Dogs. Writers. The same clan.
Wanting to show,
needing to express,
but,
yielding to silence.
Is that why we are friends?
Me and Nero.
Or is that why we are silent?
Me and Nero.
I remember the first time I ever saw Nero. I was nine years old. My dad was going to surprise us with a puppy – A black Labrador puppy. I remember being engrossed in reading a novel. I think it was a Ruskin Bond novel; I am pretty sure it was. With my legs crossed I was sitting on the cold floor – In India, in some of the olden houses, the floor is coated with red-oxide paste and over time, as people tread all over it, it smoothens and starts shining with a steely red glare. And in the summer, when all else seems hot and uninviting, the floor will call to you. The glistening surface almost revealing your reflection. And the chill-spike you feel when you touch it is the same chill-spike you feel when you drink icy beer on a blisteringly hot day.
When my dad entered the house, I looked up from my book. He had a tiny black creature in his right hand. The creature was only able to open its eyes barely – just a teeny bit. The four tiny legs and one tinier tail, were dangling in air while its delicate body slowly inflated and deflated in my father’s warm palm. As soon as I saw it, it started dropping brown-black droplets from its rear. The droplet merged to form a thick liquid stream. The fluid oozed over my dad’s wrist and splattered on the floor which had just been mopped. And that was the first time I ever saw him.
After that, time flew-by quick. We used to play for hours and hours in the hot sun. He would not stop fetching the ball even if he was panting and drooling (dehydrated). I guess that is because he thought I dint want to stop playing. Whereas, I did not stop throwing the ball because I thought he wanted to play more! And so, through some silent cross-species channel, we pushed each other. I wanted him to keep running and he wanted me to keep chasing. Once the day’s play was done, we would rush into the house and cool ourselves on the smooth floor. Then, we would both run to the kitchen and drink water with unsurprising exigency.
After we had had our evening snacks, I would sit out on the floor in the verandah (reading a Ruskin Bond novel) and he would sleep blissfully next to me. But, he never slept on my lap. He always maintained a distance with me. Yes, he would follow me literally everywhere, at whatever time of day, even to the restroom, but he would always stay at a distance. I would fall asleep reading the novel; some times I would wake up on the floor to find myself resting on Nero’s velvety coat and some times, I would wake up to see Nero being sanguine in front of my parents who would be having dinner on the dining table. Nero knew he would not get his food until dinner time and that was after my parent’s and before mine. But he still dogmatically tried, relying solely on his puppy face. I had no such puppy looks but I still got my food whenever I wanted.
As I remember those days, I realize that twelve years have passed since. Since those carefree childhood days. I am now in one of the united states of America. I came here three years ago. I am enrolled in the Master of Fine Arts, majoring in Technical Writing. It is a graduate course at Purdue. I came to the land of opportunities to try making it as a writer, which at the time I did not know what kind. I wrote about tech products, about their tech aspects, designs, dimensions, their style, their inspirations and all that shit. But I loved writing in general so I was happy with my course and I was ‘actively seeking’ technical-writing jobs specifically in New York. I was fine working for any company as long as it was located in New York, cause you know, that’s The place.
Currently, I stay alone in my small apartment at Launch Apartments, which is about 1.5 miles from the campus.
I think of Nero for I have not seen him in three years. I hope he is eating well and sleeping fine.
Is that you? Who shined like black?
Is that you? Who shat like brown?
Is that you? Who saw like blue?
Is that you? Who cared like pink?
Is that you? Who loved like red?
Is that you? Who lived like green?
Is that still you, Nero?
~~~
The date was the 3rd of March, 2021. Nero had just flown 8,500 miles across the continents to land in Chicago, from where I had driven him straight home (in a cheap rented car) to West Lafayette, Indiana. All the while constantly doubting my impulsive decision of flying him all the way to the US. The travel must have sapped the energy right out of him. While he loved traveling in cars with his head stuck out, with ears and tongue fluttering in the wind, I am sure he hated traveling in a closed metal tube hurtling through the clouds. But as much as my mind resisted, I could not say no to my heart.
