Tag / #whatsonsidsmind

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 6

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 10-Min Read

In the wild, power isn’t about stories or perceptions—you either have it or you don’t. Joshua sensed this instinctively, even as a puppy. Biological evolution hadn’t shaped him to buy into human narratives. In many ways, when things got tough, he remained a wolf at heart, untamed by the stories we tell. But I was still human, conditioned to believe in those stories, and that made me vulnerable.

During our roughest times, he understood his reality far better than I did, even though he was fully dependent on me. Sometimes, when I looked into his eyes, I saw a wolf—wild, free, and unbound.

***

When Advay was about three, Joshua developed a slight limp. At first, we didn’t think much of it. He’d often had issues with rough paws that could be fixed with a simple oil or cream rub. But this was different. The signs were there, but we missed them—too distracted by everything else going on. The writing was slowly appearing on the wall, but we had lost our watchful eye.

That’s how rough times start—one thing leads to another, and before you know it, a pile of problems weighs you down. And if you’re not prepared, no matter how sudden it seems, it feels like you should have seen it coming. Like somehow, it’s still your fault.

We had moved yet again, this time to a flat with a terrace garden—a little patch of lawn and open air that felt like a gift. The sunlight, the greenery, a touch of nature amidst the concrete jungle—it gave us a reprieve, especially with all we were juggling.

Since the start of 2015, I had been working from home after switching jobs. This offered us some flexibility in moments of crisis, which seemed to come often. Kavita, tied to her marketing job, had no such option, and back then, remote work was still a distant idea—three years before COVID would teach us that everything has a workaround. Affording full-time help wasn’t immediately possible, and even when it was, finding someone reliable seemed impossible.

Amid everything happening in my personal and professional life, I never expected Joshua to fall sick the way he did. He had suffered the most brutal arthritic attack. Looking back, I blame myself. But at the time, I felt a helplessness I had never known. I always thought, despite my shortcomings, I could somehow fix things. But I was wrong. When things start to go wrong, they have a way of unraveling entirely.

One day, he didn’t get up. At first, we weren’t sure what to make of it. For years, we had come to believe he would bounce back, just as he always had. He was the most resilient, bull-headed mutt I’d ever known. Sturdy in ways that made us forget he wasn’t invincible. Joshua had never been overly dependent on us—unlike a typical Labrador. Maybe it was the Boxer in him that made him behave that way.

Yet, his mixed breed came with its drawbacks. He had the bulk of a Labrador but the slender, athletic legs of a Boxer, an awkward combination that aggravated his joints. Like many large breeds, hip dysplasia and arthritis eventually became a problem. His body, though powerful, was ill-equipped to carry his weight as he aged.

And then there was his appetite—a trait we had spoiled him with, no question about that. Joshua was a voracious eater, and if he hadn’t eaten well, he could bark from dawn till dusk. His nose, sharp and insistent, would go on its own hunt if he even caught a whiff of food nearby.

One morning, after Kavita left for work and my son for pre-school, I stepped out to pick up breakfast from a nearby joint. It took me a little longer than usual—an unexpected rush kept me waiting. When I finally returned and opened the door, a foul smell hit me, pulling me back to that thunderous night years ago. Joshua wasn’t in sight. I called out, my heart pounding, and heard the faint sound of labored breathing.

He was behind the curtains.

I pulled them aside and found him lying there, weak and helpless. He had tried to drag himself toward the terrace door, desperate to get outside, but no one had been there to open it. In his frustration, he had soiled himself and was rolling in his own excrement. His eyes met mine—eyes that once brimmed with mischief and defiance now filled with pain and fear. The freedom he had always cherished was slipping away, and he knew it.

That look… it was so different from the fierce spirit I had known in him as a puppy, on that rainy night long ago when he had once caused so much chaos. Now, his wild heart was dimming, and it broke mine.

We took Joshua to several vets close to home, but his condition barely improved. In the end, we had to travel across the city to the vet who had saved him as a puppy—the one who’d revived him during that terrifying dehydration episode. He showed us the report card—severe bone degeneration in his left leg. The right wasn’t in great shape either. Full recovery was almost impossible, but walking again was within reach—slow, gradual, with medication. He also needed laser therapy, water therapy, warm compresses for his joints, and plenty of sunshine.

Those were dark days. There was a lot on my plate, and the weight of it all pressed down on me. The demons in my head made me feel like my world was crumbling, that it was happening only to me, though I knew that wasn’t true. But it sure felt like it.

I needed an escape. I knew no one else could offer a solution—the battle was mine alone. That’s when I turned to writing.

