Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan's Blog, page 144
August 31, 2015
Feed the dogs, tuppence a bag
When my best friend in the whole world and I were about 12 or 13 or 14, we were on a save-the-dogs mission. I dreamed about starting up my own animal shelter — it was going to be called Have A Heart, and the logo was a smiling dog with a heart for a nose. With the help of an equal animal crazy school friend, we decided the best place for this would be my backyard — no one was actually using it after all, and the animals could live in cages so they wouldn’t get out and we’d keep all the cages impeccably and only allow twenty dogs at a time.
Not surprisingly, this never panned out. But we had something almost as good next door at the Friendicoes animal shelter in Jangpura, New Delhi. Friendicoes was about as different from my beloved Have A Heart as it was possible to be. For one thing it reeked of animal—my Have A Heart, I fondly assumed, would be poop and piss free — for another, if an animal was very weak or sick, they believed in putting it down. But still, they were the only option we had to take the little sick puppy we found on the road and cared for for three days. Candy, which was the puppy’s name, was met by the Friendicoes vet with a shake of his head. And sure enough she was dead three days later.
I even volunteered there one summer, taking the dogs for a walk, enjoying the feeling of “doing something good” even though I wondered if it still counted as a noble gesture when I was having so much fun doing it.
When our dog Doogie fell suddenly sick and died at home, I called the Friendicoes night vet. Again the head shaking.
Years later, I experienced the same head shaking when my partner and I took a kitten to them. The kitten was very sick with some kind of bacterial infection — we had acquired her at the shelter, so we thought the shelter might be more effective in her care than our normal vet. At all hours we bundled up poor Agni into a box and carried her there, at all hours, a kind and patient vet talked us through it, stuck a drip in her, told us what to do.
We had to go back for three days for her antibiotics, and the shelter is set up so you take a number and wait in a never ending queue. There is everyone who wants cheap vet care (it’s a 100 rupees per visit or a donation if you prefer), there are people who have their first dogs, people dragging in a goat, people who have been coming to the Friendicoes vets for years, their own pets acquired from the same shelter.
As we sat there, I also saw the troop of animals who call the shelter home. These are the ones who have been there for so long that they will never escape, so they mingle with the patients, sitting down under benches, abandoned pedigree dogs grown too old or too expensive for their owners, a puppy with three legs and big soulful eyes and always the token St Bernard — Delhi folks like the way they look, but inevitably the cost of keeping them, running the AC all the time, feeding them, grooming them, proves too much bother and they abandon them to the mercy of 40 degree temperature and lying on scalding asphalt.
If it wasn’t for Friendicoes, the city would have no real animal shelter. Every city needs an animal shelter. It gives the city a heart, a place for animal lovers to go, a place where you know four legged creatures will be treated with kindness and be given medical attention, regardless of what they look like or what breed they are. This very same shelter recently posted that they were in danger of shutting down because they are forty lakhs in debt (the MCD pays them money for sterilizing stray dogs, and as of now, the shelter is owed 38 lakhs from the corporation).
If it shuts down, Delhi will have no real animal shelter — it has a few others, but not with all the same facilities — with a late night vet and a place to take injured or young animals. It will have no place for people who want to keep a pet but but can’t because of the cost of medical bills.
It will also have no place for people who want to dump their dogs like they’re last season’s bag. (Which you might argue is a good thing, but then what will happen to the dogs? They won’t stop being dumped and they might not be abandoned in a safe space.) It’s the first time I gave to a charity. I urge you to do it as well. (www.bitgiving.com/Friendicoes)
A version of this appeared as my column.
Not surprisingly, this never panned out. But we had something almost as good next door at the Friendicoes animal shelter in Jangpura, New Delhi. Friendicoes was about as different from my beloved Have A Heart as it was possible to be. For one thing it reeked of animal—my Have A Heart, I fondly assumed, would be poop and piss free — for another, if an animal was very weak or sick, they believed in putting it down. But still, they were the only option we had to take the little sick puppy we found on the road and cared for for three days. Candy, which was the puppy’s name, was met by the Friendicoes vet with a shake of his head. And sure enough she was dead three days later.
I even volunteered there one summer, taking the dogs for a walk, enjoying the feeling of “doing something good” even though I wondered if it still counted as a noble gesture when I was having so much fun doing it.
When our dog Doogie fell suddenly sick and died at home, I called the Friendicoes night vet. Again the head shaking.
