Fifi

"Cute puppy. What do you girls call her?"

Me

"Fifi. And that one over there is Fifi’s Mom."

Li Lian

"What about that one?"

Me

"Oh, that’s Fifi’s Grandma."

Li Lian

When I first moved into Acharya Compound.

On Monday night, my doorbell went off and it turned out to be Linges, from Batch 19. He brought two things to me that night; 150 rupees that a batchmate of his owed me for a neuroanatomy textbook, and Fifi, at his heels.

The dopey pup is the most amiable creature imaginable. She spends her whole day limping after the residents of Acharya Compound hoping for a pet or a scratch behind her ear. Though she hardly looked like a puppy anymore now that she had outgrown all her puppy roundness, I cannot deny that she’s still decidedly puppy-ish in her antics. Li Lian and her girlfriends have spoilt her well and rotten.

If you were paying attention while reading my previous paragraph, you’d notice that I had used the word ‘limping’. Well, poor Fifi only has the use of three good legs at the moment – her left hind leg was fractured (said the vet). The injury was attributed to a supposed road mishap but had that been true, I believe her skinny limb would have been decidedly mangled. No, it’s more likely that someone must have accidentally trodden on it – or likelier still, some anonymous dog-hater must have given her a hard kick or a cruel thwack with a stick.

Notice how she sleeps with her hurt leg tucked under her head?

It’s hard to imagine that there are people who would hurt a creature as gentle, friendly and trusting as Fifi – but hey, it’s not like such monstrosity had never been committed before, right? Humans suck.

And, I also heard from Li Lian that Fifi hadn’t been eating properly since her mishap. She looks, at the moment, the canine equivalent of an anorexic teenage girl – awkward, gawky, with skinny legs far too long for her.

Anyway, back to my story;

Fifi stayed after Linges had left. She plopped down at my front door and looked at me with her big, dark, puppy eyes and I simply couldn’t close my door on her. I fetched my floor mat for her to lie on because I thought the tiles must have been frigid.

Have you ever watch a dog before it settles itself down - how it would go round and round on one spot "tramping down its bed" before lying on it? When Fifi tried to do that with three legs, it was almost too painful to watch. Poor dear.

The Lady Pose.

Fifi understood boundaries very well and did not even try to follow me into my room - but I left the door open so I can see her when I sat at my desk.

I must have been a lot lonelier than I thought I was.

And I noticed that she just kept looking at me.

Maybe she felt lonely too.

The ‘Kelian’ Puppy, Over-the-Shoulder Look.

So I left my laptop, picked up my nearly finished volume of Robert Harris’ Imperium, and sat down cross-legged beside Fifi. I noticed that she was shivering from the sudden change in weather. I half-considered letting her sleep in my anteroom for the night. The obvious problem was my inverter, which I kept there. If Fifi decided to chew on one of its exposed metal bits, I would have had an extra-crispy canine on my hand by the next morning.

Anyway, she appeared to be contented enough licking and sniffing every inch of my feet. I guess she just wanted to be near someone friendly.

And there I was, spending half an hour that night sitting at my front door with Fifi lying at my feet while I read. I have said before that there are certain special moments in life when I believe in God. This was one of them.

"Ruh?"

Do you know what a perfect friend is?

A perfect friend is someone who would not lie to me, or say nasty things behind my back. She is a person who adores me even if nobody else does, because she accepts me for who I am for all my faults. She is someone to whom I do not need to think of clever things to say to keep her interested in me. She is that someone who does not mind the least bit at all of just sitting near me while enjoying my silent company.

Ideals, ideals.

Fuck ideals.

That night, Fifi reminded me that ideals are nothing more than some cancerous fluff in our eyes that makes all the beautiful things in our non-ideal world ugly.

A perfect friend is someone who limped up the stairs to my front door just when I needed a friend the most.


Sipping simple pleasures,
k0k s3n w4i