It was a rainy, gray afternoon—just the kind of day that invites reflection. The house was quiet, no distractions. I sat down and put pen to paper, intending to write about my tangled state of mind. For two hours, I wrote non-stop, something I had never managed before. When I finished, I was stunned. In my hands was a short story—fiction, no less—drawn from a memory of childhood but transformed into something entirely new. I hadn’t planned it. The words hadn’t felt heavy or forced. Somehow, a gate in my mind had opened, and the words flowed through it effortlessly.

I kept going. Personal experiences and stories I had heard and read started weaving themselves together. Within ten days, I had written five short stories. Soon enough the idea of compiling these stories into a book sprouted in my mind.

That rainy afternoon had changed something in me. It wasn’t just about the stories I wrote, but about the release, the catharsis of finding a voice in the silence, of creating something beautiful out of the weight I had been carrying. It gave me hope. Something we humans cannot live without.

Joshua was right beside me when I wrote those pages. I never thought I could garner the resolve to do what I was doing, but looking back, I realize Joshua was my inspiration. It was heartbreaking to see him so helpless, yet he hadn’t given up. He wanted to live. He was willing to push through the grind. Even in his desperate state, the moment he caught a whiff of food, he’d let out his signature bark, as if to say, “I’m still here.” Despite his immobility, in every other way, he was still himself—remarkably, he had learned to live with his pain while I was still struggling with mine.

It was time to stop overthinking and start acting. My days were a whirlwind of juggling work, home, and caring for Joshua. At night, with Kavita’s help, I found time to write. Joshua had his own routine, which was separate from ours, with medication and a strict list of things that needed attention. Luckily, we had a small lawn—a godsend—where he could bask in the afternoon sun.

Every day, I would drag him out to the lawn, letting him soak in the sunlight, surrounded by nature. Butterflies, in every color, danced around the flower bushes, and pigeons would occasionally wander in—pigeons Joshua had once loved to chase. Now, he’d just glance at them and let out a bark. They teased him for a while, but when his bark turned to a low grumble, they’d leave.

Things weren’t normal, but we tried to create a sense of normalcy, clinging to the hope that one day, he would get up and chase those pigeons again.

But recovery was slow, and despite everything we did for him, Joshua wasn’t showing much improvement. For a dog, a walk is more than just exercise—it’s their way of connecting with the world, a spiritual ritual. As the months dragged on, our hopes were fading. Joshua was in pain, no doubt about it. At night, he’d drag himself around, sometimes whining, his body betraying him. It was heartbreaking to watch.

We did what we could—changing his position several times a day to prevent sores—but his skin was turning blue, and a faint stench had begun to settle. I’m not one for miracles or a big believer in God, but we still found ourselves hoping for something extraordinary to happen. I didn’t want him to go like this. Joshua was a fighter. But he was rapidly losing weight, and time was running out.

***

Six months had passed, marked by rare good days and far too many bad ones. There was little left to believe he’d ever stand again. Then, an unavoidable family function came up. Over the years, we had built a support system of trusted house helps for moments like this. Our maid’s husband, Birender, offered to take care of Joshua for the three days we’d be gone. I was wary—this wasn’t a small task. But Birender, a patient man with no fear of dogs, especially unpredictable ones like Joshua, took it seriously. He learned every part of Joshua’s care—massaging, cleaning, medication, therapy.

With great apprehension, we left for the function. I called Birender several times each day, and he reassured me everything was fine. Somehow, those three days passed.

When we returned, Birender greeted us, and there was Joshua, lying in his usual spot. He glanced at us, as he always did. Birender left, and I went inside to change. Moments later, the doorbell rang. It took me a minute to answer. It was a parcel. As I locked the door, I felt something familiar brush against my leg. I turned, and there was Joshua—standing beside me.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. He hadn’t stood in six months. Everything we had done for him, every painful, hopeful moment, flashed before me. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

We celebrated Joshua’s revival that weekend. Everyone who had known him over the years paid a visit. It seemed he was trying to get back to his old ways. But we knew he had aged considerably after the ordeal of the past months. His eyes were getting weaker as well, and a deadly virus was about to wreak havoc in the human world.

To be continued …

The final chapter next week.

***

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 5

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 7-Min Read

Around 30,000 years ago, when man and wolf were natural foes, humankind made one of its most profound decisions—to domesticate the wolf and create the dog. The dog was the first animal to be domesticated by humans. Scientific evidence suggests this monumental shift may have begun with a lone wolf, outcast by its pack due to poor hunting skills, scavenging for scraps near a human encampment. One fateful night, this wolf, in search of food, alerted the human tribe to the presence of a more powerful animal—perhaps a tiger or an elephant—unknowingly saving their children and securing their trust. In that moment, a bond was forged between man and wolf, evolving into a partnership that has endured millennia and reshaped the future of both species. Through all the evolving roles of man—as hunter, farmer, herder, warrior, and family man—the dog has stood by his side, whether as a tireless worker or a loyal companion. In essence, the story of mankind is incomplete without the story of the dog.

