Menagerie



Garden in Winter

 Growing up in Saraya was a fantastical experience.  We lived in a huge old fashioned bungalow surrounded by a wildly beautiful garden, with hundreds of different varieties of flowers, potted plants and fruit trees. We grew our own vegetables, and the pleasure of plucking fresh  produce is something I still miss. Home made peach, strawberry and mulberry jam, Rosella jelly and tomato chutney were made as a routine and sadly so much taken for granted. When I was young, carnations had the most wonderfully spicy, clove-like perfume, which I don't find in the hybrid varieties today. A trip to the nursery will find me burying my nose into the foliage, hoping to get a whiff of the past, much to the amusement of the 'maalis' in attendance. Sometimes I still manage to  catch the faintest hint  of this long ago scent and these particular  'gamlas' are quickly picked up and treasured through the season.

Our house in Saraya was a completely crazy one because of our fanatic love of animals. My mother Nina, was the bird lady and I was passionate about everything that crept or crawled. Victor, my father, hated the idea of birds in cages, so all the ones we had flew about an open windowed house. If they wanted to leave they could, but surprisingly most of them chose to stay. It got so bad that neighbours used to think twice about coming over, because they never knew when a feathered friend would perch on shoulder or head and leave a little 'poopy' gift there.
 At one point of time apart from the dogs, we had Abdul and Zia the Bulbuls, Small, a Weaver bird and Tikki the squirrel, who all had run of the house. Small had a little tree in a corner of the room, with the typical 'baya' nest hanging from it, into which she loved to twine hair, thread or any other scraps she could find. At Christmas time we would leave bits of tinsel scattered about which she would hastily pick up to decorate her home with. Abdul would have a bath in cupped hands held under the flowing bathroom tap, pick food out of  plates and lay on her back in our palms for a tummy scratch. Tikki was one of the most ferocious little animals I have ever encountered and people whom she took a dislike to were very nervous when she was on the prowl. We were all at the receiving end of her moodiness at one time or another but she was such an eccentric little character that we adored her anyway.

 On one cold winter morning I walked into my  parent's bedroom with a cup of tea and found much to my amusement, father lying in bed trying to read the newspaper, with the wall mounted reading lamp behind his head switched on. He had Abdul *eggled up on one shoulder, Zia snuggled under his chin and Tikki lying spreadeagled like a little bear skin on top of his head, with her tail draped between his eyes and over his nose. They were all there for the warmth of the light bulb and he did not dare move, lest he disturb their morning bask in the artificial light.

The locals knew that whenever a baby bird fell out of its nest or an injured dog was found they could bring it to Dr Sahib's Kothi. I would pick up all the hurt puppies and bring them home, and never once do I remember my father saying I could not keep them. He would come back from the hospital with bottles of Ascabiol to treat their mange or vitamin drops and antibiotic shots if they were needed.
Whenever we were in Lucknow I would beg father to take me to Nakhas, which was the big animal and bird market. I would insist on buying the scruffiest and most diseased looking specimens and bring them home to treat and then set free. Through the years I have picked up rabbits, turtles, guinea pigs, a mongoose, mice, rats and countless birds who would have badly damaged wings and feathers from the glue used to snare them. Father would always lecture me on how I was abetting a criminal act, since needy folks would continue trapping these wretched creatures to cater to people like me who bought them. I would beg and weep and tell him it was the last time ever and he would  end up reluctantly relenting.
 On one occasion mother and I were at the Gorakhpur railway station waiting to catch a train to Lucknow, when I spotted the tiniest of puppies playing around with a piece of string on the platform. I immediately rushed to pick her up only to be confronted by a growly father who insisted we had enough animals in the house already and said I must try and find a good home for her elsewhere. I did make a few half hearted attempts at doing so while in Lucknow, but the return journey saw the little mutt tucked under my sweater in the vague hope that father would not spot the bump when he came to receive us. I thought I had got away with the subterfuge, until he put his arm around me and gently told me to let the little pup breathe from under my pullover. He knew I would never have the heart to give her away and all was in readiness at home - bed, food and water bowl. She was named Taffy and a more intelligent, adorable and friendly dog I have yet to come across. She did not leave my side for the next sixteen years and I haven't been able to love another dog with the same intensity ever again.



Eva with Tich and her beloved Taffy

 Father would always sleep with the dogs on his bed. He would be curled up like a prawn in a corner of the mattress, while the dogs sprawled comfortably around him. This annoyed mother who could not bear the grit and mud they bought up with their dirty paws, so an  ultimatum was finally given - dogs or her! A compromise was agreed to wherein the beds were separated so the dogs could still sleep with him while mother's sheets stayed clean and crisp.
Father would always give the dogs a sliver of cheese  after each meal, which mother also objected to, since she claimed it was too expensive to be feeding the dogs with. Father pointedly stopped eating the product while making sure the dogs still got their daily ration, until mum threw up her hands in resignation and did not protest anymore.

With all these creatures in the house there were the inevitable tragedies. Little Abdul drowned in the toilet bowl one night and Mum had to take Calmpose to get over it. One of the servants shut the door while Small was sitting atop it and the Calmpose strip came out again.  Zia flew away and never returned - no Calmpose this time as we hoped he had found love in the world outside. Tikki died of old age after producing many little ones in a wooden box we had put up for her in the mango tree outside the window. For years we were discomfited by a lingerie thief who stole our sexy stuff off the clothes line, and could never figure out  who would have the nerve. A certain amorous neighbour was glared at with disgust and suspicion but never confronted for lack of proof. When we took down Tikki's humble abode we found years of of missing underwear stuffed cosily into it thus letting aforesaid amorous neighbour off the hook and finally solving the mystery!

* Eggled was an Egan word describing the feeling of a warm bird snuggled into the hollow of one's neck feeling like a soft boiled egg. Egg and snuggled became eggled.