The Vet

It’s good to be humbled. I find I am wrong more frequently these days, and that’s fine. I’m sure I’m learning something besides humility.

A dear friend took me and the dog to the free vet for village dogs. What an incredible service! Walking through its beautiful gate, visitors find themselves in an open puppy playground with battered dogs full of life and hope. A three-legged beagle mix greeted us with protective barks and gentle kisses. Several mutts followed curiously in our wake. Others suffering from mange or broken limbs or whatever else were herded into the back field, where they can run and tussle and play. I was immediately relieved, and brought our street dog to the table.

“Ah, he’s not so bad,” the vet said.

I looked at the fly-infested, limping, bleeding dog and responded, “You must see a lot of suffering.”

She examined his wounds, weighed him, gave him a shot for worms, played with his feet and teeth and unmentionables. Here are the conclusions:

• He’s six to nine months old.
• He’ll be a big dog, judging by the size of his paws. Some German Shepard mix.
• He has mange and needs to be washed with special soap.
• He needs follow up worm pills.
• He needs to eat more. A lot more. He’s malnourished—probably because of the worms.
• He limps because he’s weak; as soon as the mange and worms go, he’ll be better.
• He’s already attached to us.

“Now,” she said, “the first step to healing is a name. What are you calling him?”

We each blurted out three different words.

“And that, I fear, will be your problem.”

Ok, ok... Gop__ it is?

The Dog

We're still settling on a name, but Gopta and Gopal are coming out on top… even though he’s not living up to his name as defender/protector or cow herder. In fact, as I spend time with him, I realize more and more how difficult this is going to be.

Here's why:

1. I'm not his person. Dogs pick their person; we, also, are drawn to certain dogs. I was not drawn to Gopta nor him to me; we were united by extraneous circumstances and now must learn to like each other. We’re getting there. Slowly.


2. He's old. I don't care what Raja said: This is not a puppy—it's a small-sized dog. His balls have dropped and he's stubborn. I'm not training a puppy; I'm teaching an old dog new tricks. Or trying to, at least.


3. He's scared. Of everything. Including the chickens. (And eating… Every time I feed him he nibbles, jumps away, timidly returns, eats some more, and continues as such until the bowl is empty.)


4. He doesn't bark. How can you noiselessly defend a house?


5. He won't chase the cows. Unless, of course, you count him chasing me as I chase the cows.
   

But I have faith if not patience. This poor pup had a hard life and survived something traumatic. In time, I hope, he’ll come around…

In the meantime, we’ll shower him with love and affection, heal and feed him, and try try try to make him the Defender of Lumière and Protector of Plants!

When Worlds Collide...

It was definitely the strangest site I've seen since arriving in the forest.

There was an old, black-skinned Tamilian—hardened from a life of physical labor and wrinkled from years in the sun.
There a computer—equipped with the latest software and top-of-the-line gadgets.
The Old Man sat in front of the computer, wearing a loin-cloth and USB earphones, skyping his boss half-a-world away.

We had to take pictures... ;)

The Newest Addition

In the middle of the night Monica turned to me. “Catherine,” she whispered, “do you hear that?”

I listened to the sounds of the land. “Hear what?”

“That creepy noise that’s definitely not a cow.”

Yup. Yup, I heard it. And there was nothing me, Monica, or an injured old watchman that my grandfather could beat up could do about it. (In all fairness, my grandfather’s in remarkable health for 80.)

“We really, really need a dog,” I said.

“A big dog,” she replied.


Hours earlier, across Auroville…

Raja had just finished dinner with his family when his eldest brother marched in. “I need some leftover food.”

“You don’t have enough?” his mother asked, full of concern.

“It’s not for me; it’s for this damn dog that won’t get out from under my porch.”

“Dog?” Raja’s ears perked up.

So his brother told the story: A few days ago he—a mere puppy—was chased by bigger village dogs, and now he’s broken and bleeding in the sand near Brother’s house and refuses to move.

“Lumière will take him.”

So suddenly we have a guard dog in need of serious mending… and a name.


Any suggestions?!

Boys, Bikes & Brands

The thing about Auroville is: It’s a small town where gossip festers so much that you realize high school was a breeze. (This is written, btw, with the most sincere love and affection for the community... and just a pinch of cynicism.)

Monica and I have taken it upon ourselves to conduct research into the cause of certain types of gossip, and we’re composing a guidebook for future unsuspecting ladies to follow if they ever decide to visit the City the Earth Needs.

