Five Lessons from a Puppy in 2020

If I'm among your top hundred friends, or someone you've seen on social media over the past few months, you'd have heard of मिस्टर कद्दू (Mister Kaddu). One might advise you against taking an Instagram profile for the reality that is someone's life, but in this unique case, I assure you it is quite the truth, and the puppy does, in fact, occupy such a mammoth share of my mind.

As our year, which has been defined by this squealing, pooping, ever-hungry creature, comes to an close, I realize there's much I've learnt from this six-month old puppy. This is an attempt to document my end-of-year learnings.

Like most Indian kids who grew up in the '90s, I too had little understanding of pets. I had a few rich friends who were "pet owners", and I imagined a dog's primary purpose was to guard and protect the owner's home. I was familiar with the muscular Alsatian, the tiny (but pointless from the perspective of guarding a home) Pomeranian, and the super-massive Great Dane (thanks to Scooby Doo). The Indian pariah dog was always within eyesight, but somehow never clearly perceived.

In December 2020, life feels different: I feel more people should adopt dogs, cats and stray animals for whom they can care (cows, goats, and sheep too, if their lifestyle permits). Perhaps, I have furthered my privilege and thereby reflect the thinking of a different social-strata. Maybe someone who resembles the 1995-me will now call me "a rich dog-owner". But the words we use have changed, have they not? We are parents now, not owners.

And I realize that parenting of pets, like in the case of parenting human babies, is serious business. The responsibility that accompanies pet-parenting, and the fact that humans can help animals live safer and healthier albeit more restrained lives makes me advocate adopting animals. And I am sold on the transformative effect these beautiful creatures have on us (their effect on children and toddlers is even more profound).

Kaddu is now 6 months old, and has been part of our family two-thirds of that time. I now cannot fathom how we used to pass the time when he was not around.

His routine is rather fixed: he eats, poops, pees, sleeps, zips around the house, snaps at our ankles, steals our chappals, climbs on the sofa if we're not looking, and when outdoors, he tries to play with every human or dog within eyesight. The stark simplicity of everything he does has helped me understand several human motivations and desires that we suppress or fail to voice due to social pressures, moral considerations, or our regard for propriety.


Here are my five biggest takeaways from my interactions with Mr. Kaddu.


1. Without courage, we would live like vegetables:

The presence of kind humans who nursed Kaddu when he was injured in his early days led him to trust humans. It is likely his kind mother constantly protected him from big bad dogs when he was little, because he tries to play with all four-pawed animals even today. He is unafraid.

What began as fearlessness - not knowing the concept of fear - is through experience, slowly transforming into courage. The puppy now knows fear but still forges ahead with caution.

In a world crisscrossed with boundaries, marked by the pee of other dogs, living without courage means living like a vegetable: cooped up indoors, constantly in fear, curious about the world but unable to do a thing about it.

2. Loyalty is more than just a word:

Loyalty and trust seem to carry different meanings in the world of humans and in the world of dogs. If the latter is truth, then the former is a pale, poorly-defined shadow of this truth.

In the beginning of 2020, trust was just a word. Now, it has meaning.

Being on the receiving end of pure trust pushes you to be more responsible, to hold your own word as sacred because someone else now believes it.

3. Routines are easy to enforce when motivated by a sense of purpose 

We all made lockdown resolutions: I will read more, get up early, practise Yoga, go cycling, eat healthy, learn to cook, connect more meaningfully with friends and family... But there's a huge difference between a wish and a plan.

A plan helps you develop a routine, a wish leaves you feeling unaccomplished after a few days. A wish may transform into a plan by infusing it with purpose. Answering the why makes the how, where and when easier.

Why should I get up early? Why should I practise Yoga everyday? Why must I watch less Netflix and read more books?

I never imagined I'd consistently get up at 6.30 am, even on winter mornings, that too without having to set an alarm. Turns out that my purpose would be external: if I don't get up, the puppy will make life hell. He wants his breakfast, he needs to go for his morning walk, and he needs to poop.

My morning routine is now rock-solid. It is filled with vitality and purpose. Thank you, 2020.

4. Simple joys are at least as important as long-term goals

Our floor is now strewn with toys, puppy snacks, and shreds of what used to be an Amazon carton. In other words, our floor is strewn with joy.

