In the week of August 26, International Dog Day, and in the aftermath of the revised SC order on Delhi strays, we focus on stories of street dog favourites in Mumbai
Cherry, a regular fixture at Cafe de la Paix in Girgaon. Pics courtesy/WSD
We seem to have been a lot civilised and sensitised a century ago. When the Bombay Dog Riots of 1832 sparked off a clear early example of public protection of animals — resulting in the construction of the Panjrapole animal shelter in 1834 at Bhuleshwar. Protesting the British government’s policy to massacre strays, two soft-hearted city sethias at the forefront of funding this facility — Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy and Amichand Shah — rallied animal lovers to campaign against the administration’s command to ruthlessly rid the town of strays.
Reacting to the recent (now amended) Supreme Court decision ordering Delhi strays off the streets and into shelters, Abodh Aras, CEO of the Welfare of Stray Dogs (WSD), in an online article for Scroll, explains that banishment does not achieve the objective of a reduction in the street canine population. The success of Bombay’s sustained dog sterilisation efforts is reflected in both official data and the reality of seeing how puppies and pregnant dogs are a rarer sight today.
Abodh Aras, CEO of the Welfare of Stray Dogs, with Lola on Marine Drive
“What you have in Mumbai today is a stable and, in many areas, a decreasing, non-rabid street dog population,” Aras observes. “Community participation has played a vital role. The people who feed community animals and care for them are doing a great service to make them more accessible when the BMC or non-governmental organisation van comes to catch them for sterilisation or for vaccination against rabies. There are now more people adopting street dogs, affectionately called Indies. The reasons for this shift are varied — from greater awareness about the cruelty of ‘puppy mills’ to recognition of the advantages of keeping an Indie: adaptability, natural resilience and intelligence.”
Kalu the mongrel on the steps of the Regal Cinema, Colaba
Amply displaying the three traits listed above, Kalu the wanderer dog, for instance, confidently boarded public transport before returning to his Colaba home base. Daisy Sidhwa of WSD, who is from the Regal Cinema family there, says, “Skinny with distemper-induced chorea, this mongrel was recovered after he disappeared from his regular hangouts — the cinema entrance and CCD-Barista outlet round the building corner where he was fed by foreigners whom he smartly buttered up.” Often sauntering off to explore CSMT, Navy Nagar and Fort, he once vanished for six days. A Colaba coconut seller traced Kalu in Bhayandar where he lived. Kalu had happily hopped aboard a train to this far north suburb.
Coconut sellers. Chaiwalas. Paanwalas. Chaatwalas. Phoolwalas. Raddiwalas. Cobblers. Newspaper vendors. Local caretaker heroes all, they bring compassion to the mean streets. Saving food scraps for hungry strays. Cladding them in makeshift sweaters cut from gunny bags. Searching for vets charging reasonable fees.
“This city is particularly compassionate towards animals. Its melting-pot of cultures fosters tolerance and warmth,” Aras has said in an earlier edition of this column. “Our experiences become equalisers, like the bond of local trains and pavement hawkers. Within a working-class city such as ours, animals organically find their way into spaces we work or live in. Each creature has a history and a relationship with us. They aren’t nameless or faceless. Street dogs also contribute to our love for urban heritage. I know that I roam the city attentively because of them.”
Aras has a longstanding association with Irani cafe dogs and cats. “I would go with my grandfather to Persian Restaurant at Grant Road for tea and brun,” he recollects. “With WSD, I experienced the gentleness of these spaces towards street animals. Proprietors welcomed them, calling us to attend to their treatment, in Bastani, Britannia, Brabourne, Mondegar, Ideal Corner, B Merwan, Majestic and Paradise. The pandemic was bad for humans and animals. Closed shops and sealed buildings left them starving for weeks initially. Yet, one never heard Bombay’s poorest people say, ‘Feed us, then the animals.’ Only once did an exhausted chaiwala at Fort reveal that he had not eaten for three whole days. Immediately, Gustad Irani of Cafe de la Paix (CDLP) in Girgaon, donated some sustaining khichdi. We stocked food for animals in his storeroom.”
