Irishman in Madras

The bike came to a halt on the side of the normally busy street.

“Want something?” asked K.

“No da”, replied M.

“Ok, I’ll just go grab a dum.”

As K made his way through the post-lunch crowd at the potti-kadai, he mused over the fact that M seemed a little distracted all of a sudden. He seemed to be intently watching a stray dog, of all things, lying just across the road.

“Macha! Dei!”

K turned around.

“Actually, get me a Panneer Soda no da!”

“Okay macha!”

Goli soda? Haven’t had one of those in a while, thought K.

After fighting a hard battle on the way in (and a veritable war on the way back out) he walked to the bike, where M was still watching the dog across the street intently.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, da.”

K lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. It was one of those boring days where they had bunked college and didn’t really have much to do.

“So what do you want to do today?” he asked M.

“Hmm? Anything da, anything’s cool”, said M.

“Dei, what’s wrong with you da? Why are you concentrating on that dog so much?”

“Take a look at it, macha.”

K looked at the dog.

As far as street dogs went, it fell pretty neatly into the stereotype. Scruffy, dirty; not mange-ridden, thank God- those were just pitiful to look at. This one had some grease on its back- probably from slipping under a parked vehicle to escape the Madras sun. Short-haired, no tuft on the tail, a mottled black, grey and brown coat- mostly black though. The feral look common to most untamed animals- with the kind of hunted, ever-wary expression of the typical Indian stray thrown in for good measure.

In short, nothing special. Certainly not worth concentrating on so much.

“What’s so special about that dog? Normal street dog macha”, said K.

“Hold on”, said M.

Just then, the dog moved from its comfortable position- at the apparent behest of an auto driver who had decided to park his vehicle in the same space the dog occupied - and who looked, if it was possible, even scruffier than it.

The dog moved gracefully, flowing to its feet and loping off down the road.

“See?” said M. “There’s a little bit of Irish in that dog.”