Here are our findings so far:

Boys

• If you talk to a boy, you’re interested in him.
• If you dance with a boy, you want to have sex with him.
• If you ride on the back of his bike a certain way or a certain number of times,* you’re in a serious relationship.
• If you’re sharing a living space with a boy, you’re basically married…even if no romantic feelings exist.

Bikes*
Riding on the back of a boy’s bike is not as innocent as it seems. For example, if you’re clinging to the back of the bike instead of the driver, there’s a chance you may just be using the boy for a ride. However, if there’s less than three visible inches of space between you and the boy, then you’re clearly together. Some other signals:

• The first time a girl rides on a boy’s bike, it may just be to get from Point A to Point B.
• If the girl is seen a second time on the back of the same boy’s bike, then they’re dating.
• If caught a third time, she’s pregnant.

Brands
If you’re associated with a boy due to any of the aforementioned actions (or anything else), you acquire a tag. You are labeled as his. And, sorry ladies, it seems that once you’ve been branded, there’s little hope. Here's some advice from Aurovilian men on the subject:

• To lessen the impact of a tag, date someone else for more than 2 months.
• Be aware that no Aurovilian man will date you out of respect for the tag holder, because they've known him longer than you.
• If you are unattractive, tags will not last.

Clear as mud.

Stay tuned for more from the anthropological eyes of Catherine & Monica...

The Case for Dogs

The land is lined with coconut tree gravestones of puppies long past. Something about dogs and this place doesn't work; they fall ill or injured and pass away long before their time is due.

But the land needs a dog. For example...

These days there are always strangers on the land. Dozens a day, from early morning until the heat becomes to much to bear. They come to pick cashews, but they wander too close to the house, use our water tap, sit in the kitchen. They ignore Raja’s request to keep away from our space and stick to the cashews.

One day Raja cracked. He was sick of the villagers coming too near, so he walked inside and concocted a plan.

He download sounds of dogs barking from the internet. And he played them, over and over, all the while shouting at his “dog.”

Slowly, slowly, the people moved away.


He told me this story after an afternoon of chasing cows. Out of breath, I could only reply: “Can we train our fake dog to herd cows too?”

Scorpions

I never really considered myself a scaredy cat.

Sure, from time to time loud bursts of thunder make me jump. Fine, I occasionally have nightmares about clowns that turn people into cotton candy and suck their blood. And I still think Ernest Scared Stupid was the scariest movie I’ve ever seen... aside from The Ring.

My point is I don’t get frightened driving through the woods in the middle of the night; snakes and small animals don’t scare me; I don’t think there are monsters living in the closet everyone refuses to open. I’ve even overcome my fear of spiders and peacefully co-habitate with giant hairy arachnoids.


But this weekend I discovered scorpions.


The first one we saw was at night, and it looked like a black lobster crossing the dirt path. “Is... is that a scorpion?” I asked Monica, a Texan, as we drove past.

“Sure was,” she replied coolly. She’s seen her share of scorpions and, as she quickly reminded me, the bigger the better.

Still, my blood ran cold.


Later, as I plugged away on my keyboard, I heard shouting from the downstairs bathroom where Monica was emerging from the shower. “Goddam scorpion buried itself in my skirt while I was in the shower for five freakin’ minutes, lil [expletive], [expletive], [expletives].” (Apparently she likes scorpions less when they’re in her clothes instead of on the road.)

While this one was small and red and thus more dangerous, it didn’t bother me, as I didn’t see it. “It’s only a scorpion,” I hollered down. “Get used to ‘em, I guess.” But don’t expect me to use that bathroom ever again.


In the morning I noticed a flattened black shell of a scorpion buried in my tire tracks. Monica told me she saw a small one cross the road. “The rains bring ‘em out,” the locals told us. Great.


Then Saturday night we went to the most innocent of events: a child’s play at the Visitors’ Center. Obviously something of this nature puts you in a cute and cuddly mood, and you naturally feel happier about everything. Until you go to the parking lot, climb onto your bike, and notice a giant lobster with a spiked tail staring at you. Scorpions are NOT cute and cuddly, nor anything to be happy about.

Fight or flight, right? Well I scrambled awkwardly to get into gear, pressing the wrong pedals until I jerked the bike forward and far away. I was silent; no words within me could alert the group of people coming to the parking lot about the giant beast that awaits, ready to induce pain with its miserable stinger. The children—for the Love of God—I failed to warn the children!

But I realized as soon as I regained my voice that I am afraid of scorpions, and if tested in a crisis situation, I would surely fail.