The past few years, I have actively discounted the present for the future. In a rationalistic extreme, I was "long" on life-progress, with life-progress defined within a limited capitalistic scope: economics, career-progress, influence, etc. There was no place for joy, no space for the here and now.

Now, the puppy has pawed at the long-term lenses, and pulled them off our eyes. There's suddenly more time for family (I'm finally taking a trip back to Chennai in January '21), for friends - who end up starting conversations with cute-puppy emojis, and for myself - I've embarked upon a journey of studying philosophy and sociology in 2020.

5. Awareness is key to survival and growth

In the outdoors, you're always aware or your life-expectancy plummets. You're constantly evaluating when to run, when to hide, how to attack, how to protect yourself from the big bad bully...

Curiosity is essential, and its hardwired into an animal's DNA. Thanks to Mr. Kaddu, I finally know the gullies and short-cuts that lead to the park behind our home. I am aware of the branches, leaves and twigs within a dog's reach. I'm learning which dogs and humans are friendly, and who cannot be trusted. Short of learning which poop belongs to which dog, I feel more connected to the earth.

This lesson has massive ramifications outside the dog-walking world though. It teaches you to stay updated and more connected with the world, every step along the way. To be less aware is to fall behind and perish. 

Goodbye, 2020

It has been a crazy year, one that will stick in our collective memories for long. Mr. Kaddu has infused our work-from-home schedules with some much needed goofiness.

Here's a picture that will make you smile. Until later, bye.

A Deepavali Without Crackers

14th November 2001: As the first rays of the sun cut through the long shadows of the trees outside our apartment, my brother shook me awake. "It's Deepavali!"


We jumped out of bed, rushed to the hall, where the elders were already drinking their morning tea, listening to Venkateshwara Suprabhatam. Ammamma applied a few drops of sesame oil on our foreheads. A squabble ensued: who would be the first to take a morning bath? Whoever won would gain a definitive head-start: they would get their new clothes first, get to have the first bites of the sweets, and most importantly, they would gain access to that white plastic bag half-full with crackers.

I don't remember who won, but I do remember rushing to the pooja room, completing my morning prayers and putting on a crisply ironed white T-Shirt with kumkum on the insides of the collar. I recall quickly munching on some murukku and ladoos after the neivedhyam, before rushing downstairs to be the first kids on the block to get the fireworks going.

I disliked the loud atom bombs, but liked the bijlis, flowerpots, and chakras. The entire family soon joined us downstairs, like they did every year, as we lit a candle behind a pillar in the parking lot (which served as an undying flame where we would light our sparklers, matches and agarbathis which were used to light the crackers). Soon the whole building gathered, and before you knew it, it was time for lunch!


We spent the rest of the day meeting relatives and neighbours, sharing sweets and good wishes, doing a lot of phone calls, while the TV went on in the background. In the evening, the sky lit up and when we looked east towards the ocean, we saw - above the lighthouse - myriad colours raining upon the city.

Deepavali has always been the most wonderful day of the year!


Diwali diyas

Fast forward 19 years: 14th November 2020

This is a strange Deepavali. It is also a time to look back and be grateful for having made it this far, not just a time to look forward towards the prosperous days which are to come.

But as always, it is about being thankful for the love and care we receive. It about being with the family under one roof and spending time together. It is about lighting a diya for all those beloved souls who have left us.

It is also a time when Deepavali has been made more materialistic than it has ever been before. It is a time when we wear a kurta long enough to click a few photos that will look good on Instagram. Diwali is now about buying expensive sweets, not making them with family at home (our new lifestyles don't prioritize such activities). Diwali is now about using the promo code FESTIVE40. It is about the newest Snapchat filter, a few intelligent Muhurat Trades on the Bombay Stock Exchange, and a virtuous post about not bursting crackers.

I am now in Delhi where the AQI has been 600+ on many occasions in the past week. We now have two air purifiers at home, and they run 24x7. Breathing this level of particulate matter in the air makes it equivalent to smoking about 30 cigarettes each day. The air in a wise man's words is "filthy".