Anyone who has ever had a dog knows this is true.

***

In December 2014, our baby arrived. I was nervous about how Joshua would handle this new chapter in our lives. For so long, he’d been the center of our world, soaking up all the attention. Given his unpredictable ways, we’d done our research on how to introduce him to the baby without overwhelming him. But despite all the preparation, there was a thread of fear that lingered—because of his past.

Joshua always slept under our bed, and during the day, he never left Kavita’s side. In those final months before the delivery, he’d rest his nose gently on her baby bump, his eyes searching ours. We knew then—he knew.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what that first meeting would feel like.

The night before Kavita and the baby were set to come home, I brought a small piece of the hospital with me—our baby’s clothes. Sitting on the sofa, I called Joshua over. He came, cautiously. It was just the two of us in the house. I held out the clothes, and he sniffed them, his head turning slowly toward me. I’ll never forget his eyes that night—full of questions, understanding, and something else I couldn’t quite name.

He kept looking at me, as if we shared a quiet secret, and then he walked away to a corner of the room, lying down. In that moment, I knew he felt it too—the world had shifted. Something deep, something permanent.

The next day, we brought Advay (our son) home. Joshua was overjoyed to see Kavita after three days—his usual burst of energy filled the house. But the moment he saw the baby, he changed. He approached with curiosity, his movements unusually gentle, as though he instinctively knew this was a delicate, new presence. He sniffed Advay carefully, then, just like the night before, he retreated to his corner, watching from a distance.

Joshua was seven then, no longer a young dog but still full of energy. We worried that having to share our attention with a baby might worsen the issues he’d struggled with. But we were wrong. Though he seemed sad at first, Joshua embraced Advay with a quiet strength. In the days that followed, he became the baby’s silent guardian, lying next to his pram, alerting us when he cried or stirred.

Advay, even as a baby, was restless—never one to sit still for long. He didn’t nap much during the day, leaving us exhausted as we balanced work and his constant need for attention. But Joshua, in his calm and watchful way, became our greatest ally. When Advay turned one and started to toddle, and eventually run, Joshua kept his distance but stayed close enough to keep an eye on him. If Advay took a tumble, Joshua would be the first to check on him, gently licking his hands as if to say everything would be alright.

Still, I had my worries. Joshua wasn’t always predictable, and I feared that in one of Advay’s wild bursts of energy, he might accidentally step on Joshua’s tail, sparking a reaction. That fear was put to rest one evening.

It was almost dusk, and the light in the room was dim. I switched on the tube light and sat with my laptop, working on an email, while Advay played on the other side of the room. I glanced up to see him, a toy in his hand, laughing and babbling to himself. Suddenly, he decided to run toward me. My heart jumped—Joshua was lying directly in his path. “Stop!” I yelled, but Advay was too caught up in his excitement. Just then, the electricity went out, and the room plunged into darkness.

I heard a thud, followed by a low grumble from Joshua, and then—after a beat—Advay’s cry filled the room. My stomach sank, but before I could react, the lights flickered back on. There was Advay, sprawled on the floor, crying, and Joshua—licking his head and hands, comforting him.

Advay had tripped over Joshua in the dark, landing hard on the floor. If it had been anyone else, Joshua might have snapped. But for Advay, he showed nothing but care. In that moment, I knew my fears were unfounded. Joshua had chosen to love our son, fully and without hesitation.

That night, I felt a quiet relief settle over me. Joshua had found his place in this new family, not as a jealous older sibling but as a gentle protector, willing to share the love and attention he had once had all to himself.

And just like that we had learnt our eighth lesson as a pet parent. Never underestimate the maturity of a dog. They are more intelligent and sensitive than you think.

In the years that followed, Advay and Joshua grew into a bond that was uniquely theirs. Joshua wasn’t the kind of dog he could cuddle with or hold close. He kept his space, sometimes reminding Advay who was the elder, but he was always there, watching from nearby. And Advay loved him for it—understanding, even as a young boy, that their bond didn’t need constant affection to be strong.

I was proud of both for accepting this relationship with such grace. There was no struggle, no sense of wanting more.

