How did my family and dogs always seem to get along so well? Our village deity is ‘Kala Bhairavar,’ whose vahana (vehicle) is a dog. Could this have been the influence? I’ve never been able to figure it out.

My first introduction to these friendly and faithful creatures was far from perfect. In fact, it was so unfriendly that it almost shook my faith in dogs entirely. My mother had a childhood friend who lived near Gemini Studios. This friend had an adopted daughter, and it seems we were mutually infatuated with each other. We were both teenagers—I was 14, though I never knew her age. She was studying at Church Park Convent. With my mother's permission, I once visited her house on my own. As I knocked and entered, a huge Alsatian with bared teeth and a nerve-racking growl pounced on me. Being a tiny guy, I was easily overpowered by this elephant-sized dog, who seemed intent on harming a boy foolish enough to try to befriend his master’s daughter. How could I have known?

Luckily, the girl's mother, herself a formidable figure, came to my rescue. Moving at what seemed like a crawling speed to my horror, she eventually managed to rein in this tiger-like dog. His name was Bullet. That day marked the end of the budding friendship and infatuation—an unrealized rose that never fully blossomed.

From that day onward, even the sight of a dog from a mile away would make my legs shaky and my heart race. A similar experience happened to me in Delhi when a not-so-big dog, but with clear intentions of tearing me apart, charged at me during a visit to a friend’s house. That dog came from the opposite house. I think I’ve mentioned this story before.

Later, after securing a permanent job, I got the chance to play table tennis. Who could afford a table at home back then? But my workplace had one. My father had been an excellent table tennis player, having ruled the tables in Delhi during the 1950s. Some of his skills must have rubbed off on me. Like a hungry man devouring food, I eagerly took to the game. Until that point, I had never had the chance to play on a real table tennis board. My friend and I would play until 9 p.m., after which I had a long 11 km journey home.

But the real challenge awaited me after I got off the bus. The final 300-yard walk home from the bus stop was plagued by at least a dozen barking dogs, all seemingly intent on destroying this late-night intruder. I would stand shivering at the bus stop, waiting for someone to offer me a lift. But none of the passing cyclists ever helped. Seeing me, they would pedal even faster, fearing some sort of assault. Reluctantly, I would walk home, half-closing my eyes and ears, with a thumping heart, hoping that ‘Kala Bhairavar’ would protect me.

Did I ever befriend them?

Continued in 160. Dogged Faith - Part 2