Nero had become weak and ill. After trying every possible medicine, surgery and alternatives, the doctors back home in India had given him another five months to breathe, and to love. I did not know how I could be when Nero dint – for I had not known any other love than a dog’s love. I could not leave this place as I was constrained by the unending course work and the unsuccessful job hunt. Hence, wanting to be with him till the end, I worked through the red tape and made sure he got his visa papers to fly to the promised land.
We pulled up into the parking lot at Launch Apartments at about five in the afternoon. From the car it seemed that the wrath of the winter was receding with the melting snow. The receding beam of the setting sun creeped slowly up the buildings in front of me, pulling up the shadows like a curtain of darkness. I got out of the car and opened the back door, where Nero was sleeping still. Poor baby, I thought. With careful coordination, we worked to get him out of the car and on his feet again.
He started shivering the moment he got out of the car. His tail tucked stiff between his hind legs. His black coat had become dry and lost all of its glory – almost. He looked grey now. The white beard on his dull face cleverly hid the handsome face of the yesteryears. As much as I hated doing it, I had to put the collar around his neck and leash him. It was a resident rule. Every pet had to be leashed.
I remember noticing the tall dry tree which stood next to my building. Not a leaf, nor a bird on it. I was mistaken, winter still lurked patiently, in the shadow that the trailing sun was leaving behind. Unmindful, we hurried along the walkway leading to Building 7 where my house was at. Right then, two people emerged from the same building. I could hear them laughing rather loudly. We were at a distance of about 20 feet from them.
I was in a terrible mood and I did not notice their faces until they came very close to us.
‘Heyyyyy!’ I heard a sweet voice.
I looked up to see a woman bending down with her arms stretched out to greet Nero.
Nero started wagging his tail feebly.
This guy. This guy I tell you. He dint wag his tail when he saw me at the airport.
Sniffing intently and rapidly, he thrust his snout into her laps and started licking her playful hands.
‘Awww. Who’s a good boy? She said rubbing her nose on Nero’s rough cheeks.
‘Who’s a good boy?’ She said again and closed her eyes tightly while Nero licked her face.
I looked at them. They were strangers to each other yet they embraced one another like as though they weren’t. The two of them seemed so blissfully happy. Nero and the woman. Looking at them fondling, I felt relaxed, I felt happy and I felt a tad bit less lonely. Maybe some day, I said to myself, some day I get a girl like her. A lover of dogs – dogs like Me and Nero alike! I felt the sudden urge to look at her face but Nero was blocking my view; Lucky dog. I turned to look at the other person. He was standing tall in the golden light of the sun. He must have been about 6-foot four or close. His hands were tucked inside his padded jacket. He looked fit and handsome. And I felt stupid and lonely.
He nodded and I nodded back.
‘What’s his name?’ She asked from down there.
I looked down to see her face for the first time and, …and it was sublime. For a brief moment, I was lost in the rain of thoughts pouring down on my mind.
‘Nero,’ I replied blandly.
‘Nerooooo. Neroo is a? Goood boyyyy,’ she said as she pinched my dog’s cheeks and swung her face from side to side in excitement.
‘I had a dog like him, not so long ago. His name was Whisky,’ she said raising her head.
Before I could say anything. She spoke again.
‘Nero doesn’t look good. Is he fine?’ She questioned.
‘Yes, he’s doing fine. Old age,’ I said.
As much as I wanted to stand there and talk to her about my plight, I wanted to stay quiet.
‘Bring him to the clinic, say, sometime this week? We work at Purdue. The both of us,’ she said, pointing to herself and then the guy standing quietly next to her.
I dint say anything. They worked at Purdue? As what? I wanted more information and my silence demanded it.
‘We are Vets at the Purdue University Small Animal Hospital,’ the guy spoke for the first time, with a deep voice.
‘Oh,’ I said, looking at him now.