With a toddler in the house, time moved quickly. Days blurred into months, and before we knew it, two years had passed in what felt like a blink. But life has a way of surprising us, and I was about to face some of my toughest years. Joshua, now nine, was beginning to show signs of age. His health started to decline, small issues creeping up as the years caught up with him.

It was a hard time, not just because of Joshua’s health but because life, in general, seemed to weigh heavier. But it’s in these moments that we find the strength of our connections tested, and for me, it was also the beginning of something new. During those tough years, I found solace in writing. What started as a way to process everything eventually led to something I’d never imagined—writing a book. And, in many ways, Joshua had a hand in guiding me there.

His presence, his quiet strength through it all, became a source of inspiration I hadn’t anticipated.

To be continued …

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 4

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 9-Min Read

I remember a night before Joshua, before Kavita, and before I had developed my love for dogs. I was walking back to my PG after dinner with my roommate. It was late, and back then, Bangalore’s streets were quieter, less chaotic. On our way back, just a little over a kilometer from the restaurant, a dog began to follow us. My roommate, uneasy, tried to shoo it away, but the dog kept pace, undeterred. This troubled him to the point where he picked up a stone, ready to throw it. That irked me.

I stopped him, though he was clearly upset. In his mind, he was just protecting himself. But I didn’t buy it. I wasn’t a dog lover at the time, but something in me believed that the dog meant no harm. My roommate, however, didn’t share my conviction. What started as a disagreement quickly escalated into a heated argument—one that nearly ended in a fistfight.

But then, something shifted. I managed to find the words that diffused the tension. I didn’t want to fight him; he was much younger, and I understood his fear. But I also wasn’t willing to back down. So, in that tense moment, I simply said, “If the dog wanted to hurt us, it would have done so long before you picked up that stone. We wouldn’t have stood a chance. But it chose not to. Maybe it was just hungry, maybe all it wanted was a biscuit or some leftovers.”

It was past midnight, but those words seemed to reach him. Nirmal, the boy who had almost punched me just moments earlier, understood. He hugged me and said, “Sid, you say things well. I am sorry.”

And just like that, the tension melted away. That night, a small part of me began to understand something about dogs—their vulnerability, their simple needs. A lesson that would take root, only to bloom fully when Joshua came into my life.

***

There were moments during Joshua’s first year and a half when I hated him for the violence he unleashed out of fear. The mess he created—both mental and physical—took us a long time to clean up. Yet, even in those dark times, when I spat expletives in his direction, I couldn’t overlook the goodness in him. It was there, undeniable, shining through, even if I’d been blind. But my most bitter words were always reserved for the person who had mutilated his tail. Man, woman, transgender, or alien—whoever did that to him, I can never forgive.

This part of his story also must be told, because, just like humans, no animal is purely black or white. We are all driven by the same instinct to survive. And Joshua’s story isn’t only about his trauma. His scars cannot steal the spotlight from who he truly was—the loving, caring, and fiercely loyal companion we came to know.

***

Many of you must be wondering why I thought of Joshua as an alien dog. Well, there were two reasons. First, I always believed he had the most advanced sixth sense when it came to reading human minds. He always knew exactly what we were up to, and if our plans didn’t align with his, he’d somehow find a way to counter them. It was as if he could read our thoughts. Even if he didn’t understand a word we said, he grasped our intentions perfectly.

The second reason was his insatiable appetite. Joshua was the biggest foodie I’ve ever known—not just in how much he could eat, but what he could eat. Burgers, rolls, biryani, kebabs, socks, shoes, toys, even mattresses—he devoured it all. After that terrifying incident as a puppy when he became severely dehydrated, it seemed like his gut became invincible. It felt like he could even eat tungsten and not burp.

In Joshua’s first two years, going out without him felt like playing a game of chess. We had to outthink him, not just fool him. If we changed our clothes, spoke differently, packed bags, or behaved the least bit suspicious, he would instantly sense that we were planning to leave him behind. His final move was always a dash for the door, and no matter how carefully we planned, he’d outsmart us. What followed was always a chase, with the whole neighborhood soon aware that our dog had escaped. That was his way of saying, “Take me with you!”

Back then, we didn’t have a car and ride-hailing services like Ola and Uber didn’t exist. Most auto drivers wouldn’t allow a dog in their vehicle. But we eventually found a few who would. We took their phone numbers and called them whenever we needed a ride. Those were Joshua’s happiest days. He loved feeling the wind in his fur, just like any lab. He adored the tuk-tuks so much that when we went on walks, if he saw one, he’d try to hop in, not realizing that not all autos were for him.

