Monday, September 30, 2013

The Nawab of Air Force Station Jammu

By Manas Gupta

This is a true story.

I met Nawab when he was a two-month-old white bundle of fur. He wasn’t the nawab of anything but I don’t think he ever believed it. Clichéd as it sounds, he was also my best friend.
Nawab was a German Spitz who along with a sister, bizarrely named Begum, entered the Gupta household in the winter of 1989 to join a Lhasa Apso called Snoopy. To have three naughty energetic pups in a house was unimaginable fun for me — then a 10-year-old — and my little sister. It was also a hell of dog poop and dog hair for my mother, who still claims that she hates dogs. But nobody believes her, including Ma herself.
Nawab was undoubtedly the naughtiest of the three. He was also the luckiest. That year, an epidemic of some kind of lethal fever had gripped the dogs of Subroto Park in New Delhi. Snoopy and Begum got infected and Begum died. My father tried hard to save both of them, even giving them injections at home, but in the end he could only save Snoopy. He also gave Nawab some preventive injections, an act which probably saved his life besides giving him a sore bum.
Snoopy didn’t stay with us much longer after that as my parents decided to give him to a girl who was head over heels in love with him. That left Nawab alone. Nay, not alone. He had me, and I him. That was when our friendship took off.
My father, who was in the Air Force, got transferred to Jammu, and since the Gupta clan believed in driving everywhere, we drove almost 600 km to Jammu in a 1979 Fiat with a hairy, active dog for company who could use some breathmints. Every two hours the car had to stop so that Nawab could go for a leisurely walk, sniff some plants, eat some grass and puke — disgusting me and my sister — and relieve himself over naked Eucalyptus trees. Needless to say, it was an eventful drive. Nawab couldn’t decide which window he liked more so he moved every two minutes amid loud shouts of “Nawab sit”, to which he would respond with a draft of bad breath and a quizzical look on his face. The drive also taught me not to wear shorts when you’re sharing the backseat with a dog whose nails have never been cut.
In Jammu, Nawab came into his own. He decided he liked Air Force Station Jammu and he declared himself Nawab of the place. Another thing we realized was that he loved Ma as much as she professed to hate him. And the more she tried to ignore him, the more attention he gave her. When she attended the hoighty-toighty ‘Ladies Club’ at the officers mess, Nawab decided to break all protocol and attend the function. Apparently he wasn’t aware that he was neither an officer nor a lady. And he sniffed his way to Ma and casually planked himself under her chair, leading to much screaming among the heavily made-up ladies.
When my father was called by the livid President of the mess committee to drag the self-proclaimed chief guest out of the mess, dad was, needless to say, not amused. Nawab got a major tongue-lashing for his misadventure that day and dare I say a few deserving whacks on the head too. That, we later learnt, was not going to deter the Nawab of Air Force Station Jammu and he soon became a master at gate-crashing events.
Nawab was an adventurer at heart. He had the curiosity of Indiana Jones and the (for want of a better word) womanizing prowess of James Bond. He took it upon himself to get loose everyday and go exploring. Many a neighbor often spotted him leading a pack of friendly — and unfriendly — local stray dogs around the area. The meals he got at home were apparently never enough for his highness. At least three more families claimed to be feeding him every other day. The running joke in the neighbourhood was that he is the most aptly named dog in history.
The Jammu air force station has a massive ground near the residential areas. It used to be J&K’s Maharaj Hari Singh’s Polo Ground. Some officers in the area swear that they once saw four fully grown cows scared out of their wits and running away from a tiny German Spitz barking away at their heels. I bet those cows delivered milk shakes instead of milk the next day.
Meanwhile, Nawab and Ma’s love-hate relationship continued. Ma had started teaching kindergarten kids in the nearby Air Force School. Not surprisingly, her students one day received a visit from his highness. There was a commotion in her class when the kids spotted a calm German Spitz quietly sitting in the entrance of the class, probably trying to learn the alphabet. This time it was my job to drag Mr I-want-to-study-too back home. I was amazed to see he had sniffed her out over 3-4 km away.
I started keeping a close eye on Nawab when mom was in school and just when it was time for the school to end he used to go wild, barking, whining, pulling at his leash. He would spot mom from a mile away and literally start pleading with me to set him free. As soon as I would take off the leash, he would sprint away as if shot from a cannon and assault mom with his welcome. And what a welcome he used to give. Nobody could give a welcome like Nawab. Once we had left him with the gardener — who loved him dearly — to go on vacation. When we returned, he gave us the welcome of our lives. Literally going mad with happiness, jumping at everyone, and making wild sprints around us. You know when they say a pet brings positive energy into the house, you better believe it. Unconditional love is a sight to behold.
On most days it was my duty to walk Nawab. Most times I used to do it willingly too. But sometimes you were in a warm quilt on a winter day or the latest Amitabh Bachchan film was on TV or you just felt it wasn’t fair that it was always your turn to walk the dog, and those days I would scream at him. I would scream at him to hurry with his job and he would look at me and grin. I could swear he could grin. In fact, I was sure the devious bugger would delay choosing the right tree to piss on just to piss me off.
