Bengaluru's stray dogs

No country has as many stray dogs as India does. A census conducted by the department of animal husbandry and the Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike (commonly known as BBMP) in 2007 found there were 1,83,758 stray dogs in Bangalore alone, which means that there is a stray dog for every 37 people in the city. The fact that there is no garbage management system is leading more stray dogs to roam around residential areas. According to BBMP, over 7,000 animal birth control surgeries are performed every month in the city. 

You don't need to look closely in order to realize that most dogs throughout the city have a little bite missing off either one or two of their ears. At first I thought the tip of their ears missing was just from territorial street fights of some sort, but I later on found out that ear clipping is part of the government's initiative in stray dog management. 

Most stray dogs in India are the local landrace and naturally selected breed of the sub-continent, known as the Indian pariah dog (not a derogatory term in the canine context), which is estimated to have existed for around 14,000 years or more. 

Dogs waiting to cross the road. Bengaluru, 2013.

I think I have roughly petted over 300 dogs throughout the country, so far. I recall meeting the four stray dogs on my street taking a while to accept me. They would stare at me, ignore me or even bark at me. Yet not once did I feel threatened by them, as they usually keep a distance. Stray dogs in Bengaluru have massive community presence, they are really territorial and they will not cross their neighborhood under any circumstance.

Mom with litter. Bengaluru, 2012.

Dogs' behavior tends to be predictable. However, there might be unpredictable reactions, particularly among stray dogs, depending on their personality, past history with humans and other circumstances. It's obvious that dogs that have been mistreated are more likely to be skittish and fearful, while others might be more approachable and friendly. I have a fairly long history of interaction with stray dogs in India and I have never felt in danger or threatened by them, but that's just my experience. Some dogs clearly state they do not want to be petted by ignoring or barking at you or simply by walking away. Yet the truth is that most of them seek affection and love and will follow you until they reach the (imaginary) delimitation of their territory; then they will simply walk back to their street. Stray dogs are almost always at the same spot and you will (most of the times) be able to see them again right at the same spot you encountered them. 

Sadly, stray dogs are subject to all sorts violence, injuries and threats. They are often run over by cars and trains or end up victims of (in)human(e) cruelty. There are also a number of parasites, infections such as scabies and diseases they might carry. Free-roaming rabid dogs  for instance,  bite millions of people annually across the country. 

Stray dog with scabies. Bengaluru, 2013.

I have very rarely seen anyone approaching a street dog, nobody seems to bother. Dog proliferation in India and particularly in big cities like Bengaluru is becoming a serious issue, and government administration policies are certainly not effective enough. Although they can be a potential threat for humans and specially children, let's not forget it's not their fault and they do not have the faculty to be able to control their own population, but we do.

Let's keep in mind these dogs deserve a chance and some affection. They have learned the toughness of living on the busy streets of India (and any other city for that matter). They boldly cross the street, trot off quickly just to sit down some feet away. At night they howl like a mandatory prayer and they often fight amongst each other. They are the most grateful dogs you can possibly ask for. Gently petting them on the head, giving them a few bread crumbs, calling them over...and a grateful gaze of hope. With time, I have developed a special bond with some stray dogs I have met along the way. I know where to find them. And I know they will run up to me and wag their tail as a sign of excitement. The happiness, I know, is mutual.

Street dog at a public park. Bengaluru, 2013.

The cinema cart

Mumbai is the city of a millions hawkers. Last time I was there, around two months ago, we went back to Nariman Point, one of the city's financial hubs where street vendors do brisk business during peak hours by selling a wide variety of street food, all of which is vegetarian: Vada Pav (noted as the most popular street food in Mumbai), Panipuri, Bhelpuri, Sevpuri, Dahipuri, sandwiches, Pav Bhaji, etc. Although street food is common all over the country, Mumbai is noted for having people of all economic backgrounds eating on the roadside at all times. 

Food cart selling chaat (snacks) at Nariman Point, Mumbai. 

Panipuri and Bhelpuri food carts in Mumbai.

As we approached the main road we came across this children's fair with one of those jumping castles. There was also this monkey with a haunting gaze grabbed by his owner's hand, a young, low caste street-side entertainer. A tired, medium-sized horse taking screaming children for a short ride around the dusty road. And to our right, this middle-aged guy standing by his colorful and decorated cart. That cart in particular called my attention. It was not a vegetable cart nor a street food cart. It was a cinema cart, holding a hand-cranked projector. I was surprised no children were appealed by it whatsoever. It reminded me of this short film called Salim Baba I had watched back in 2006 that I much later found out had actually been nominated for one Oscar and one Emmy and had won 2 awards as well.

