Swami was standing stiff as a lamppost in the lobby when I returned from my morning walk. His eyes darted left and right like a man expecting a ghost.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
Before he could answer, a large, golden-furred blur came bounding across the polished tiles. It was Rocky, the neighbour’s Labrador, galloping like he owned the place.
“Arrey, bachao!” Swami squealed, flinging his hands up. His phone slid from his grip and clattered to the floor. The dog leapt up joyfully, paws brushing Swami’s shirt, tail wagging at lightning speed.
“Rocky! Down, boy!” his owner, Mrs. Verma, called from behind. She was dressed in gym clothes, looking more apologetic than surprised. “Sorry, Swami ji. He’s harmless.”
“Harmless?!” Swami said, his voice trembling. “He just assaulted me in broad daylight.”
Mrs. Verma chuckled. “He’s just showing love.” She tugged Rocky’s leash and walked off, the dog still glancing back, tongue lolling happily.
Swami picked up his phone with the expression of a man recovering stolen property. “Love, she says,” he muttered. “If this is love, I dread to think what enmity looks like.”
By the time I visited his flat again later that morning, Swami had replayed the incident enough times to turn it into a tragedy.
“Vidya, you should’ve seen it,” he declared, pacing the living room. “That beast pounced on me like a tiger. If I hadn’t ducked, I’d be in the hospital.”
Vidya sipped her coffee with a straight face. “Yes, yes. Lucky you survived.”
“You’re mocking me,” Swami accused.
“Of course not,” she said, suppressing a smile. “Just reminding you that the tiger’s name is Rocky and his idea of danger is drooling on your shirt.”
At that moment, Meera wandered in with her headphones on. She had caught just enough. “Rocky? Aww, he’s the cutest. I want to play with him!”
Swami gawked at his daughter. “Play? He’s a menace! He should be banned from the premises.”
Meera rolled her eyes. “Papa, it’s a pet dog, not a terrorist.” She disappeared into her room before Swami could reply.
Swami slumped on the sofa. “Nobody understands,” he muttered. “This is how societies collapse. First dogs take it over, then chaos reigns.”
Vidya shook her head and went back to her coffee.
The following afternoon, as fate would have it, Rocky barked incessantly from Mrs. Verma’s balcony just as Swami was giving a presentation on Zoom.
“This strategy will put us—WOOF WOOF—into the top tier market of —-,” Swami said.
Raichand squinted through the screen. “What’s that noise?”
“Background disturbance,” Swami stammered, glaring out the window. “Completely beyond my control.”
The barking grew louder. Swami fumbled, raised his voice, and ended up almost shouting through his presentation. By the time the call ended, he looked like a man who had wrestled a demon.
Without pausing, he stormed into the society WhatsApp group.
Swami: “Neighbours must control their barking pets. This is a residential society, not a zoo.”
Within minutes, many replies flooded in.
Mrs. Verma: “Dogs are family.”
Secretary Iyer: “We value harmony. Will review in committee.”
Sharmaji: “Some dogs behave better than residents.”
Swami read each message with mounting fury. His fingers itched to type long rebuttals. Vidya, meanwhile, watched the fireworks with mild amusement.
By evening, Swami had decided the building was turning into a mega kennel.
Even Shanthamma, their maid, added her bit when she arrived. “Saar, I won’t come if that kutta is near the lift. My heart will stop.”
“Exactly!” Swami said, triumphant that someone finally agreed with him.
Vidya sighed. “I hope your heart doesn’t stop before hers.”
That evening, Jigneshbhai and I decided to drop by Swami’s place. Vidya ushered us in with coffee. Swami was pacing, gesturing with the phone in his hand.
“Do you know what’s happening?” he burst out as soon as we sat down. “Dogs have more freedom than humans in our society. They bark, they jump, they disturb calls. And the committee? Useless!”
Jigneshbhai settled comfortably, stirring his tea. “Hmm. Which committee?”
“The society committee!” Swami thundered. “Secretary Iyer has no backbone. He talks about tolerance. As if I must tolerate this barking terror with four legs!”
At that exact moment, as though summoned by Swami’s outrage, Rocky barked loudly from Mrs. Verma’s balcony. Swami jumped in his chair, spilling a few drops of coffee on his shirt.
“See?!” he cried, pointing at the balcony like a prosecutor unveiling evidence.
Vidya calmly passed him a napkin. “Don’t worry, it’s harmless. Just showing love.”
Jigneshbhai chuckled softly. “The dog is just being itself, Swami. It doesn’t know you’re giving a presentation or drinking coffee.”
“Let it be itself and not know anything,” Swami argued. “But its owner knows, right? I will not let them take my peace away.”
“Peace isn’t ruined by barking,” Jigneshbhai said. “Don’t listen to it so much.”
Swami looked unconvinced. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a wolf outside your window.”
“Wolf?” Vidya repeated, raising her eyebrows. “By tomorrow it’ll be a dinosaur.”
Jigneshbhai grinned. “Some barks are outside,” he said with a smile. “The louder ones are inside.”
Silence hung in the room. Swami looked at his coffee, then at us, then at the balcony.
“I’ll still avoid the lobby and close the balcony, when Rocky is around,” he muttered finally.
***
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