‘We don’t usually take big dogs. But, you know, Nero can come,’ she said as she ran her palms gently over Nero’s back.
I looked back at her.
‘Sure,’ I replied and smiled.
She looked at me and smiled back.
~~~
It’s been six months, now! I did visit the clinic and the both of them did try their best but there was nothing they could do to alleviate Nero’s pain. We tried every option, for over two months. But then, the situation had become too apparent. We gave up and I had not seen them since. Now, It was just me and Nero huddled inside my small apartment.
I had no idea how he was pulling through. I wondered what he held onto in his mind to give him this much strength. What source of motivation did he truly have? I could see that he was in a lot of pain but he seldom expressed it. He was frail and would only get up from his cushioned bed (my couch) once or twice a day. My situation was not so different. I had lost my appetite for food. I ate less and spoke lesser. My ass would be glued to the couch the whole day as I sat typing away on my laptop. The only source of income was the Teaching Assistantship that I had at Purdue. The money I got from that was comfortable for one person. But with Nero around, things were getting sticky. The situation was bleak. On one side, Nero struggled to make it through the night and on the other, I struggled to make ends meet.
Rachel, as she had introduced herself at the veterinary clinic, had been gracious enough to help us free-of-charge. She stayed next door and I think she just knew how messy my house and life was. She occasionally sent over baked cookies and I would give them all to Nero.
I guess it was about 10 in the night. I was tired of writing technical junk all day long. So, to take a break, I was feverishly writing about two lovers on some distant hilltop, looking at the sunset through each other’s eyes. Nero was sleeping on the couch next to me. He had not moved from the place the whole day that day and it worried me a lot. Just then, I heard the chime of an email notification. By then, I had applied to numerous technical-writing jobs (in New York and elsewhere) and none of them had replied. So, when that email from Apple came, I honestly thought it was a junk email. I was about to dismiss the notification when the word ‘On-Site Interview’ caught my attention.
I opened the email and read through the important keywords impatiently. The email said I was selected to move forward in the interview process for the Technical Writer’s job at Apple. The team was in New York and the job description said I would be working with the Apple Pay team helping the engineers compile technical documentations for both internal and external audience groups. The email lastly said, due to the urgency of the vacancy, I was required to fly to New York in the next 5 days.
I felt happy but not very happy. I felt relieved but not very relived. I had worked hard to get to this point and somehow I did not feel excited about the results.
I looked at Nero, he was snoring. There was no way he would be able to travel in his present state.
I had an idea.
I knocked on Rachel’s door. After about 20 seconds, the door opened slightly to reveal her face partially through the gap. I had not seen her in I don’t know how long.
Those eyes twinkled blue and those lips glistened pink and those cheeks blushed red.
Noticing me, she flung the door wide open.
‘Heyyyyy!’ Without a care or a regard, her sweet voice wantonly pierced my heart.
‘Hi,’ I replied with a slight smile.
‘Whats up?’ She asked, earnestly.
‘I don’t want to disturb you guys but I need a tiny favor.’
‘Sure! Whats up? ..Wait. Ugh. Look at me. Come on in!’ She held my hand and tugged me in.
Her house was similar to mine. A one bedroom apartment. Small, cozy and sufficient for one person. The room was well lit and everything seemed to be in its place. She must have been reading when I knocked on her door; for there was a book lying on the empty desk in front of her spotless couch. I tilted my head to see who the author of the book was – it was Ruskin Bond.
‘How can I help you?’ She said, turning around. While doing so, her silky smooth hair whirled around her face, slowly landing on her gently face.
For a brief moment, yet again, I was lost in my thoughts.
Let’s run away together. Screw that guy. Come with me! I wanted to shout. Fortunately though, I decided to keep that drama for another day and snapped out of it.
‘I need to go to New York on Friday. Would you mind if Nero stays with you for two days? I will be back by Sunday night for sure.’
‘Are you serious? Get him here now! I won’t send him back to you. You don’t know how to look after him’. She said and chuckled innocently.
