Of the many feelings that unite humanity, regardless of gender or class differences, is the Sunday morning feeling. It is the day the world appears perfect and, one feels the world is the way it should be. I am tempted to stay in the bed a little longer, and I know that today I am not going to look at our wall clock till noon. Then I remind myself that the Sunday sun is always sunnier and lovelier than the working day sun, and would I want to miss that? I wake up my husband who upon realizing that I have woken up, snuggles deeper into the blanket with an aim to avoid our Sunday morning walk.
Both of us are in the park. We find the familiar set of characters that we meet every day. The lady constable, Mr and Mrs Mathews, the retired colonel with the handlebar mustache, the karate trainer and his disciple, and the group of bank officers whom we fondly refer to as “Bank Babus”.
Everybody seems a lot happier than usual, and the good morning handshakes and waves appear more genuine and heartfelt today. We inhale deeply and with a gentle exhalation start our leisurely “rounds” of the circular park. As I am about to finish my third round, I sense a sudden wetness at the back of my right foot. I turn around just in time to find a wriggly ball of yellow fur rush past me. I tell my husband, “I think this pug puppy licked me.” We laugh and continue walking only to discover midway of my fifth round that I am being followed by the little pug. It is then that I realize that this puppy could have just got separated from its master. I look around with the hope that the owner could be somewhere close. Keeping my fingers crossed, I check into the yoga pavilion along with the puppy only to be screamed at by the yoga folks, who lose their acquired cool upon seeing a woman with a puppy.
In the meantime, the pup has started squirming and making peculiar sounds. We check with the gardener who is equally clueless and, all 3 of us wonder together who the careless master is. We have spent close to twenty minutes looking out for the owner, and me along with my husband are now at the park bench. The puppy is determined not to leave us till either of the parties concerned find the master.
Just as we decide to move out, we see a young girl of about 15 enter the garden, softly whistling and calling out, “Pugsly, Pugsly, where are you?” No marks for guessing who Pugsly is. Pugsly is overjoyed on hearing the familiar sound, and barks his way to the girl’s arms.
Today what started as walk in the park concluded as bark in the park.
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