Years later, I experienced the same head shaking when my partner and I took a kitten to them. The kitten was very sick with some kind of bacterial infection — we had acquired her at the shelter, so we thought the shelter might be more effective in her care than our normal vet. At all hours we bundled up poor Agni into a box and carried her there, at all hours, a kind and patient vet talked us through it, stuck a drip in her, told us what to do.
We had to go back for three days for her antibiotics, and the shelter is set up so you take a number and wait in a never ending queue. There is everyone who wants cheap vet care (it’s a 100 rupees per visit or a donation if you prefer), there are people who have their first dogs, people dragging in a goat, people who have been coming to the Friendicoes vets for years, their own pets acquired from the same shelter.
As we sat there, I also saw the troop of animals who call the shelter home. These are the ones who have been there for so long that they will never escape, so they mingle with the patients, sitting down under benches, abandoned pedigree dogs grown too old or too expensive for their owners, a puppy with three legs and big soulful eyes and always the token St Bernard — Delhi folks like the way they look, but inevitably the cost of keeping them, running the AC all the time, feeding them, grooming them, proves too much bother and they abandon them to the mercy of 40 degree temperature and lying on scalding asphalt.
If it wasn’t for Friendicoes, the city would have no real animal shelter. Every city needs an animal shelter. It gives the city a heart, a place for animal lovers to go, a place where you know four legged creatures will be treated with kindness and be given medical attention, regardless of what they look like or what breed they are. This very same shelter recently posted that they were in danger of shutting down because they are forty lakhs in debt (the MCD pays them money for sterilizing stray dogs, and as of now, the shelter is owed 38 lakhs from the corporation).
If it shuts down, Delhi will have no real animal shelter — it has a few others, but not with all the same facilities — with a late night vet and a place to take injured or young animals. It will have no place for people who want to keep a pet but but can’t because of the cost of medical bills.
It will also have no place for people who want to dump their dogs like they’re last season’s bag. (Which you might argue is a good thing, but then what will happen to the dogs? They won’t stop being dumped and they might not be abandoned in a safe space.) It’s the first time I gave to a charity. I urge you to do it as well. (www.bitgiving.com/Friendicoes)
A version of this appeared as my column.
Today in Photo
Double teaming it with the cats today. I'm at one vet with Squishy having his balls removed, Olga is off to have her stitches taken out at another. This fancy carrier is one we just bought and which Madam managed to unzip from the inside halfway through the trip. #catsagram
via Instagram
August 30, 2015
Today in Photo
So I made lasagne last night. It was really really good. I even managed a passable bechamel sauce to layer it with. Achievement unlocked? #domesticgoddess #cooking
via Instagram
August 29, 2015
Bitesize: Kissing in public is SHOCK! HORROR!
Quick takes from a Facebook page re: a public art project showing people kissing
Storified by Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:23:10
Comment on the Limits Within feed. Old people had sex, kids need to see that sex isn’t dirty. Argument = invalid. http://t.co/gTlQVF6fkE
— Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:15:44
ICYMI, Limits Within is a new public art thing putting up photos of people kissing, http://t.co/R0GAMV9rcH
— Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:17:46
"Tomorrow people will start kissing or have sex during lecture in a class, can it be justified in name of freedom?” rants angry commenter.
— Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:17:04
More comments re: kissing in public. 1) Only dogs do kissing in streets. BE A HUMAN BEING NOT AN ANIMAL.
— Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:18:21
2) "I mean promoting obscenity on the name of liberty and modernisation is not cool,”
— Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:19:17
3) (& last word) "Today kissing in public tomarro fu#$@ing , please stop promoting this scoopwoop"
— Meenakshi Madhavan · Sat, Aug 29 2015 13:20:48
August 27, 2015
Today in Photo
Downward dog with reclining cat. It's impossible to pull out the yoga mat without them all gathering around to plop themselves right THERE. #catsagram #yoga
via Instagram
Today in Photo
Random Scottish tchotchkes at a friend's house last night: that's good old Nessie with a tam o'shanter and a Scot scratching his bum. Which reminds me, have you been watching Outlander? It is SO good. Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say could that lass be I?
via Instagram
August 26, 2015
Today in Photo
Chocolate cupcake evening.
One of the best baking related things I invested in recently was a set of measuring cups and spoons and I've been using them to be a bit more methodical about how I bake. Frosting has also always been a challenge. Today though, these cupcakes are buy-in-a-shop good, dense and the icing is unbelievably rich and just mmmm. Recipe adapted from Smitten Kitchen's I Want Chocolate Cake Cake.
via Instagram
Bitesize: Why are some names more popular than others?
