It was another Sunday morning and I was comfortably ensconced in a rocking chair with a cup of coffee, the morning’s newspaper and my dog, MJ, at my feet. “Is it going to be another lazy Sunday because I like lazy Sundays,” said MJ without lifting his chin from the floor.
“Not today,” I replied. “I will be joining the maad yatra this evening to protest against the government’s decision to make it easier for people to cut coconut trees.”
“Are dogs allowed to attend such things,” asked MJ. He seemed interested because he lifted his head from the floor. “I have a vested interest in saving the coconut tree.”
“How so?” I asked with a modicum of interest and amusement.
“If you noticed, every morning when you take me for a walk I stop at three coconut trees and an electric pole to relieve myself,” explained MJ. “Should anyone decide to get rid of those coconut trees life will never be the same for me.”
“I always thought dogs preferred car wheels,” I said.
“I use coconut trees because it makes me feel Goan,” asserted MJ and then quickly added, “I am Goan, am I not?” He gave me a long anxious look. “Please don’t tell me I was made in China because Chinese things tend to break into little pieces.”
“No need to fret MJ,” I replied, “you could have had an ancestor or two who used the great China wall to do their thing, but we picked you up from a pet shop in Margao….”
MJ looked astonished. “You bought me? Just like a pound of meat from the supermarket,” he quipped. “This is a demeaning story and I don’t want you repeating it in the neighbourhood. If anyone were to ask how you came to know me, just say …..”
“I’ll say, I found you on the street all crumpled and skinny,” I butted in.
“That’s worse,” said MJ with a tinge of irritation. “I think the story we ought to float is that I was gifted to you by a sexy film actress. That would sound juicy and gossipy.”
“And totally unbelievable,” I said.
There was a lull in the conversation during which time MJ dozed off. Evening came and he was ready to march in favour of the coconut tree.
“Are you coming or not?” he asked. “You could hug a tree and I could mark it to show that the tree belongs to me. We could work as a team.”
“That is gross,” I said, “and what would happen to the tree if all the dogs decide to mark it.”
“Some sacrifices will have to be made,” he said. “Now let’s go.”
“This isn’t a real march,” I explained, “this is a Facebook protest. All we have to do is type slogans, verbally bash anyone who disagrees with us and post a few pictures.”
“I knew it,” said MJ, “you never came across as a chap who could change the world.”
