My sleeping pattern, or more aptly, my night schedule has changed quite drastically after I came back from London. I has nothing to do with jetlag or the ‘NRI’ excuse of the bed being too hard, the air being too musty or even the mosquitoes. Well, you could count in the mosquitoes.
My nightly activities these days include random o’ clock walks around the house looking for things to do. I fill up water bottles, rearrange newspapers, watch TV till my eyes are heavy, read a book; or like just now, I laced up my trendy canvas shoes, undid the laces and laced them up again. The ends never match, and I can’t exactly figure how to make them so. Then I spend some time drawing up diagrams of how the lace ends might end up matching. But it never helps.
It’s neither the bed nor those little flying buzzing insects. It is those stray dogs, those infernal creatures that should have never existed (along with the mosquitoes, I must add). There is one particular dog that keeps repeating the same phrase in Doglish (or Dogench, if you please) from 2:30 AM till five in the morning. Trust me, I have stayed awake that long. Not to decipher what he wants to convey, but because I cannot sleep with so much debate going on between the canine community in our entire locality. Considering the reasons, it is us humans that inevitably cause the increase in number of strays in our locality. Overflowing dustbins are the prime dog magnet, nicely stuffed up cats the other. Now the cats feed on the mice and rats that infest the sewers which have been closed up with concrete slabs. So the cats find their way to the bins, having to compete with their nemesis every time they try to dig their stupid little noses in for a bite.
Back to the dogs. I hate them. Strays most of all. I imagine myself getting out at three in the morning dressed in dark blue overalls, gumboots, green full length hard rubber gloves, masked with club in hand severely damaging the cervical vertebrae of each of those mangy mongrels. BOWWWOWHHWOOWWHOOWWHACKK! End of story. Then what I do is pile them up at the crossroad, all twisted up, tongues lolling out, eyes white, necks snapped, in all their deathly pallor. With a note stuck on them saying, “If the municipality doesn’t do it, I will.”
Cause of my sick, demented, inhuman outburst? Lack of municipal interest in clearing the city of its strays. Also, the utter stupidity of dog loving animal rights activism. Most of the people interested in saving cute little doggies from the dog van have never had sleepless nights tying shoe laces or rearranging newspapers. Most of them probably own a dog of a breed no one has ever heard of, having paid an obscene amount for ‘acquiring the canine asset’ and an equally ridiculous amount on its upkeep. Screw the municipality. They could never give the city water and good roads for all these years. Why would they bother about dogs? If you might have noticed, all this animal rights activism happens in the supposedly better side of the city. Now you might say, here comes all the north-south divide bullshit all over again. But that has always been the issue around which everything in the city is centred, if you care to notice.
Screw all that. I think it’s time I started rearranging the items on the computer table. The lace on my left shoe is looking a bit uneven. And my hands are beginning to itch for some canine whacking…