But the mind reader used his super-power for our good as well. Sometimes, I felt Joshua knew us better than we knew ourselves. He had an uncanny ability to sense our pain. Whether it was Kavita, me, or her roommates, he’d never leave our side when we were sad—even if we tried to fake it, he always knew. He wouldn’t be in our face, just quietly nearby, offering silent comfort. And when we finally snapped out of it, he’d pull off something mischievous, instantly lifting our spirits. He wasn’t just a goofy dog; he was clever, almost sneaky, and always seemed to know exactly what we needed.

Joshua the foodie was a worthy rival to Joshua the mind reader. One particular day stands out. Kavita had packed chicken rolls for Aditi and me. I devoured mine the moment she arrived. Aditi, however, decided to take a bath first and enjoy her Kolkata Kathi roll later, at her leisure. The only flaw in that plan was that Joshua had already locked in on his target. By the time she came back, the hot, delicious roll had disappeared. Joshua was sitting there, licking his paws, while we searched for the missing roll—through the kitchen, the packets, everywhere. It took us a while to realize that the reason he was licking his paws was because he had eaten it.

About a month later, Kavita invited some friends over for dinner. She had an elaborate menu planned. A big bag of groceries came home that day, including a kilo of paneer meant to become a rich Palak Paneer dish. Instead, it made its way down Joshua’s throat, the entire block gone in the blink of an eye. It was as if he’d performed a magic trick, one second it was there, the next it was gone.

There were countless more episodes like this over the years. To be honest, we didn’t make too much of them. When we look back now, we laugh, just like we did then—though back then, the laughter often came after a good bit of frustration.

Our marriage was on the horizon, and Joshua had just turned two. Given his history, I was anxious about how our families would react to him. To be honest, he was no saint. If he wanted something, he would find a way to get it. He was stubborn and disciplining him wasn’t for everyone. But in the end, it was all about earning his trust.

In November 2010, we got married. It wasn’t exactly smooth sailing with our parents, who took turns staying with us for months at a time. Neither my in-laws nor my parents were dog lovers. In fact, my parents had an aversion to dogs. But they soon realized Joshua wasn’t just a dog—he held a special place in our home. Over time, they learned to manage their fear and earn his trust. This was laudable. There were minor hiccups along the way, but nothing we couldn’t handle.

The same could be said for some of our friends. A few had a deep-rooted fear of dogs. Inviting them over for house parties often meant locking Joshua in a room. But Joshua had no interest in being shut away. He loved people, and he especially loved food. If we made the mistake of locking him up, he’d bark non-stop until we had no choice but to let him out. After a few drinks, my once-fearful friends could be found petting him, and within a year, they were cuddling, hugging, and even sleeping next to him at parties. By the next morning, their fear of dogs would miraculously return. I’d pull out photos from the previous night if they started putting on a show about being afraid.

In all of this, Joshua was the biggest winner. He got everyone’s attention—and, of course, their food. Many of these friends of mine are now settled elsewhere, but whenever we connect over phone there is always a talk on Joshua. Those are the memories he has left behind.

When we first got married, Kavita and I became pros at packing and moving, thanks to constant job changes. One of those moves landed us in a quiet, two-story villa in a serene little colony. The peace didn’t last long, though—Joshua saw to that.

He arrived after we’d moved most of our things, and the minute he hopped out of the auto, he locked onto a target. A poor little male stray. Before we knew it, Joshua—leashed, freed himself—launched into a full-on chase. The stray dove into a dry ditch, and thank goodness, we managed to drag Joshua back just before things could escalate.

Of course, the whole colony was out by then, stray dogs barking in a chorus that shook the neighborhood. And just like that, we were famous—for all the wrong reasons. The residents weren’t exactly thrilled to meet us.

However, after a few months, things calmed down. The neighbors adjusted to life with our “resident alien.” But there was something else on the way. A baby. Joshua was about to have a kid brother!

To be continued …

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Sector 36: A Gripping Descent into the Mind of a Psychopath and the System that Breed Them

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 3-Min Read

Sector 36 delivers one of the most gripping and unsettling police interrogation scenes in recent Hindi cinema. While Kannada film Shakhahaari featured something similar, Sector 36 manages to manifest itself into something more powerful. The film rests squarely on the shoulders of its lead actors, particularly Vikrant Massey, whose portrayal of the villain is nothing short of transformative. Massey inhabits the despicable character, Prem, with chilling precision, delivering a gut-wrenching, blood-curdling performance that serves as an acting masterclass. It’s the kind of performance that industry heavyweights could learn from. The confrontation between the hero and villain in this scene is intense, raw, and unforgettable.