Ruminations on the names of the Mahabharata
Storified by Meenakshi Madhavan · Wed, Aug 26 2015 09:08:55
Storified by Meenakshi Madhavan · Wed, Aug 26 2015 09:08:55
Muse: some names in the Mahabharata more popular than others. The 5 Pandavas live on today, but no little girls called Draupadi.— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 12:50:53
@reddymadhavan the other name of Draupadi, Krishnaa is still relevant.— Amrita Thavrani · Tue, Aug 25 2015 13:00:41
Actually, not all five. When’s the last time you met a Yudhistra?— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 12:51:17
@reddymadhavan I think Yudhistira is still common up North, but names like Sahadev and Draupadi have fallen out of fashion.— Vishwanath Nair · Tue, Aug 25 2015 12:57:34
& then the older gen: no Kuntis, no Madris, no Gandharis. All very pretty names. Pritha (Kunti’s other name) still popular though.— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 12:58:01
@reddymadhavan that's because they're not their names! They're titles indicating origin or parentage.— Alok ಪ್ರಸನ್ನ कुमार · Tue, Aug 25 2015 12:59:51
I guess no one wants their kid to be a Bheema. Poor fellow, full of devotion, but not very sexy. @charitmay— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 12:59:17
& then deeper into Hindu mythology: no Brahmas (but he was cursed to be forgotten), even though everyone else is a popular name.— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 13:01:51
No Vyasas or Dritarashtras. You don’t want to name your kid after the bad guy (Duryodhana)— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 13:03:18
but you’re ok w/your kid bearing the name of a kid who died at 16 (Abhimanyu) or the illegitimate warrior (Karna)— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 13:03:55
I think it’s interesting what parents want their kids to inherit: hero, swift, beautiful etc. Not virtuous, or strong.— Meenakshi Madhavan · Tue, Aug 25 2015 13:06:38
@reddymadhavan Why would then even dhrishtrashtra name his sons such? A school of thought suggests its suyodhan and sushaashan!— Abhishek Sahay · Tue, Aug 25 2015 13:07:25
August 16, 2015
When you keep me waiting, you keep me hating
It struck me just how much the government sees people as little insects—numbers on a file, to be pushed around and stamped and signed, but not actually like people, when I was asked to be witness to my friend’s court wedding. I went along full of great optimism, they only released 10 appointment slots a week, my friend said, so she had to sit up at midnight and book a coveted space. After that, she said it would be a four minute process, sign, stamp, sealed, married!
We arrived at ten to ten, because our appointment was at ten, and we wanted to make sure we had everything before we went in. The door to the sub-magistrate’s office was still closed and bolted, but we assumed he’d get there in ten minutes. After some signing, filling out a form (a different form, my friend tells me, from the one they had her fill out online, thereby adding one extra step to the red tape), we sat on the hard chairs outside, swinging our legs and waiting for the man in charge.
We waited.
And waited.
GAH I HATE EVERYONE
And waited.
Until it was quarter to eleven, and no sign of this man. We went back inside to enquire how long he’d be. “Oh,” said the man with the papers, with absolutely no expression of guilt on his face, “He’s on a site visit. He’ll be back sometime between noon and four.”
This, disregarding the several people who were waiting there—not enough chairs meant a lot of people were standing, and the fact that they had everyone’s cell numbers on record when they took their appointment, so a simple message to the three or four people (out of ten!) who were waiting, would not have been that much extra work for any of the paunchy men standing outside, looking bored and disinterested in life.
The problem with this country is that no one places any value on your time as an asset. Delivery men call at all hours and say, “Oh are you home today?” as if your entire day is dependent on them and not the other way round. You then spend a day you could be running errands or stepping out of the house, just waiting. Waiting for the broadband man to come and fix your wiring, four hours after he promised. Waiting for a government service you’re paying for, because the people in charge have decided making you wait is a way of them showing off their power.
Of course it is about power, mostly. The more you can make someone wait, the more you can indicate your senior position compared to them. It’s a common business trick, but is the man sitting on the other side of the desk, picking his teeth and drinking another cup of tea going to pay you the two rupees or five rupees or unquantifiable amount your time is worth? He is not. So, by waiting, you’re wasting massive amounts of money as well, if you consider your productive hours and how much you get paid and how much work you’d be doing for those extra four hours you have to sit around at someone else’s whim.
