If only the Parliament could stand for Champagne.
Lest there be misunderstanding—Champagne is not the bubbly drink made in France; he is the stray who has made my doorstep his home— living there for a dozen years, wagging his tail and biting me twice during that period.
Lest there be a bigger misunderstanding—this parliament being talked about is not the parliament of owls as one would construe it to be from the mention of a stray dog right in the beginning. This is about the Parliament where the elected representatives of the people are expected to sit and conduct the affairs of the country. Just ‘expected.’
A word about Champagne. I love him for he loves me too. And I bet his love is unconditional and purer than mine, despite the two courses of Rabipur vaccine he thrust upon me. He guards my house against ill-intentioned strangers. I believe he keeps away evil spirits too. We read each other’s minds. I confess that I had stolen his thoughts to write his (autobiographical) story five years ago. On numerous other occasions, I have ‘used’ him to simplify and explain everything from international relations to a complex country like China.
He is valuable to me—he doesn’t let the ink in my pen dry up.
Recently, around the time Parliament was supposed to be meeting for its monsoon session—but was adjourned, apparently for reasons for which no one can be held accountable—Champagne was badly hurt in a hit-and-run incident. He is now admitted in Noida Animal Shelter and Hospital, struggling for life.
[Author’s Note: Readers with a heart may pause here and offer a prayer for Champagne’s speedy recovery.]
My visits to that complex have been an eye-opener. I have been only to the areas meant for dogs. There are hundreds of them—mostly sick or wounded—barking, fighting. There is dirt; there is stench. The buildings are dilapidated; equipment and the very basic amenities and facilities are either damaged, in beyond-repair condition, or just not there. My impression was that the shelter was understaffed too. But during the time I spent at the shelter looking up Champagne on my several visits, I was amazed by the dedication of those on duty. In my assessment they were more dedicated and conscientious than the representatives mandated to work in the cosy comfort of the temple of democracy. Despite the dismal conditions, those people went about their duties. To me, they were as voiceless as the wretched curs they were serving and treating.
The monsoon session of the parliament got washed—certainly not by the rain. In the many debates taking place in the media, the cost of doing no-business is estimated at crores of rupees. If the same amount had been allocated to Noida Animal Shelter and Hospital, it’d have been better utilised—Champagne recovered, and we’d have said cheers!
PS: It being an animal matter, there was a suggestion to approach the cockroaches and ask them to rise in support of Champagne and others of his ilk. The brilliant idea had to be given up as soon as it was mooted, because the plates of the arthropods were full and they had become choosy—they had just rejected the idea of picking up the cudgels for the students of Bihar.
PPS: For readers interested, here are some posts in which I have exploited Champagne’s personal life for my motives…
Road Much Travelled 