The film isn’t built on intricate plot twists, grand reveals, or mysteries. From the very start, the film sets the audience’s expectations—it’s not about the story, but about the characters. This is a purely character-driven narrative, and that’s where its real power lies. The writing makes it clear that the plot is secondary, guiding viewers to focus on the complexities of the individuals on screen. We’re drawn in not by what happens, but by who it happens to, and how these deeply flawed characters navigate a corrupt system and each other.

Sector 36 is not just an investigative thriller; it’s a deep dive into the mind of a psychopath and an indictment of the system that fosters such monstrosities. The film paints a picture of a corrupt, decaying society, one that becomes a breeding ground for these individuals to thrive. As Vikrant Massey explained in an interview with Baradwaj Rangan, Ramcharan Pandey (played by an excellent Deepak Dobriyal), the flawed hero of the story, mirrors society itself—he remains passive until the problem lands on his doorstep. This, Massey argues, reflects our collective psyche, where we remain indifferent until the crisis becomes personal.

The film also deftly tackles socio-economic disparity, highlighting how these inequalities fuel the crimes we see. The privileged are conditioned to believe that these problems belong to “others”—until they, too, are forced to confront the reality. This nuanced commentary is skillfully woven into the narrative, conveyed through the film’s rich, layered characters. Sector 36 is as much a character study as it is a societal critique, delivered through powerful performances that elevate the film’s underlying message.

Verdict:

IMDb – 7.5/10
My rating – 4/5

You can watch Sector 36 on Netflix.

***

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Hail-Tailed Alien – Part 3

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 7-Min Read

Of all the chapters in Joshua’s life, this is the one I’ve dreaded writing. But without it Joshua’s story would be terribly incomplete.

***

At 4 months, Joshua was a ball of energy—wild, playful, and unstoppable. If you’ve seen Marley & Me, you’ll understand. That dog in the movie? That was Joshua. When we watched the film, Joshua was 6 months old, and we couldn’t believe how much he resembled the lead character. By the end of the movie, we were in tears, emotional wrecks.

We got home and hugged Joshua, apologizing for not understanding his boundless energy. He was completely unfazed. I think he knew his parents were the type to get caught up in stories rather than reality. With a ball in his mouth, he snapped us out of our emotions and pulled us back into playtime. That’s who he was—living in the moment, never burdened by our overreactions.

After that rainy night, we realized we needed someone to care for Joshua when we weren’t home. Luckily, our housemaid, Bhagyamma, stepped in. She wasn’t afraid of dogs—in fact, she adored Joshua. It was a perfect arrangement since she lived on the ground floor of our apartment, which made it easy for her to tend to her own matters if needed while still being available for him.

Over the next month, Bhagyamma looked after Joshua as if he were her own child. Every evening when we returned, she would excitedly share stories about his day—what he ate, how he played, and every little thing we might have missed. In those three or four months, if not for her, we wouldn’t have noticed how fast he was growing into an adult dog. She spoiled him without hesitation—massaging him, playing with him, and often hand-feeding him, something I’d scolded her for more than once.

But deep down, I knew Joshua was in good hands, and he loved her for it.

Then came the sly cat that changed everything. She appeared one day in our neighborhood, constantly lingering in Joshua’s line of sight. At first, we didn’t think much of it—just part of his socialization. We figured he’d get bored of barking at her. But one afternoon, everything shifted.

Kavita got a call at work. It was from our maid’s son, saying Joshua had bitten Bhagyamma, on the hand. Kavita rushed home, took her to the hospital, and ensured she got the medical care she needed. Bhagyamma, surprisingly, wasn’t too upset. She told us she had grabbed Joshua by the collar to stop him from barking at the cat. In his frenzy, he bit her without realizing what he was doing.

The guilt on Joshua’s face stayed with him all day. But for us, the event was a wake-up call. Was there something wrong with our dog? Could this have been the result of some hidden trauma? Or was it simply a mistake—an instinctual reaction, exacerbated by the maid’s decision to grab his collar when he was still building trust with her?

At the time, dog psychologists and behaviorists were almost unheard of in Bangalore. In 2008, we were mostly on our own. The little advice we got boiled down to being more vigilant and avoiding unnecessary risks.

That day, Joshua taught us another hard lesson: sometimes, even with love and care, things can go wrong. And it’s not always anyone’s fault. The thing that had me shocked was not the bite. But the violent nature of the act. No dog would bite the hand that fed it.

Taking Joshua for walks became increasingly difficult as he approached his first year. The moment we stepped onto the street, stray dogs would surround us, trailing behind until the walk was over. We couldn’t understand the issue. Joshua, on edge, would either mark territory every few meters or explode in rage if any male dogs got too close. In these fits of anger, he would sometimes snap at us, his frustration turning dangerously inward.

