and fish when there was a wedding in the only community centre in the area. Every resident of the village was invited to these events, catered almost exclusively by the traditional caterers from the next village, under always the same large cloth, green, pink and cream coloured tents pitched on the grass pitch in the back, a decently sized piece of flat ground in this hilly terrain, that generally served as a softball cricket pitch for the youngsters in the evenings. He spent many evenings on the sidelines watching the children play, reminiscing of his own youth down by the hotel. And in returning favour to the people for their generosity, he kept an eye out on the going ons and activity in his territory, looking out for suspicious strangers, cars and drunkards on the bottle (of cheap local liquor), especially during the day when the resident men went into town for work, alerting the assistant sub inspector, a young man from a distant village along the river in the plains, on his first deputation, to this remote little settlement, who spent his hours preparing for the coveted service commission exams, by the window in the sunlight by day and under the flickering light of the old government issue lamp by night, dreaming of a brighter future in the damp darkness of the local two personnel police chowki (post), that also doubled as the resting quarters of the 'Inspector saab', as he was reverently addressed by the locals.
Our subject liked the locals, and the locals liked him for his jovial disposition, the one exception being that watchman due to reasons that must now be obvious to the reader. Friendships, though temporary, also bloomed with tourists residing in the place of his birth who ventured on walks up the slope towards his abode, that left fond memories of affable strangers in his conscience. He also enjoyed the affections of maroon robe clad Buddhist monks who passed by often, on foot, enroute to the monastery, somewhere higher up the mountain. It surprised him that these seldom blinking and ever smiling folks always shared with him, a stranger, their compassion and their meagerly filled bowls of food.
Completely ignorant of the concept of materialism, like those passing monks, leading almost a life of an ascetic, he didn't have a lot to call home, sleeping at night inside a derelict and abandoned little tin and wood shed on the boundary of the village, on a bed of hay, relaid fresh twice a year by the local shepherd especially for him. The winters were harsh and snowy white in this part of the world and to counter them he had a relatively thick gray coat, admittedly ruffled, and of a lighter shade in spots in places, that he used day in and day out, through the year, that gave him enough warmth in the winters, but was comfortable even in the summers of these higher altitudes. “This coat is purpose built for these climates, though admittedly old and tousled in places, but I won't change it for the world, no sir!” he would often be quoted saying when questioned on his disheveled appearance at times. When sub zero temperatures hit in the winters, the locals left old blankets on the bed of hay that kept him cosy through the night. He didn't particularly enjoy the snow and the incessant rains in the monsoon, when they fell, for he felt restricted of movement, but rather than seekng refuge in the solitude of his shed on such days, he preferred sitting under the slanting roof of the neighbouring provision store, watching life treading carefully around puddles of water on the road or nimbly shimmying over black ice. As the reader can well imagine, he drew entertainment from the charm in the simplities of the everyday. And during those foggy dry winter days when the sun was either sick or scarce, and the visibility poor, he shared the warmth of the wood coal fire on the side of the road, stoked by the entrepreneuring tea seller, with a few other tea sipping, blanket shrouded men. Though he wasn't much of a tea drinker, he enjoyed the company and also the sweet, crumbly, tea soaked biscuits from the local rustic bakery that the tea seller stocked. The men shared stories of their travels, work and domicile, of worry, happiness, excitement and sorrow over little white plastic glasses of tea; they animatedly discussed the local politics, sports and the current affairs of the busier plains. And he partook in it all, with an appropriate wag of his tail, swinging rapidly applauding talks of happiness and laughter, and listening intently to serious discussions with a slightly lowered and an almost inert tail.
He partook in it all, for this was his territory, and these were his people, and he was their local dog.
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