After I packed up six years of my life in Chennai and shipped it off to Bengaluru, I walked to the supermarket and bought two packets of Marie Gold and called out to Manickam. He came running slowly but with his tail up in the air and gobbled the biscuits up, three at a time. Through the first few months of the isolating pandemic, he was my only source of joy.
But I was happy to return to my parents’ home since I could finally reunite with five-year-old Indie, Penny Lane, who used to live with me in Chennai but had to move to Bengaluru because I had an annoying landlord (as usual). And after ten years, I was also back to sharing the house with my 12-year-old Tibetan terrier puppy, Beatle.
At home, every night, usually just after I shut my laptop, Penny scratches my door. Then I open it and let her inside. In the two seconds that it takes me to bolt the door again, she always manages to capture my pillow and then will refuse to move, no matter how much I push and shove her. Finally, I’d settle on the edge of the bed and hug her. The next morning, occasionally, Beatle would join us in bed. That was when I was truly in my comfort zone.
I lost Beatle six months ago and so Penny and I have grown closer. I think the only time I have been able to truly forget about the world is when I have been in the company of dogs. Whether it be Freida and Suryamurthy, who live on the street and sometimes joined Penny and me on walks or Mocha, who lives at my grandmother’s house. They made my world a better place even when the pandemic was at its harshest.
To all the dogs I’ve loved. Thank you.
Read all the articles in the Comfort zone series here.
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