A few weeks ago several statues installed on the picturesque Tank Bund by that flamboyant Chief Minister NT Rama Rao were pulled down by the mob. Of the many that were there only a few escaped unshaken and unscarred. Why were they demolished? Was it just mindless mob frenzy? Or was it planned and premeditated? Was there a telengana bias in the issue? Was the mob justified in what they did? Questions like these have been raised ad nauseum. Debates have been raging and sides have been clearly taken.

In the same vein my dear friend Mimicry Srinivas posted a link to an article that expounded his point of view. And recently I saw a movie called Hatchiko. The movie was about a dog and a man. The affection between the two was so intense that even after the man died and the  dog became homeless, the dog used to come everyday at a fixed time to the railway station waiting for his master to come back home. It was a touching display of canine doggedness and when the dog also died, the people who had been watching the dog’s antics for a few years and indeed had helped keep him alive, all got together and put up a statue that still stands outside that railway station in Japan. The statue of the dog cannot be missed.

With two thought streams let loose the ensuing flood of emotions triggered off a slew of memories that I thought I should share with you. So here goes.

The story begins with an aborted attempt by my parents to instil in me the walking habit by sending me out every morning to the Tank Bund. Remember this was many years ago and much before KBR Park was formed and jogging and walking became early morning fashion statements. I for one couldn’t handle it. All that pumped up or should I say self pumped energy, and that unmistakable aura of self righteousness was more than what a simple minded person like me could come to terms with before a couple of cups of coffee had toured my insides warmly. So my early morn walks became my early classes in body language.

Who was that guy in imported track suit? Why did he not realise that he had (by mistake) picked up a tack suit, Why was that guy with a paunch insistent on wearing skin tight lycras. Why was that couple coochi-cooing in public? Answers to these and similar questions kept me amused and occupied while my parents laboured under the impression that I was huffing and puffing across the lake.

That is when I saw an old man who would drive up in a stately Ambassador Car. Get down with a bit of fanfare. And then wait for his pet dog to join him as they walked together without the aid of a leash across the Bund and back.

The dog was a delight to watch. Extremely well behaved and obedient. And he would pace himself perfectly. When they came back to the parked car, the dog would scamper to a nearby lamp post and pee to his heart’s content before trotting back to the car and his master and rushing home. The first few days I noticed this ritual, it was quite orinary. But then one day I think the dog saw heaven.

Standing with his one leg up in the air while streaming forth his gush, the dog seems to have taken a closer look at his surroundings. That’s when he spotted Hussain Sagar. And the Rock of Gibraltar. Or at least he spotted something. Since that day the dog would almost freeze in the same posture by the lamp post. And stare with awe at the huge lake in front of him.

What went on in his brain, I cannot even dare to venture. But the look of sheer wonder on his face imprinted itself in my memory banks. I saw the two for many weeks, Master and faithful dog. Going through their rituals every morning, and nothing changed. Then I stopped going to Tank Bund. I finally perked up enough courage to tell my parents the truth. That I was simply not interested in a life pattern that included long early morning walks even if they were good for my health. I was more inclined to spend my early mornings with reams of paper and an endless supply of Misak Pens and ink for the same.

A couple of years later when I had to go to the Railway station to pick up some guests I had to drive on the Tank Bund early in the morning. And was it a pleasant surprise to see the old man in his Ambassador again. Yes it was and we exchanged greetings. But the dog was missing and I had to find out what happened.

The dog died son, said the old man to me. A quiver in his voice let out his emotions and instinctively both of us looked at the lamp post which the dog had clearly marked as his own.

This was quite a few years back. I went back to the Tank Bund to take a first hand look at the playground of my childhood. Suddenly an idea struck me. Why not I, spearhead a movement to put up a statue of that dog. Next to his favourite lamppost, which is still there. Looking out at the lake, which is still there. Staring at the Buddha, who wasn’t around in those days.

The old man, I don’t know his name, must also have passed away. Maybe someone from his family will read this post and contact me if they understand and appreciate the love and affection the old man and the dog shared. And I witnessed.

Let’s hope. Let’s hope. Let’s, well….hope!