Her chuckle seemed to be hiding a somber truth behind its innocence. Maybe she meant what she said.
‘Done deal. He is yours,’ I replied readily with a full smile.
‘And I am yours,’ Is what I wished she would say. As expected, that is not what she said.
‘Deal! Why New York though?’ She enquired.
‘Oh, that, I am interviewing for a writing job. Let’s see how it goes.’
‘Writing? You write? What do you write?’
’Technical writing. I will be writing boring documents all day long – documents which I know nobody gives a shit about.’
‘Woah! Naaice! But why would it be boring? You don’t want the job?’ She seemed confused.
‘Not that I don’t want it. It is just that I have always felt happier when I write about things I want to write,’ I tried to explain.
‘And what do you want to write about?’ She asked.
I shrugged cluelessly and replied,
‘I don’t know…’ I paused.
She came forward to say something but I had to complete my sentence.
‘…Maybe someday when you walk into a bookstore, you will see my novel there and then you will find out what I like writing about.’
‘Then why don’t you pursue that?’ She asked genuinely.
‘Are you kidding? Look at me. I am already poor. I don’t wish to get poorer,’ I said, and chuckled awkwardly.
‘True. That’s there,’ she said and stared down at the floor.
Taking that as my cue to leave, I went for the door.
‘Arjun, wait,’ she said.
I stopped and turned around.
‘You said you dint want to disturb “us”. Who is “us”? Don’t remember? Whisky is not with me anymore. He passed, a year ago.’
‘No no! I wasn’t talking about Whisky. Poor Whisky,’ I said
‘Then?’ She asked, letting out an ever so tiny frown.
‘I was talking about your boyfriend.’
She stared at me cluelessly until she realized who I was talking about. She burst into laughter and pinched my cheeks.
‘He is not my boyfriend. Just a friend.’
‘I see,’ I said and stared into her eyes.
What was she saying? What did that mean? What did she pinch me for? I wish I could stay and find out but I had other things to do.
‘Anyways. I will see you, Friday?’ I asked, deliberately changing the topic.
‘I will see Nero,’ she said and smiled like a tiny little cute kid.
‘Cya!’
‘Byeeee!’
~~~
It was a bright, beautiful Friday morning in the city of New York. I was enthusiastically headed towards the Apple office where my interview was scheduled in an hour. I walked by Penn Station and crossed the Garden. I was wearing a black formal coat and complete with the tie I looked like a man on a mission. I felt ready and I felt confident. I wanted the job badly. I had worked hard for this. The pay would be significantly higher than my current compensation. Nero and I could move to New York and make new friends. We could walk in the famous Central Park everyday! I knew Nero would love New York. Dogs. Writers. The same clan.
I wondered what he was doing? Was he trying to flirt with Rachel? You never know ‘cause,
dogs be dogs.
And then, amidst the tall, grim shadows of the towering buildings, it happened. Don’t ask me why it happened for I don’t know myself. I can only tell you how it happened. In front of me, about 50 feet out, was a morning runner running towards me. And behind him, a golden retriever sprinted along. I saw them run towards me. The guy was profusely sweating. He seemed exhausted but determined and It looked like the dog was going stronger. His strides weren’t as weak-willed as the guy’s, I think.
For a not-so-brief moment, I was trapped in the clutches of my thoughts. This time, however, I wasn’t knocked over in the barrage. Each thought came at me like a freight train – slowly growing in size and smashing into you when you least expect it. Each thought as clear as that New York morning. I suddenly felt my actions under heavy scrutiny. Something or someone inside me had me cornered inside an interrogation cell. And he was asking me questions I did not have answers to. What was I doing in New York? If I wanted to write a Novel, why wasn’t I back in Lafayette with my butt pasted to the seat of my couch, tirelessly searching for more words? I knew I wanted to write whatever I liked. So the question really was, why wasn’t I doing so?
