Life’s lessons from the wise dogs of Dhauladhar mountains
His name is Shahrukh Khan,” said Hukam Chand, the elderly owner of a mountain-side eatery in Gallu, a small hamlet around the Gallu Devi temple above Dharamkot in Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh. He was referring to his gaddi dog, who was basking in a pool of sharp sunlight on a stone ledge, along the street. “I got him from Bambai. He doesn’t like the limelight anymore.” Hukam Chand’s eyes squinted as he laughed at his own joke.
I had paused next to the dog to chat to him about his day and mine. I appreciated his choice of spending a winter day doing nothing much except relaxing and occasionally contemplating one’s role in healing the world. Shahrukh Khan, the dog, seemed way ahead of me in the pursuit of answers to life’s recurring conflicts. Like a wise teacher, he wasn’t offering me any quick answers. Just his presence to be inspired by.
After nearly a year of no holidays in the pandemic year of 2020, our family of five had finally planned a getaway that had brought us to Himachal . Three members had chosen to trek to Triund and our eldest daughter and I were spending the day in Gallu. She had brought her personal embroidery project with her and I hoped to work on an anthology of essays on India’s lockdown that I am editing. I needed a day off to do this — with no Wi-Fi, no phone calls, and no doorbells to distract me. Only the promise of fresh omelettes and instant noodles, the simple soul food of India’s Himalayan trails.
“Don’t you get tired stooping over your computer for hours like this?” Hukam Chand said as he passed me by with a log of wood on his shoulder. I instantly fixed my posture as I saw him mimic me with my shoulders hunched and neck outstretched stiffly. I would have thought he is the one who does the back-breaking work.
As we drove from McLeodganj to Dharamkot and later to Kandbari and Bir Billing, we stopped in various places for large meals and short walks. Some days we trekked, on other days we sat by mountain streams and admired the light dancing on water, daring ourselves to dip our timid toes in the icy flow. Then it snowed and we became part of large crowds of tourists and locals who came out to revel in the magic of fresh snow.
We moved out of our hotel and stayed with friends, exchanging stories of lockdown and the things we learnt to do in the unexpected time we had at home with ourselves. I took down recipes of pancake and bread. We shared anecdotes of heartbreak and healing. We teased the one who is newly in love. We ignored our books and devices and made wild plans about future adventures.
At our friends’ home, we were escorted everywhere by Chulbuli and Laddoo, community dogs who hung outside various homes in the neighborhood. It was uncanny how they knew when we would leave for a walk and when we were ready to find our way home. We let ourselves be led by the energy of the dog siblings. They knew something about the mountains that we could absorb too, if we agreed to not try to put it in into words.
A year is not a long time, but something about the disruption caused by the pandemic has changed the way many of us experience life. For me, what was earlier a vague awareness of our mortality and the impermanence of things, has now become a more overt influence on how I process events.
From the distance of the mountains, I looked back at missed deadlines, unanswered emails and the heavy expectations of one’s professional life. I realised I no longer want to carry the burden of guilt. Left to themselves and sometimes when they are actively neglected, things find a rhythm on their own. The one labelled urgent reveals itself to be superfluous. Our subconscious leads us towards the essential; we just need to give ourselves permission to follow.
If anything is truly urgent in this time of generalised anxiety, it is our ruptured need for peace, intimacy and solace. We need pockets of silence that enable us to break away from words that do not seem to reach others and make place for a language that allows us to express our vulnerability. To connect deeply with our own selves.
Each one of us has a need to heal and each one of us has restorative powers within us. That’s what I learnt from spending a few days with Shahrukh Khan, Chulbuli and Laddoo — the wise dogs of the Dhauladhar mountains.
— The writer is an author & filmmaker
natasha.badhwar@gmail.com
