Live- Alive

Most of my introspection begins with two questions; and this is one of them- ‘Am I living or am I alive?’ The answer comes differently and from different quarters. And this is a question that keeps popping up time and again. This time the answer came from the most unexpected person and in a very surprising way, subtly telling me a lot about my attitude and human perception. We recently visited my dad’s place for summer holidays. They have a handsome Labrador and the wonderful creature taught me a lot about life, living and being alive. I wondered why what was natural to that fellow turned out to be alien to me. And what always appeared to amaze or excite him, seemed common place and dull, mundane to me. My brother takes him for a walk everyday and he is the official dad to ‘Rex’, their bundle of joy. My sister – in – law dotes on the fellow and pampers him silly. He gets away with chocolates, cakes and even rosogulla! He has a fine sweet tooth and eats papaya with equal fervor and gusto. Between the two of them the dog is the prime and most important member of the family and one lucky dude, you might add.  I looked at his life closely for the first time this trip. Despite heavy rains my brother takes him on his walks and I would think a rainy day that fellow would protest, be dragged and very reluctant to step out. But on the contrary, the minute he heard my brother’s footstep on the stairs he would make a funny gurgling sound and wait for him at the foot of the steps. Instead, he becomes impatient if my brother is delayed and growls in a very endearing way, prodding my brother to make haste. It was all very new for me the first 3 days and I also accompanied them for the walks, and I noticed that all the three days it was the same path, the same time, the same distance and yet every day (much to my frustration) the dog maintained the same enthusiasm and zest. By the time it was the third day I did not want to go, I was already bored; it was raining and smelly outside and we would anyway take the same path. But Rexy was as excited as ever, as if it was the first day and he had never been out before!  What was so exciting for him in that mundane routine which held no charm for me on the third day itself? How come he was so alive and I was not even living? I was jealous of the damn dog. Where did he get the naïve enthusiasm from? Why he was not bored? He dragged my brother all the way and kind of waited for my brother to roll out the same comments, “Slow down Rexy!” “Not that way!” “No, no! No getting cosy with street dogs!!” This bit I could at least mentally explain to myself in a rational way; probably Rex could maintain the excitement in the anticipation that maybe my brother will take him on a new route, maybe a longer path, maybe he will encounter a new friend. This anticipation was my rational explanation as to why Rexy maintained the same excitement every day.  The worse and bigger revelation was the way Rex reacted every time my dad walked into the house. My dad would have just then patted him and gone down the road to get milk. The minute Rex heard my dad’s footsteps he would start wagging his tail vigorously and bark exultantly. He would jump over my dad, as if it had been ages since he had last seen my father. Barely 10 minutes would have lapsed, yet Rexy would be overjoyed and bouncing jubilantly and lick my father’s hand. My father also indulgently pats him every time. This happened almost five to seven times a day. This bit amazed me. I mean what it was with that dog! My dad had just left barely seven minutes and this fellow behaved as if a long lost friend had returned after a year’s voyage. How did he manage to maintain this; the loyalty for my brother, the love for my father and us? It was so unconditional, spontaneous and fresh always. My dad’s irritation did not bother him; my brother’s anger did not change his attitude to my brother. Apart, for walking him my brother had no time to devote all his attention on Rex and my dad also absent mindedly patted that fellow, going out or coming back home. None of us really gave him special time. None of us spent extra time with him, we did not go out of our way to keep him happy or be in his best books. My mum fed him, my sister in law bathed and looked after his hygiene, brother took him for walks and was the disciplinarian, and my dad absent mindedly patted him coming in and going out of the house. This was all. Rexy still managed to make each one feel special and unique. All of them thought they were special for Rexy. They probably gave 5% of their time and attention to Rexy and in return got 100% of Rexy’s love and more. My brother was unwell last week and Rexy would be glued to his side, day and night. He did not seem to mind being stuck at home, with no one to take him on his adventurous walks. Try as one might, none of us could drag him away from my brother’s side. Similarly, anyone amongst them was sad or worried the dog would be able to sense it before others could. He was more alive and living a very worthwhile life, savoring every moment. Enjoying every moment as it came; unconcerned about what happened in the past and equally oblivious of what the future had in store for him. And here I was, either simmering about a bad yesterday or carrying that baggage for a prolonged period. This spoiled most of my tomorrows and also kept me in a state of anticipation and tension perpetually. These bad yesterday’s did not allow me to live my good today’s nor did they allow me to anticipate and be excited about a good future. It was as if I was barely managing to live and was never alive. I was afraid to die and I did not know what it was to be alive either. Neither good events could excite me nor the mundane did .I had forgotten to enjoy the small regular pleasure in my stupid search for a grand big excitement in future. And this dog was doing a fabulous job spontaneously, living its life to the fullest. It was alive every moment and immortalizing himself in our lives. He showed me how to be alive, not just live.