I felt terrible. My stomach twisted and my chest ached. I felt something amiss. I felt like the buildings were collapsing unto each other. I saw the pair of runners pass me. I saw the dog majestically gallop by me. Seeing the dog, I distinctly remember thinking Nero was in grave trouble. Had something happened to him? And, And. What the hell was I still doing in New York?
I took out my phone and dialed Rachel’s cell. No response.
I tried again. No response.
I called again. No response.
I screamed again. No response.
No! What had I done? I cursed myself really bad. I don’t think I have ever cursed myself as much as I did that day.
I felt torn, damaged and regretful.
I felt lost, lonely and helpless.
I called again. No response.
I called again. She picked up.
Before she could say anything, I shouted into my phone.
‘Is he alright? Is he alright!? Tell me he is, please!’ I paused.
I dint want to listen to her reply for I knew what would come next.
I closed my eyes and braced myself for the news.
‘What happened!? Are you fine? Where are you?!’ She was so startled.
’Tell me. Please!’ I shouted hopelessly.
‘Yeessssa!! God! We just came back from a walk. He is fine. Now answer me!’
She was angry! I made her angry!
‘I am not going to the interview. You stay right there and hold Nero close,’ I blurted it out without a thought.
It just came out naturally, genuinely, and honestly from the gut – like vomit.
‘But..’ She was going to say.
I cut the call and ran back to my hotel room. In my sweaty suit, I ran freely like a crazed ape. From the hotel, I wrote a half hearted email to the recruiter, apologizing to him about the missed interview. I left New York that same night on the first available flight.
Sitting in the flight and looking down at the vast expanse of the moonlit American midwest, I thought to myself and smiled,
I am coming for you both.
~~~
Two years have passed since that dramatic morning in New York City. I wish I could tell you that I am now, a famous writer. I wish I could tell you that I have now, lots of money. But, my friend, that not be the case. The journey is just starting and the road is long. I am happy I get to wake up each day and do what I love doing – writing. I don’t have much money but I am content with the words I spend on my pages. I do know one thing fairly surely, that impulsive decisions are not always bad; for some of the impulsive voices are none other than your instincts speaking and your instincts only want what’s best for you – to live fuller. Instincts seem to want for you what you need and not what you want.
Nero left this earth the day I landed unexpectedly, back from New York. I could not get a chance to bid him farewell. I did not get a chance to tell him, for one last time, how much I loved him and how much more I needed him. He passed away silently, sleeping on Rachel’s warm laps. I miss that silly old boy. I miss him terribly. I miss his playfulness. I miss his seriousness. I miss it all. His silence has never been this deafening.
I will never know why he chose to leave us on that particular day but I am quite certain it had something to do with my decision of coming back. I guess he finally felt satisfied and content. Content that I had realized something essential, critical and necessary; something Nero had taught me every single day of his short life but I was too distracted to give to it. All these years, his silence had preached one singular message – Do what you love. Nothing else.
As for me, I spend my day mostly writing. I write simple stuff. I write about dogs, I write about women and I write about love. As for Rachel, well, you can ask her yourself. It is a bright Sunday morning in Lafayette. I can see that the air outside is warm and crisp. I can see the same tree now bursting to life full of green. I can hear the birds chirping their hearts away at the bright blue sky. I hear a dog’s bark in the distance and I know for sure it isn’t Nero’s; for when Nero barked, he roared.
I am presently resting my head on Rachel’s warm laps. The same laps which Nero would call, ‘the perfect spot’, if only he could have ever spoken. Rachel is wearing one of my red t-shirts and it is clearly too big for her. She is reading a Ruskin Bond novella. I think she is reading The Blue Umbrella. Resting on her laps, I am peering at my laptop which is on my chest. I see a blank white page on the screen and I think to myself,
what will I write today?
Dogs. Writers. The same clan.
Wanting to show,
needing to express,
but,
yielding to silence.
Is that why we are friends?
Me and Nero.
Or is that why we are silent?
Me and Nero.