This routine became unbearable, so we sought help from a trainer. That’s when we learned our sixth lesson— a dog’s tail is more than just a part of its body; it’s a vital tool for communication. The way they wag, hold, or tuck their tail tells you everything about their emotions. Joshua’s half tail, which was always stuck in a horizontal position, made him an outcast. Other dogs couldn’t read his signals, which made them see him as a threat.

This was also when we learned our seventh lesson—the importance of understanding a dog’s breed. Every breed was created for a specific purpose. The trainer believed Joshua was a mix of a Labrador and a Boxer. Labs are retrievers, bred for their gentle nature, while Boxers are guard dogs, known for their protective instincts. But Boxers have another defining trait—a docked tail.

Things started to make sense. Joshua’s tail wasn’t lost in an accident with a door. It was docked by human hands in an act of cruelty when he was a puppy. This unnecessary trauma had scarred him for life, and the depth of that wound would become clearer in the months ahead.

Joshua was neutered the same year Kavita moved into a spacious two-story house in Koramangala with her batchmate and sister. The new setup seemed ideal—Joshua had more room and received plenty of attention. After the surgery, we noticed he seemed calmer. He wasn’t marking as much, and his frantic energy during walks had subsided. We thought we were past his behavioral issues, but then something unexpected happened.

One day, Kavita’s mother, seeing him resting on the sofa he now considered his territory, tried to pull him off by the collar. In an instant, Joshua lashed out. The bite was vicious, tearing into her flesh—his boxer instincts and strong jaws making the damage severe. When I arrived, there was blood on the floor, and Joshua was hiding behind the TV cabinet, shaking. I rushed her mother to the hospital, and though her physical wounds healed in a month, the emotional scars were deep. For the first time, I felt afraid of him, unsure if he could do more harm. Yet, we still didn’t fully understand what had triggered this.

A few months later, another incident occurred. I was at Kavita’s place one Saturday, waiting for her to return from work. Her roommates were in their rooms when suddenly, I heard two screams—first Joshua, then Aditi, Kavita’s sister. I ran upstairs and found an all-too-familiar scene: blood on the floor and Joshua looking guilty. Aditi had accidentally stepped on him while he slept beside the bed, and he had bitten her leg in response.

At the hospital, as I sat reflecting on everything, it finally made sense. Joshua’s violent reactions weren’t out of aggression—they were from fear. Something terrible had happened to him as a puppy, likely while he was asleep. I began to suspect that his tail had been cruelly docked during sleep, leaving him traumatized.

In the wild, a fearful animal can be far more dangerous than an angry one. We had to help him, face this fear with him—there was no abandoning him. He had only us.

To be continued …

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 2

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 4-Min Read

“You don’t own a dog. You have a dog. And the dog has you.” – Unknown

Joshua was around 35 days old when we brought him home. At the time, Kavita and I weren’t married yet; that was still two years away. He was my Friendship Day gift to her. Since she had a dog growing up, I was sure she’d be the better pet parent in those early days. Plus, she had a roommate who was just as eager to spoil him.

From the moment he stepped into her flat, Joshua acted like he already knew the place. He sniffed around, explored every corner, used the bathroom for his first pee, then came right back to sit beside us. It was seamless. There was no hesitation, no fear—it felt like he was always meant to be with us.

In the coming weeks Joshua’s bond with Kavita grew stronger. She pampered him, often treating him like a human baby, which led to arguments between us. I always believed in respecting the animal for what it is, but that idea never quite stuck with her. It still doesn’t!

My 25th birthday passed by. We had a gala time. Joshua was the center of attention that day. No surprises there. But our lessons as pet parents were still due.

Three weeks after bringing him home, we faced our first hard lesson as pet parents—puppies may look sturdy, but they can be as fragile as human babies. He ate something bad, and by nightfall, he was vomiting repeatedly. We consulted a vet we knew, but it didn’t help, and somehow, we made it through the night. The next morning, Joshua was barely conscious. We rushed him to the vet and were told that if we had been just half-an-hour late, he wouldn’t have survived. “A dog doesn’t die of hunger, but it can die of dehydration within hours,” the vet explained.

Thankfully, we were just in time. Joshua was put on drips, and after a few hours, he came around. As soon as he recovered, he was back to his usual self, getting into everything he could. That’s when we learned our second lesson—dogs don’t dwell on what happened. They live fully in the moment, no matter what they’ve been through.