Everyone flocked to 55-year-old Salim Muhammad's cart when he pushed it down the streets of Kolkata. They were mesmerized by his presence and his cart, which held something powerful behind its black drapes: the magic of cinema. He inherited the projector from his father and had been screening discarded film scraps that he had edited and made into new movies since he was 10. 

Crowds gathering around him got to forget their worries and escape from one reality to another, even if only for a few minutes. Salim hoped that his children would take over his business when he was too old to push the cart, but I wonder if they ever would. As countries like India are emerging very quickly younger generations are too busy trying to copy the West, and pushing a cart holding a 100-year-old hand-cranked projector certainly doesn't fit in with this new age of a crowd that prefers going to huge movie theaters to watch the latest Bollywood movies (which mostly objectify women and make them look as Western as possible) while sipping soda and eating popcorn. 

I now regret not having asked the cinema cart guy at Nariman Point when did he start pushing that cart, a cart different from all. A cart that stood out from the crowd and no one seemed to appreciate. I was embarrassed to ask him if I could watch a few scenes from a movie that he might have had created by carefully choosing scraps, juxtaposing image and music that ultimately created a different and unique reality, a much better one. Maybe next time I am in Mumbai I will go back to Nariman Point and there he will be, standing by his cinema cart, dreaming of another reality. 

Do you speak "Hindu"?

Rabindranath Tagore once said about short stories: "They are simple events of life happy or sad, some sad strings from the train of forgetfulness, not fraught with heavy descriptions, not crowded with events, no advice, no philosophy, only the feeling that the story is not yet over, although there is no more to read...". 

Dabba ("The Lunchbox" in Hindi) was released in India on September 20, 2013 and is currently showing in some independent theaters over in Spain. It is an example of a unique short story, with a new beginning at the end. The overcrowded local trains, Harvard certified Mumbai dabbawallas amidst busy working hours, an irritable yet adorable youngster and Auntie, the best friend to a directionless housewife.

Irrfan Khan in The Lunchbox  (2013).

It had been a long time since I had wanted to watch the movie. Even if a mainstream Bollywood movie came out (hundreds come out every day) I would be willing to watch it as long as Irrfan Khan was in it. His acting is impeccable, his image so refreshing. I almost forgot what those small, often half-empty theaters in Barcelona look like. There is only a couple of them left, and I imagine they will end up closing down as well. There's barely anyone willing to watch independent films with subtitles these days.

At this kind of theaters, they usually have these sort of sheets with a summary and plot, full cast and other detailed information on the movie  that one can take for free. It took slightly longer for me to find the one I was looking for, and when I went inside the theater and started reading it I came across something rather unpleasant.

The informative sheet specified that the following languages were spoken in the movie: inglés e indú (literally "English and Hindu" in Spanish). Having lived in India for a long time and having Indian relatives as well, I felt outraged and rather hurt by that word, indú. I rapidly went online to see if the Spanish normative Diccionario de la Real Academia Española included this word in it, yet, as I suspected, it didn't. First of all, Hindu is not a language. It is obvious they were trying to say Hindi, one of the 26 official languages that exist in India. Now, the problem with using "Hindu" is that, although Collins Dictionary defines the word as "a person born or living in India or the Indian subcontinent", it can still be highly offensive for many reasons. First of, if we look closely, we can see that the second meaning is "a follower of Hinduism", which automatically labels Hindus as a dominant religious community that excludes all non-religious inhabitants or followers of let's say, Islam. Let's not forget that India is home to 10% of the world's Muslim population. That of course excluding all followers of Christianity, Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism, and other religions that although minorities in India, they would make the entire population of some European countries. Again, the word indú has three main problems to it - it's not spelled correctly, it is not talking about religious groups or the inhabitants of a country but a language with a different name (Hindi) and on top of that it is generalizing a religion existing in one of the most diverse countries in the world. 

However, the point is that these people didn't even bother to do their own research on these issues that have literally caused conflicts such as the India - Pakistan partition, which left millions of families apart, or the territorial dispute between India and Pakistan over control of the Kashmir region. That's what really bothered me. Generalizing is (almost) always wrong. It leads to assumptions and stereotypes that are often untrue and they encourage fear to all what is different to our own reality, which mostly leads to opposition and resistance. I don't think it was that hard going to a dictionary and looking up the right word. Generalizing is comfortable and it seems a fair thing to do. Until a talk on something that questions our own identity touches a nerve with us and we feel offended, oppressed and inferior. It ain't that hard, people.