He used to wake me up in the mornings for his walks, especially during school holidays. He would gingerly lick my hand to set the process in motion. If I would stir but not reach for the slipper to throw at him he would take the next step and lick my face. And I would wake up with a start unleashing the sound effects of an angry jackal and glare at him. He would lower his ears and then grin. He was a bastard but a lovable bastard.
I used to go for an early morning jog in the holidays and due to lack of any traffic inside the cantonment take Nawab’s leash off. And just as I would look at him proudly for not running off and keeping up with me, he would spot a cyclist or a scooter and bark his head off, often forcing the rider to lift his legs up in fear and leaving me red-faced. Those were great jogs.
Nawab wasn’t a trained dog. He didn’t fetch his leash or roll over or even heel. He did fetch the ball beautifully. It was another matter that he would refuse to part with the ball later. He used to field for us kids when we played cricket, but his refusal to give the ball would invariable delay proceedings and get him banned for unfair play. There was another interesting thing he used to do without training. My father is a very avid gardener. In fact, the entire family believes dad loves his plants more than the rest of us. And he hasn’t denied it so far either. And so Nawab, during all his fancy exploring of the garden and the world around it, would never step in the flower beds. Some inner instinct always made him walk gingerly on the edges even as dad looked on with appreciation.
He was always scared of dad. Perhaps that was the reason for the garden discipline. An aunt found a way to use this to her advantage when she visited. If Nawab was being disobedient or naughty, the aunt would just call out dad’s name, pretending to complain and Nawab would lower his ears, put his tail on autopilot and sit down as if nothing has happened.
One day, one of his sojourns took longer than usual and he was gone for an entire night. We were not worried as half the Air Force Station knew Nawab by now. Next morning, as the family was sitting in the lawn having tea, mom spotted Nawab hiding in the overgrown Congress grass in front of the neighbour’s home, quietly observing us but not daring to come to us. He knew he was in for a scolding. So mom, ever the tattletale, told dad, who with his cup in hand, pretended to take a stroll towards the grass. He reached there and bellowed “Nawab! Come here right now!” And his highness, knowing that the game was up, sheepishly came out of hiding, dirty with drain water and his tail threatening to take off. Oh and boy did he get it that day.
One of his adventures came on a picnic. Dad had discovered this mountain stream ahead of Jammu, which was visited only by a few locals and was a fishing paradise. Here Nawab encountered a camel. Now, he must have been a cat in his previous life because he just couldn’t contain his curiosity and went sniffing at the camel’s ankles. In his defence, he was probably being polite and sociable. The camel, however, was in no mood to entertain a dog. He casually let his foot fly and poor Nawab went rolling under the parked car. It took some cajoling to get him out of there.
His adventure, however, was just beginning. The picnic was across the fast flowing river which had to be crossed on a raft that the locals had rigged together. The road to the river was also full of rocks. The frightened Nawab, with his ego in pieces, was reluctant to make the uncomfortable journey on the rocks and would keep turning back. Yours truly was forced to carry him all the way to the river. When I reached the river, panting and sweating, dad was waiting. And he had a naughty smile on his face. This was the time when we usually go “Uh oh!”
“I am going to make Nawab swim across the river he announced.”
Our protestations fell on deaf ears. “Stop worrying. Dogs are natural swimmers,” he told us. And unlike death row, where convicts can appeal sentences, the Gupta household was not allowed to appeal a decision when dad had made it. So in went Nawab into the water. He was clearly in discomfort and kept turning back but Wing Commander Gupta would have none of it. He dove in behind the dog and made sure he reached the other side. It was a great picnic for all of us but not for Nawab. I did ensure he came back on the raft though.
Nawab had many more adventures in Jammu. In fact, his many travels around the residential area made him a father too. One fine day, a certain Mrs Soni, who for some strange reason had a daughter called Tiny and a dog called Nighty (or maybe it was the other way round), came fuming to the house and told my mother “your awara dog has made my Nighty pregnant”. While this scandal spread like wildfire and was the subject of many jokes, one of the pups born out of wedlock was given to us. She, and this is bizarre too, was also named Begum. Do not ask me the story behind the names. I could tell you but then I’ll have to kill you.
Anyway, Begum was promised to another dog-loving officer (no inappropriate puns intended) and I don’t really know what happened to her after we left the place.
But we left the place without Nawab. He died young and his last few days were agonizing for him and painful for us to watch. He gamely fought for a while. Dad fought with him. But Nawab had to go. I didn’t get to say goodbye. But perhaps it was for the best. Because all I have is happy memories. And now, when I am blessed to have a partner who also loves dogs and a daughter who looks at dogs with longing, how I wish I could have introduced them to Nawab, my best friend and the king of Air Force Station, Jammu.

2 comments:

Unknown said...

Beautifully written. Just the right mix of emotions and light humour! Loved it.

Unknown said...

very well written....brings back memories of the AF station Jammu :)