Bandra is TB’s hometown; Danda village, specifically and we spend many Sunday evenings at the dog park on Carter Road in Bandra.
The western suburbs of Mumbai are now marked on Google Map as one of the circles of hell and TB likes to go there and frown at the rash-driving kids, girls with small clothes and the TV-star types. He shakes his head despondently and rues about the lack of civic sense among the young generation. Sometimes he’ll point at a guy in a fast car or an upcoming actor and say, “I went to school with him.”
And then a boxer will pass by and leap in the air to *kiss me and show the braggart who’s really popular in Bandra.
We had just entered the park one Sunday, and I unloaded the camera and turned around to see this.
Tushar says he just rushed into his arms, but I think TB was the one who forced himself on him. The boxer’s all like, “Lemme go; Ma friends are watching.” and TB’s all “Nahin, mujhe chod ke mat jao“. The dog reminded me of Meatloaf in Fight Club.
This butter boy, I think his name was Prince, was being taught how to make friends and socialise. Which is also why TB brings me to the park. He’s shy and gets aggressive when pushed into company. We talked a bit and concluded friends were over-rated. Then we bitched about the Alsations.
These guys were such show-offs. They were all like, watch me go. See how dignified we are. How we trot after the ball and bring it back and drop it at the feet of the human. We ook special classes for that at a school on Malabar Hill.
Well, excuse me! I thought the rules said the thrower fights the throwee for possession of thrown object. And that it’s allowed to gross the thrower out by coating object in saliva and mud. Turns out Boo’s been making this shit up.
Anyway, while those guys were making plans to go to play polo afterwards, the old bitch sitting at the side kept yelling at them. “Don’t you dare get that ball while I’m talking to you, young man. Oh no you don’t. I’m not done with you. I’m not sitting about while play with your friends.”
The boxer told me she was a Pomeranian who had mated up. That explains it.
This lurker was a little dangerous. He’d skulk about and follow anything that walked in through the door — animal, human, plotted plant — and try to rape it.
So I’d be walking around, taking picture and I’d hear my leg screaming, “Bachao! Bachao! Mujhe bhagwan ke liye chod do.” I am aware of my animal magnetism, but I did not encourage him.
As with all places, this park also has its share of couples who like to get it on in public. All four of them are boys and they kept fighting about who gets to be on top. TB formed the theory that all black Labs are gay, which, frankly, is racist.
There were other deviants, such as this fellow here, who was just drooling while watching a couple get it on.
This guy had the worst genes. He’s a Lab-Great Dane mix, which his pea-sized brain has to send messages at longer distance. Resulting in him just walking the length of the garden with a glazed look in his eyes. He’d walk to the Alsatians, who’d mock his coat and turn away.
Here’s the rapist shadowing a victim again. Is this what we pay our taxes for? So dogs like him can walk free sniffing butts?
I apologise for all the blurred photographs, but it’s not easy trying to capture dogs zipping across the park while trying to save your leg’s honour.
* This really happened. We petted this boxer and then turned to cross the road, when he LEAPED into the air on all fours and landed a wet smacky kiss on my cheek. It was like being hit by a flying squishy wet towel.