In Shimla, sirens, howls & prowls
A minute or two before 10 am, the dogs that sit around the old telegraph office and telephone exchange in Shimla start eyeing the ugly sign that says ‘BSNL’, and start stirring. A few seconds to the hour, switched on by an inbuilt mechanism, they begin a long wail. Within moments, the 10 o’clock siren comes on and joins them. The siren stops and the dogs also stop howling. How this fine synchrony works is something that eludes me. For that matter, why does Shimla have an air raid siren to announce the start of the working day and another to announce its end at 5 pm is also something I’ve not been able to establish. That, despite asking old residents and checking assorted records. Perhaps, this is a leftover from the wars of ’62, ’65 and 1971. It may even predate those and go back to the time of the two World Wars. Be that as it may, this remains another one of the town’s delightful, if irritating, traditions that should carry on as long as humans are driven into rooms to work and ushered out at the day’s closing.
In the same neighbourhood, there is an unusually large greyish-coloured dog who owns the 50-metre patch of road that lies between General Post Office and ‘Scandal Point’. While he may not possess documents to establish ownership, he goes by the dictum that ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law’. And that is something he clearly establishes with the help of a few quadruped cronies that come by when summoned.
Even while lying down or stretching his limbs outside the HP State Co-operative Bank, this fine canine carefully eyes all passersby and keeps a watchful tab on all those who occupy the benches in his territory. Occasionally, he strolls down the road and inspects what is happening at Gaiety Theatre. Should the mood take him, he may just go for a sniff near the Police Reporting Room where everyone seems to know him. In the last few days, he has been observed keeping an eye on a newly opened café in the municipal building. His size and gait are such that everyone respectfully moves aside when he chooses to pass.
On the other end of the Mall, there is a remarkably handsome langur, who, with his groomed grey-white fur, sometimes joins the loungers on the benches. He sits with legs crossed and in a friendly moment, may allow the human next to him to place an arm around his shoulder. If he is feeling particularly affable, this grand simian may just place an arm on your shoulder. If you have a snack, he is not averse to sharing it and seems to have a preference for the peanuts that are sold in the area. Even fruit will do. Together, sharing moments of what life has to offer, you can pass time in his company. Should you choose, you may also unburden your soul, as he is non-judgmental and is quite happy to listen to whatever you have to say.
Then, on the other hand, are dozens of macaques who restlessly prowl the precincts where the edges have the dog and the langur as sentinels. For all and any affection that may be lavished on these simians, do not be deceived by them. They recognise tourists, women and children as the easiest prey. The more formidable ones, tail up in the air and a curl at its end — by which we supposedly recognise the alpha male — march up with the air of a thug holding a gun. ‘Stand and deliver’ is their motto, which could even be, ‘Deliver and flee’. Either way, you are supposed to part with whatever you are holding. Should you choose to display some bravado, there is the risk of a bite or scratch and at the very least, a course of anti-rabies injections. Their preferred item of food is ice-cream and if you happen to pass with a cone or a bar of icy mango or orange, do keep in mind that only the first few bites or licks are yours as the rest is taken as toll by these highwaymen.
For all the warnings issued, at different times, among other things, I’ve had a packet of tissues and a bottle of Dettol taken away. What the good monkey did with either is anyone’s guess.