While the root cause of the problem is the large-scale burning of crops in Punjab and Haryana, Mr. Kejriwal has taken an easier route. He has banned the sale of fire-crackers in Delhi, in a feeble attempt to arrest the deterioration of the capital's air quality. This has obviously enraged several factions of the society. #हम_तो_पटाखे_फोड़ेंगे (We will burst crackers) is trending on Twitter.

While I have personally not burst crackers over the past 4-5 years (with the exception of a box of sparklers that I ritualistically share with neighbours and friends on Deepavali-evening), I find it disturbing that such a restrictive-order has been passed in what, otherwise, is a free market. In that light, I empathize with the popular uproar against such government interference.


Understanding Risk

The most common argument against firecrackers is that they can cause a sudden spike of pollution in the immediate vicinity of the firecrackers for a short period of time. Each cracker is a point-source of pollution which can raise the particulate matter level in your immediate vicinity a thousand times for a few minutes.

This can make the air more harmful to breathe especially for the people in the immediate proximity of cracker bursting (including those who are lighting the wick), and therefore firecrackers need regulation. In a way, this is similar to protecting people from the harms of eating fast-food. While we understand that obesity is a risk, we don’t ban restaurants that serve burgers.

Risk is always assessed as a trade-off. There are gains and losses, and one can draw a line where the losses outweigh the gains and vice-versa. Vehicles on the road cause millions of roadside fatalities each year, but we do not ban transportation or driving. Instead, we set speed limits and mandate that passengers wear seat-belts.

When a government bans or censors any action or speech (or thought), it should be a result of a thorough assessment of risk and understanding all the preventive and mitigative options at hand. The last-minute firecracker-ban in our case is simply a result of lazy policy-making where officials simply haven’t done their homework.

There are always alternative options: (a) to regulate the types of firecrackers, and promote only the bursting of “green crackers”, (b) to control the number and size of firecrackers allowed to be purchased from stores, (c) to centrally create Diwali experiences, where people of a locality can gather and observe the festivities together (like on the fourth of July in the US), or (d) regulate the time and place where fire-crackers are allowed to be burst in a city.

It is also important for policy “experts” to understand the people, just as it is for people to understand the experts. And I will elaborate on this in the coming sections.

Traditions without Meaning

We are an ancient civilization with a certain thread of continuity that takes us back at least five thousand years. Traditional Hindus believe in the epistemic authority of the Vedas, accept the existence of Paramātmā, and may pray to several traditional Hindu gods and goddesses. For them, Deepavali is a celebration of Shri Rāma returning to Ayodhya, or of Shri Krishna defeating the demon Narakāsura.

Many modern Hindus who celebrate Deepavali don't fully know (nor do they think it necessary to know) the itihasa that provides us with the reason to celebrate this day. But for them too, it is an important festival to meet and get together with their friends and relatives, to share a few sweets, snacks and laughs.

Even when one dissociates the festival from its scriptural roots (if this is indeed possible), it is clear that the societal importance of Deepavali in modern India cannot be overstated. The rituals associated with the festival are grounded in tradition, passed on from generation to generation, changing albeit gradually over the ages.

If one were to extract the essence of the festival, by removing the layers of historical and cultural meaning it is shrouded in, it is this: Light (of Dharma). Or, as we learnt in our Social Studies text books - "Diwali is the festival of lights".

In an endeavour to foster communal brotherhood, and in the proud tradition of secular policymaking around the world (this is not limited to just India), the euphemism "Festival of Lights" has been found the only acceptable and politically-correct one. It allows for feeble clichés like "good wins over evil", and distances the celebration from its own roots. Lord Rāma himself is vilified, and it is considered immoral in certain circles to celebrate his victory over Rāvana (which is technically the same as celebrating the victory of good over evil).

The same people who decry Shri Rāma may well be found sipping a glass of wine in their latest Fab India kurtis in a South Delhi Diwali party. The festival is therefore ripped out from its religious origins, leaving only a flimsy veneer of traditional Indianness that is allowed to rear its uncomfortable head once or twice a year.

Faith Is The New Shame

In Tier I India, the temple is almost a place of shame. This is true, not only in India, but in most developed economies across the world: to believe is to be backward. Atheists, emboldened by a half-knowledge of Science, are the new alphas.

