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‘Many years ago I used to live in Calcutta.’
‘Very good,’ I said.
‘And I picked up this stray dog and made him mine.’
The thought of anything becoming his was deeply disturbing but, putting my feelings aside, I continued to look on encouragingly.
‘But then, I needed to shift to Delhi … to start a new life.’
‘I see.’
‘But I could not leave my dog!’
‘Oh, of course,’ I agreed.
‘Do you know what he did?’
‘He?’
‘The dog was a he.’
‘Oh, so what did he do?’
‘He went to the kitchen, used his little paws to open the kitchen window and jumped out.’
I spluttered out the coffee I was drinking. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He knew he was coming in the way of my life, and he sensed my hesitation … and … and he committed suicide, just so that I could carry on with my life. I found his body on the street when I came back from office that day.’
‘Your dog committed suicide?’ I asked, just to clarify.
Vijaywada nodded his head slowly and sadly. ‘Today is his death anniversary,’ he added in a despairing voice.
‘Anniversary of the suicide of your dog,’ I repeated, biting the insides of my cheeks to stop the guffaws.
Vijaywada nodded his head.
‘I think you should go home and rest,’ I said, trying desperately to control my laughter. ‘It could not have been easy for you.’
‘It still isn’t,’ he said, looking forlornly at his hands.
Vijaywada got up and was but a few feet away from us when Padma (who had been listening to the conversation) burst out laughing. ‘I know what actually happened,’ she said.
‘What?’ I asked, wiping coffee from the table where I had spilt it in a fit of laughter.
‘He pushed his dog out of the kitchen and then pretended it was suicide!’
Another fit of giggles followed this.
30 June 2013.
‘Paddy,’ I said, looking intently at P.P. Padma’s bangs. There was something I had been meaning to ask her for the longest time.
‘Hmm?’
‘Why did you hate me so much in the beginning? Am I really horrible?’
Paddy put down the cup of coffee she had been sipping from. ‘I could lie or I couldn’t lie.’
