Tuesday, July 20, 2010


Arambol, North Goa

The sea, she won’t hush. Gray as the skies above, noisier than the clouds above, her tantrums they don’t cease. She pounds the shore angrily. Back and forth. A million times. Again and again. Incorrigible thing, she.

And yet. They lie unperturbed. The waves travel from the core of her restlessness and crash pathetically right before them. And yet, they will not move. They won’t lift their heads to ask her what’s bothering her. They won’t raise their tails to acknowledge her. The dogs of Arambol. They care a rat’s ass about the ageless, endless mass of salty water. She can be pissed off as hell, with the droopy monsoon clouds hanging above her head, looking mighty and mighty sad. But they’re a tad bit sleepy at the moment.

I saw them everywhere, all the time. And on the feline-free tongue of the hippie beach, it seemed like they got here before us and knew how to stay. And from so many of them chilling on the sands, their curled bodies dotting the sands, they acted like they owned the beach. Just preceding the view of the sea from ‘Coconut Inn’ the only restaurant that was open during the rainy season they were smugly present all over. An awful lot of them, in an awful lot of colours. The grubby gray thing seemed to have borrowed hues from the sand. There was one very brown dog with very floppy ears and a white patch around his collar, a monochrome dog slept in the distance, a fawn one exhibited his back to us. So well, all kinds of medium built mongrels.

Till noon, they hardly cared. About the sea or the humans who were staring at the sea. Some would reluctantly travel a few steps if you had interesting ‘crumbs’. Post noon, with a little warmth, they’d dig into the ground and find wet moist sand to park themselves on. Some lounged under the orange tables. I hardly saw any of them go close to the waves. As the hours moved sluggishly, they got friendlier and happier. They’d chase the lifeguard’s jeep. They’d sway their tails and stupidly follow you on the beach. They’d hang around and watch the fisherman.“Seriously how annoying!” Cilara complained. She followed her displeasure with elaborate commands of banishment in English, while our quadruped guest shook his body pretending to listen. And certainly not moving. The waiter showed up with an inappropriately long stave and shoved the poor thing from under our table that bore the weight of a plate of aromatic pork sausages and beer. And I yelled at him, but he seemed to have expected appreciation.

My observation of canines led me to shamelessly stare at this young bearded man who walked into the restaurant and a legion of dogs surrounded him, squatting all around his table. He ran his hands around the black and white mongrel while it stood happily.

In the evening there were enough that lounged, ran around, chased humans, strolled around. The beach was all theirs. And the sea. Stupid thing, she wouldn’t stop crashing right in front of their paws. But they seemed to have grown so used to her, of course they didn’t care at all.





1 comment:

  1. I like Mr Withe on the blackish sand the bestest the nextness is Mr sleeping belly to the sky

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