It is a well-known fact that as a society prospers, its dependence on religion (and dogma) decreases. However, a practicing Hindu in modern India is often made to feel backward, ignorant, and ashamed, often in ways that Christians or Muslims are never made to feel in countries where they are a majority.

History tells us that several Muslim invaders who failed to successfully convert or assimilate with the indigenous people of India went to great lengths to subvert Hindu faith. Of course, not all Mughal emperors were averse to Hindu festivals, but Aurangzeb in particular focused singularly on banning the celebration of Deepavali in 1665.

Our British history which exerts a more powerful influence on modern India than the Mughal-period further restricted the development of our indigenous schools of thought. Missionaries in particular made extraordinary efforts to fuse and adapt Christian faith to Indian ways, making our next generations more in their own mold. Once they owned the way of our thought, they could after all rule (exploit) us better.

These portions of medieval and modern history, coupled with the current cultural dominance of the Western world, exert an almighty influence on the modern Tier I Indian. While the atheist lens has become more popular, it is often viewed (by those who possess these lenses) as the only "correct" lens. Unfortunately, when one is unable to see all points of view, they are usually rushed into thinking that they must be right.

Many people in the position to influence policy and law are limited by this lens. Having been educated to believe that their own particular skeptical, secular perspectives are in the right, they fail to understand the people who their policies affect.

Historically, bursting crackers together in a community is an opportunity to interact, share and connect. I remember this one Deepavali, in 2010, which I spent away from home at a friend’s place in Dehradun. His father had a huge bag of firecrackers, and all the children in the street took turns to burst them. Several neighbours gathered outside the house, and it was a beautiful way to connect with relatives and friends who we don’t see in our daily lives.

Now with a cracker-ban, such spontaneous gatherings shall sadly not happen.

“Wish you a Clean, Noiseless, Safe Diwali”

Hundreds of popular Whatsapp forwards flow into our phones on Deepavali, and many of them contain words such as “safe”, “noiseless”, and “clean”.

Swiss philosopher and linguist, Ferdinand de Saussure put forward a theory which differentiates between the denotation and connotation of a statement. Denotation is the strict dictionary meaning of a word; Connotation is the emotional and imaginative association surrounding a word.

For example, the word “cow” denotes a four-legged bovine, typically with two horns that we are all familiar with. But the connotation of the word “cow” may be different for different people. It may conjure up a mental image of the sacred cow or gau mātā, the divine cow which nourishes our family with her milk; for someone else, “cow” may make them think of a barbecue and its fresh red meat.

In the same way, while the statement “Wish you a clean, noiseless, safe Diwali” denotes something perfectly alright, it is alarming that the wish has very little to do with the spirit of Deepavali and the victory of light (dharma), and everything to do with telling someone else how they should celebrate on that day.

Why “safe”? Was Deepavali unsafe before you wished me thus? And why “noiseless”? Most people not only take the noise of firecrackers on Deepavali in their stride, but they generally enjoy firecrackers.

I often hear someone wishing, "I want clean, noiseless festivals, and I prefer chocolates over Indian ghee-based sweets as they are healthier." They could well cite the exact decibel-level above which we feel uncomfortable, or the number of calories in a besan laddoo vis-à-vis a cube of dark chocolate. Many people who belong to this camp enjoy drinking alcohol on social occasions. But doesn’t alcohol impair our judgement and our physical health? In response to this, people say “I drink in moderation. I know when to stop.”

Such a double-truth is thus maintained by most of us: one nuanced solution for things we truly care about, and another crude zero-or-one kind of solution for things we do not like.

The scientific inquisition that has led to the cracker ban is not true to the scientific spirit. It is ideological in itself.

Why Can't You Plant a Tree for Diwali instead of Bursting Crackers?

A prominent "personality" on social media recently asked this inept question. Of course, it can be countered with a set of equally ridiculous questions such as "Why don't you cut a cake on Eid instead of a goat?" or "Why can't you plant a coniferous tree, instead of cutting one down for Christmas?". But such questions serve no point, as rituals are built over ages, passed on from generation to generation until they gain acceptance from the community.