A month passed, and Joshua’s vaccinations were complete. He was ready for his first real walks. Until then, we’d only taken him to the terrace of our building, where he smelled the world from afar. Now it was time for him to truly experience it. Feisty as ever, he was eager to explore. But there was a problem. None of the dogs—stray or otherwise—would tolerate him. He’d go into a frenzy at their rejection, and we couldn’t understand why. The truth would reveal itself much later.

But before that, we faced two unforgettable shocks. The first came on a night when the rain refused to stop. Joshua had been staying at my apartment for a few days, as he often did on weekends. I figured he’d be comfortable even when I was at work. But, of course, he was still just a puppy.

Here’s the third lesson we learned as pet parents—dogs have a far better sense of hearing than humans. To Joshua, every thunderclap must have sounded like a bomb. I discovered this the hard way when I returned home late, around 10 p.m. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by a terrible stench. I frantically searched for Joshua, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, in the bedroom, I found my king-sized mattress lying on the floor, a large chunk of it chewed to pieces. There were paw prints on the walls, streaked with dog poop—the source of the smell. Great artwork! But where was the little rascal? After a frantic search, I found him hiding beneath the mattress, his mischievous eyes gleaming even as he lay exhausted. It took Kavita and me two hours to clean up the mess he’d caused. That night, we learned our fourth lesson—a three-month-old puppy can cause an astonishing amount of damage, and Labradors suffer from separation anxiety. Joshua needed company when we were out.

We soon found someone to look after him, but that led to our fifth lesson—the psychological scars of his half-tail. We discovered that dogs, too, carry trauma. And sometimes, their wounds run deeper than we can see.

To be continued …

***

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 1

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 3 Min Read

I was convinced that Joshua was an alien dog. From a few months into having him until the day he died, I was sure of it. I even called him that. Before bedtime, I’d often tell my son a story about how a spaceship dropped this odd creature on our planet, and we were the crazy ones who picked him up. Joshua was my ET dog.

But there was something else that made him special—his half tail.

***

We met the “alien dog” at the pet market in Shivajinagar, Bangalore. Puppies were on display in huge baskets, cramped together like soft toys. Back then, our understanding of animal cruelty was still immature. My wife and I were like naive kids, wandering through a candy store, overwhelmed by all the choices. The market was a sensory overload, with cute eyes staring at us from every shop. Each puppy seemed to be desperately looking for a home.

In the midst of it all, we noticed a small cage beside one of the shops. Inside was a little puppy with unforgettable marble-like eyes. When I put my finger through the railing, he eagerly nibbled on it as if it were a treat. He was desperate to get out.

I asked the shopkeeper to take him out of the cage. The moment he was free, he ran all over the place. The other puppies made space for him, wanting nothing to do with his energy. “Which breed?” I asked. “Labrador,” the shopkeeper replied. The puppy had half a tail, and that was impossible to miss. “Why does he have half a tail?” I inquired. “It was an accident. A door slammed on it,” the shopkeeper said. The explanation seemed absurd, but my wife and I exchanged knowing glances. Whether the story was true or not, one thing was clear—this little guy would have a tough time finding a home with that half tail.

We kept looking at each other, silently negotiating. He was the cutest, most spirited dog we had seen. And he had chosen us. Unlike the others, who were all vying for attention, he never left our side. He’d run around, but always came back to settle at our feet. Finally, my wife broke the silence, “Can we take him home?” I was relieved to hear it.

We took him home in a small cardboard box filled with cotton. I remember the date clearly—August 3, 2008, the first Sunday of August. Friendship Day.

Your first dog is always special because nothing prepares you for what is to come. It’s like having your first child. We were on that road of unexpected surprises and this rascal would teach us how to be a pet parent and mad dog lovers.

To be continued …

About the author

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

Flavor Foragers | Intro | Our Home Cooking Channel

Hello fellow bloggers,

My wife and I are embarking on a culinary adventure. Something that’s been on our minds forever. A culinary channel on YouTube (Link below) –
Food is home. Food is travel. Food is memory. Food is flavor. We are foraging for those flavors and those memories. Join us ‘Flavor Foragers’ on this culinary adventure, as we try to recreate dishes that evoke fond memories of aromas, textures and tastes, that have tantalized not just our tongues but also our minds.
Every dish that has a legacy, has a story, not just about the way it is prepared but also about the way it is relished. We want to bring these food stories, experiences and recipes to life while adding our own touch to these dishes that have stood the test of time.
Please do subscribe to our channel to support us and to know more about this culinary journey.
Our first video is a dish that is a favorite of Kolkatans. A biriyani that has as rich a history as taste. (find the link below)
Thanks,
Sid