In the end, we went out and got a bite to eat, and returned when we were called at noon, but then the waiting began again. We waited and waited and waited, and finally my friend had enough. She kicked up a fuss asking the men who worked there why no one was willing to give her an answer, why they thought it was okay to make everyone sit around for so long. The people gathered around to watch her, mouths agape. It was the most exciting thing that had happened all day. Furiously, my friend, her new husband, and the two of us witnesses, following fascinated in her wake, barged into a meeting where she made the same points again, and wouldn’t you know it, by kicking up a fuss, the sub magistrate decided he was ready to stamp some papers after all right that moment. Great message to send society. Sit quietly and nothing will happen. Shout at people and doors open.
Maybe it’s because “people like us” are more entitled, and more aware of our time that we decide it’s our right to storm into offices and demand to be seen. Certainly no one else there was doing anything, though their waiting faces took on a hint of desperation. My friends are both lawyers, so it’s unlikely that anyone could have threatened them with bad paperwork as a result of their rocking the boat, but not everyone is so fortunate. We met a woman as we were walking out of the office finally, and she turned to my friend and said, “Thank you for saying that. I did that last time, and my matter got even more delayed.” It turned out they had been seeking a resolution for the same case since 1958.
(A version of this appeared as my column in mydigitalfc.com)
(I made up the title myself, and now I think it should become a common proverb)
We arrived at ten to ten, because our appointment was at ten, and we wanted to make sure we had everything before we went in. The door to the sub-magistrate’s office was still closed and bolted, but we assumed he’d get there in ten minutes. After some signing, filling out a form (a different form, my friend tells me, from the one they had her fill out online, thereby adding one extra step to the red tape), we sat on the hard chairs outside, swinging our legs and waiting for the man in charge.
We waited.
And waited.
GAH I HATE EVERYONEAnd waited.
Until it was quarter to eleven, and no sign of this man. We went back inside to enquire how long he’d be. “Oh,” said the man with the papers, with absolutely no expression of guilt on his face, “He’s on a site visit. He’ll be back sometime between noon and four.”
This, disregarding the several people who were waiting there—not enough chairs meant a lot of people were standing, and the fact that they had everyone’s cell numbers on record when they took their appointment, so a simple message to the three or four people (out of ten!) who were waiting, would not have been that much extra work for any of the paunchy men standing outside, looking bored and disinterested in life.
The problem with this country is that no one places any value on your time as an asset. Delivery men call at all hours and say, “Oh are you home today?” as if your entire day is dependent on them and not the other way round. You then spend a day you could be running errands or stepping out of the house, just waiting. Waiting for the broadband man to come and fix your wiring, four hours after he promised. Waiting for a government service you’re paying for, because the people in charge have decided making you wait is a way of them showing off their power.
Of course it is about power, mostly. The more you can make someone wait, the more you can indicate your senior position compared to them. It’s a common business trick, but is the man sitting on the other side of the desk, picking his teeth and drinking another cup of tea going to pay you the two rupees or five rupees or unquantifiable amount your time is worth? He is not. So, by waiting, you’re wasting massive amounts of money as well, if you consider your productive hours and how much you get paid and how much work you’d be doing for those extra four hours you have to sit around at someone else’s whim.
In the end, we went out and got a bite to eat, and returned when we were called at noon, but then the waiting began again. We waited and waited and waited, and finally my friend had enough. She kicked up a fuss asking the men who worked there why no one was willing to give her an answer, why they thought it was okay to make everyone sit around for so long. The people gathered around to watch her, mouths agape. It was the most exciting thing that had happened all day. Furiously, my friend, her new husband, and the two of us witnesses, following fascinated in her wake, barged into a meeting where she made the same points again, and wouldn’t you know it, by kicking up a fuss, the sub magistrate decided he was ready to stamp some papers after all right that moment. Great message to send society. Sit quietly and nothing will happen. Shout at people and doors open.
Maybe it’s because “people like us” are more entitled, and more aware of our time that we decide it’s our right to storm into offices and demand to be seen. Certainly no one else there was doing anything, though their waiting faces took on a hint of desperation. My friends are both lawyers, so it’s unlikely that anyone could have threatened them with bad paperwork as a result of their rocking the boat, but not everyone is so fortunate. We met a woman as we were walking out of the office finally, and she turned to my friend and said, “Thank you for saying that. I did that last time, and my matter got even more delayed.” It turned out they had been seeking a resolution for the same case since 1958.
(A version of this appeared as my column in mydigitalfc.com)
(I made up the title myself, and now I think it should become a common proverb)