It is more useful to understand the motivation of the person asking such a question. Across religious groups, it is more common for a supposed insider to ask these questions. This angers the community even more, and in the age of social media, anger empowers the instigator.

The reason for such behaviour is usually one of these two reasons: firstly, in an atheistic world guided only by science, where there is no ideological right or wrong, it is considered beneficial to question everything. Questioning itself is the ultimate good, and answers are not as important. Therefore, it is easy to dispassionately question something that carries huge emotional meaning for another and consider oneself smart. Secondly, building of a new cult always requires distancing oneself from an older one, and pulling away sections of followers. Therefore, questioning one's own roots and virtue-signaling to people who belong to a similar mindset helps one foster one's own identify. In such situations, it is profitable to step on other people's toes.

So, Should you Burst Crackers on Deepavali?

Ideally, the government should regulate what types of crackers may or may not be used. For example, in some states, "green crackers" have been allowed. When effective regulation happens, industry realigns itself to ensure effective supply-demand matching under the new rules.

In terms of Delhi's air quality, a single day of cracker-bursting would have had negligible impact on the AQI which has been in the 600-800 level over the past week. What is required is a sustained year-round effort to improve Delhi's air, water and environment. Kejriwal's move is nothing more than lip-service, and has potentially done more bad than good for the people of Delhi. By banning fire-crackers at the last moment, the poorer sections involved in making these crackers and the shopkeepers and wholesalers who have stocked them are worst hit. Arvind Kejriwal's policies don't seem to favour the Aam Aadmi this time.

I myself have made some rava kesari, and will celebrate the day by going to the temple, meeting a few friends, lighting some lamps and relaxing at home with my wife and our four-month old puppy.

Happy Deepavali! दीपावली की हार्दिक शुभकामनाएं| இனிய தீபாவளி வாழ்த்துக்கள்.


An Eventful Evening Walk

7 pm, 21st August 2020: Anubha and I were out on a walk, masks and all, in an attempt to give our necks a rest, and feet, a feeling of the earth. A detour: we were out of curry leaves (கறிவேப்பிலை) and decided to get a sprig from the friendly neighbourhood tree. On the way back, our lives changed.

A small puppy, later assessed to be all of 1.4 kilograms, was hobbling along noiselessly by the side of the road. In the place of a tail was only a wide open, bloody gash. His hind legs were weak, almost chopstick-like, and as I picked up the puppy, he didn't squirm. Perhaps he was relieved that he no longer had to carry his own weight as he endured extreme pain.

The next few minutes were strange. A lady appeared who said she'd removed maggots from his tail and from the tail of one of his litter-mates. Another puppy in the litter was fighting to survive. She recognized us for the dog-novices that we were, and stated that the puppy needed to see a vet.

A young girl entered the scene, iPhone in hand, talking to her friend - "I found him! Someone is carrying him." Righteously, she took the puppy from my hands and said she was going to return him to his mother. At that moment, I felt like a dog-thief. She pressed the puppy against her chest, and in the process, his wound rubbed against the fabric of her dress. He yelped! She was shocked: she didn't know he was hurt.

"Will you take him to the vet?" Anubha asked her.

She looked upset. "I didn't know he was hurt."

"Well, we're taking him." The puppy was returned to my arms. As we walked away from the place, one thing lingered in my brain: a cute epithet in the voice of the lady who had nursed him - "मेरा कद्दू" (My Pumpkin).

On the way back, Anubha and I discussed if we were ready. Ready to become dog-parents. The answer was pretty clear in our heads: we probably weren't, but we knew that it was going to happen anyway.

For some strange reason, it felt like he trusted us. Perhaps he had been fortunate to meet only kind humans in the two months he had spent in this world. Another aunty met us on the way back home; I had cradled the puppy in my arms like a newborn baby. 

She was an ardent pet-lover, animal-rescuer and parent of two dogs and one human. She told us that the puppy's wound needed to be cleaned with Betadine and that he needed to be fed with Cerelac and dahi.

When we reached home, we gave him a freshly laundered mat, and fed him in a yellow plastic box. He lapped everything up hungrily. And then tired, he fell asleep.

The next day, he would go to the vet. And as he slept, we gave him his name. Say hello to मिस्टर कद्दू.

[Photo Credits: Neha Sinha]