Rickshaws & Stray Dogs (and the end of the story of the bloomin' cat)

Before touching the subjects that I outlined in the title, I'd like to offer you a paragraph from a book by Leo Buscaglia:

“Nature in Cambodia is very severe (same applies to parts of India, note of this author). Every year the monsoons come and wash everything into the rivers and streams and lakes. So you don't build great permanent mansions because nature has told you that it will only be washed away. You build little huts. Westerners look and say, “Aren't they quaint but poor little people! Living in such squalor.” It's not squalor. It's how you perceive it. They love their houses which are comfortable and exactly right for their climate and culture.”

Leo Buscaglia, Love, p.25, 4^th print, 1985 (Fawcett Crest books)

So, Ron the cat is safely home, even if last night we should have delivered her to her new address, yet she managed to pull a runner. In fact, things are not as bad, nor as hectic as they might seem, since today we are going to be brought to the airport by our friend, the one we saw last night, and we can give her Ron. Throughout the morning we keep policing every possible attempt at escape by our little feline. Successfully so.

Ron gets safely delivered. We get safely brought to the airport. First leg of our journey. It will take us to Amsterdam. In the days to follow we are to give a workshop for healthy relationships in the city of The Hague (if you are interested in reading more about that, just click on this sentence).

Fast forward. Different location, different continent. The temperature is about 33 Celsius. Humid. Very humid, probably 70 to 80 %. Everywhere I look, there are palm trees, mangoes, and so many more trees that I don't know. It's so lush and green that I can hardly believe that I am in a city of some 20 million, at least by the statistics I read. Probably, in reality, many more people than that. It's Mumbai, India.

We are currently sitting in an “auto” (auto-rickshaw, these vehicles are also widely known as tuck-tucks); a three-wheeler vehicle. The driver sits in front, behind a protective screen and holds on to a handlebar, which incorporates some of the necessary elements to control the vehicle: brake, throttle, clutch.

In the back, there is a long seat, where there is room for some three people, sitting very close to each other, often more. These vehicles -and their drivers (often referred to as auto wallahs in this part of the world. Some people consider this term derogatory, some don't) - do an amazing job at circumventing traffic jams. They will squeeze into spaces only recognizable to them, attesting to their mastery and an eye for the exact dimensions of their vehicle. They will create lanes where there are none -this morning we are on a highway with three official lanes, yet I counted seven unofficial ones- they will, in other words, get you there as fast as realistically possible on fully gridlocked roads.

Sitting in the “auto” and given my height, all I can really see when I look sideways are bus tires, tires and more tires and the odd, occasional exhaust pipe, kind of spewing exhaust towards us (“autos” are open vehicles).

It is a sprawling urban jungle we drive through: big buildings next to corrugated iron shacks, small stores next to temples, narrow streets next to three-lane highways. They all seem to intertwine perfectly, in a flow that I start understanding, after having spent a few days here.

Everywhere I look, though, while driving to the north-eastern park located some 15 km from where we are currently residing, there are dogs. Kind of stray dogs but to a point.

I refer to them as kind of strays, as they are and aren't, because most of them seem quite well fed and with a pretty happy expression on their faces; yet they live on the streets. Some of them seem to carry some illness or another. Most though, seem pretty healthy. This notwithstanding, I am advised to leave them alone and go stroke domestic pets if I really must, as some of these street-dogs may carry mange (canine scabies).

What strikes me is how street-wise they are. In a city that has more cars than one can possibly imagine, I see these canine friends wiggle their way through major intersections, looking at traffic and negotiating their way to the other side safely.

I speak with some people and they tell me that many city dwellers do distribute food to them, in fact I see a gentleman with a bag full of food going down towards the street. Many dogs around there; they probably know he is coming.

Another thing that strikes me -more generally- is a general mildness and kindness among the people I meet. There is obviously, like anywhere else, another side to this. I am reading in a local newspaper that there are gangs that steal electricity from the grid and distribute it to those slum-dwellers that can't hook up to the grid, because officially their housing is not allowed to exist, as it does not meet certain legal requirements. These gangs get into turf wars, mafia-style. An example of the other side of the coin, to me.

In a city in which many people live, sleep and cook on the streets -literally- it could seem, to many, almost obscene to talk about pooches yet, together with their goat, cat, monkey and cow counterparts, these dogs are part of the urban landscape in this vast nation and undeniably, from what I have seen so far, city dwellers of this part of Mumbai are kind to them.

My personal theory is that much of this is relevant to all the different cultures that inhabit India. Most of them -if not all- seem to argue in favor of respect for all fellow living creatures. This writer is a mix of yogi and Buddhist and I know for certain that both philosophies recommend kindness to our fellow planet-inhabitants, hence also the existence of such a large number of vegetarians in India. If you live by your desire to be kind and compassionate, then eating a fellow planet-inhabitant becomes a bit tricky -mind you, I fail miserably on this front; I still am a meat eater...-

So, my personal, totally unscientific and perhaps a bit biassed conclusion is that most ethnic, religious and otherwise groups that make up this nation of some 1.3 billion want to live in harmony with their environment. Maybe not always successfully, yet, nevertheless, the desire seems to me to be there.