One gadabout who feels completely at home in CDLP is Cherry, either to be found snoozing inside CDLP or enthusiastically greeting patrons coming in. Brought as a pup by a street-dwelling family who live at the end of the lane, he has enjoyed lolling between the Burma teak tables of the eatery since it opened in 1935.
Dog behaviourist Niharika Gandhi in Powai tells an amazing tale. “Miracles can come from mistakes. Zeus is one dog whose determination to seek a fresh destiny brought him back to me, twice from abandonment,” she says. Gandhi named him Zeus, having spotted him seated majestically, godlike, silent tears rolling down furry cheeks. He became a Hiranandani Gardens adoptee, falling in love with her as well as with rickshaw drivers parked at the stand. The Eden Market gully vegetable vendors fed him carrots and nicknamed him variously: Lal Sahib, Raja Beta and Goldie.
Niharika Gandhi with Zeus (right) in Powai
Six months post-sterilisation, Zeus was left again, in the Aarey jungle. Quite used to rickshaws, he limped into one, refusing to get off till its destination, Kora Kendra in Borivli. Gandhi says, “We know this from Gargi, who runs a boarding kennel there. She travelled in a rick owned by a Yadav. The same Yadav ferrying Zeus from Aarey to Borivli. Dropping Gargi at the kennel, he said an injured, shiny chocolate dog had a long ride in his vehicle. News of lost Zeus was plastered across the Internet. Gargi showed Yadav the photo. Our dog! We contacted Gargi via a chain of well-wishers. Unbelievably reunited with Zeus, I thanked the angels delivering him back. After two months, a Shivaji Park family called. Zeus resembled their late dog. I dropped him to their home where he was renamed Dodger and is treated like a darling. He will always be our dog with the grit to survive and find joy.”
Peaceful pooches, more given to repose, causing no nuisance of any kind, continue to steal hearts. Like Rambo the labrador, familiar to customers at the popular Ideal Corner in Hornby View building at the corner of a lane off DN Road. “He had something in his eyes that tugged at everyone,” says Parvez Patel, a co-partner of the cafe. “He started coming in the pandemic, sheltered by urchins whose makeshift tent he shared. He was never a disturbance.”
Rambo shuttled between Ideal Corner and Mocambo, which were very warmly receptive, as most Irani cafes are to four-legged creatures. Fed protein-packed meals of chicken bones and mutton soup at Patel’s eatery and especially well cared for by his employee Nelson, the stray suddenly went missing. “Koi gaadi mein uthake usko le gaya,” was how some locals described the disappearance.
Then there is another endearingly lazy Rambo, easily recognised by regular worshippers at the Bhikha Behram well at Churchgate, which is sacred to Parsis. At 11 on weekday mornings, Rambo and Rosie — loving nothing more than to laze in the sun in the courtyard of the 300-year-old stone well — wait to greet their canine friend Bambi here. “Bambi and I go every day, me to pay my respects and she to meet her pals. She’s a COVID find,” says her owner Shiraz Kotwal, living in the neighbourhood, opposite the Oval Maidan. “Arre wah Bambi aavi, biscuit laavo,” I hear the retainers of this historic site say the moment they sight her enter the compound of the well. To which Rosie responds with a low territorial growl, while Rambo emits a friendlier “Woof”.
Watching the scene unfold, I am reminded of Sidhwa saying, “The happiness of strays depends on their closeness to humans.” Rani, a weakling of a pup at the State Police Headquarters opposite the Regal, being a case in point. She built her strength and got sprightly on tonics and sipped chai from paper cups that kind cops poured her. When she friskily started digging their flowerbeds, they kept watch through the day. But at night Sidhwa took her home. Six months into the arrangement, the men in uniform requested Rani back with them 24/7 — “Kyonki woh bahut achha chowki karti hai.”
We need say nothing else. Dog bless.
Author-publisher Meher Marfatia writes fortnightly on everything that makes her love Mumbai and adore Bombay. You can reach her at meher.marfatia@mid-day.com/www.meher marfatia.com
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