I often
wish that I could remember the day I was born, because that would be a real
memorable moment, when I graced the world with my dazzling presence! But on second
thoughts, that might not be a very good idea, because I have been told that the
nurse overseeing my birth, discarded me after I was born two months premature, declaring
that I would not survive. I was unceremoniously left lying in a corner on a
bundle of rags, until my paternal grandmother arrived. She poked me and prodded
me and declared that I was alive and kicking. She picked me up from the rags
and decided I would live. And so I did! I proved right from the first day of my
life that I was a fighter. Many decades later, I still am, although my family
would prefer to call me a fighter cock, rather than a fighter! But that is their
view point, and living in a free country, everyone is entitled to his or her
views.
Newborns
are notoriously ugly and their resemblance to human beings is really debatable.
I was an extreme example of this fact, especially as I had decided to venture
out into the world two months early, to show the world what they were missing.
My photos from the first year of my life are totally embarrassing and I look
like a plucked chicken! When I was grown up, I lost no time in removing those
pictures and safely keeping them away from prying eyes! The beauty I am today,
does not want to be reminded how ugly I was when I started my journey! I am a
classic example of an ugly duckling turning into a swan, or so I like to think.
As I said, it is a free country.
Coming
back to my earliest memories, I recall one very clearly. And it totally defines
my stand on dogs! I don’t hate them, but I am just TERRIFIED of them. My worst
nightmare is having a dog come sniffing around me, wagging its tail. It is believed
that when a dog wags its tail, it is being friendly. But has anyone told that dog
that?
All I
can see is its row of big, sharp teeth and saliva dripping tongue. The thought
of being licked, is yucky enough, but the thought of being bitten in a
misguided attempt of friendliness by the canine is for me a reality, despite
the views of the other around me.
“Don’t
worry! He likes you. He is just smelling you!”
“Oh
yeah? How would you like me to come and smell you, if I like you”, I feel like asking,
while I try not to climb onto the top of the chair to escape the sniffing monster.
To be
fair, I don’t blame the dogs. They are what they are, with their tails, slurpy
tongues, huge teeth, barks and doggy attitude. It’s just that me and dogs are
not on the same wavelength. And what happened to me when I was about three
years old, one of my most vivid early memories, reinforces my phobia of dogs.
I was
swinging on the gate of our house, with my elder sister, who was about eleven
years old at that time, pushing me. I was enjoying myself, as there is no
greater pleasure in a three year old’s life than to swing on a gate. Along came
a dog, a big, black one! It came to the gate to sniff and it wanted to sniff
me. And it came near me! I yelled in fear at the top of my three year old
voice, as the dog brought its big nose near me. And I let go of the gate!
The
result is still debatable, as to who was more shocked. The dog or me! For I fell on the dog! The
dog, totally surprised at the sudden weight that descended on it, yelped in
horror and tried to shake me off. I was totally petrified to know that I had
landed on the dog and shrieked and yelled louder. That noise sent the dog into
a frenzy and it shook me off in haste on to the pavement and ran off. I was
left wailing, clutching my arm, which had taken the brunt of my fall. It had
not helped that the dog had shaken me off so that I landed on that same arm!
The
result was a fracture to the arm and I had to be admitted to a hospital. Let me tell you,
that this happened in London
way back in the 1960’s where my father was posted in the Indian High Commission.
Having just landed in UK,
I did not speak a word of English and knew only Tamil. Totally traumatised, I
had to spend the night in hospital, where nobody could speak Tamil and I kept
on crying for my dad not to leave me in this strange place. Well, he had to,
for sometime at least, as he had to bring my mother to stay with me. But those
few hours, amongst strange faces, who spoke a mysterious language, and who could
not understand a word of what I was saying, compounded my trauma and misery!
Something I cannot forget to this day and something I blame squarely on the Big
Black Dog!! And all other dogs I meet till today!
Memories
are made of this!!
By the way, no infant pictures of me! Remember, they are hidden from public view!
