<p>Arming himself with a prod like cart men do while driving bullock carts in sleepy villages and with a big polythene slack slung guardedly over his shoulder as if it contains a mini supermarket of goodies, the rag picker makes his appearance everyday with a cosmic punctuality on my early morning walking route. <br /><br /></p>.<p>A wiry man dressed in a faded shirt and a dhoti folded up carelessly to remain at half mast over his spindly legs to facilitate unhindered mobility, he goes about his job looking for what he wants mostly from dustbins. On spotting his object of quest, he lances it like a hunter harpooning a whale on the high seas.<br /><br />Not without reason the dogs start barking at him. Since the throaty and quarrelsome quadrupeds of a particular street have by an unknown charter territorial monopoly of roaming, sleeping , howling, pooping or biting any ankle at will, they do not like an intruder who does not walk straight along the road but moves hither and thither looking for things on the streets. Any resident dog, even a domicile, would agree that it would be difficult to predict whether the man with the big bag will pick up a piece of paper or a half brick missile.<br /><br />The fear is also deep seated for the rag pickers' movements may be akin to those canny dog catchers employed by civic authorities who look for them in corners hidden by a dustbin. There seems to be some sort of a network of jungle telegraph among the dogs who convey by word ( rather howl ) of mouth of the impending intruder. Spot decisions will be taken if they should resort to defence by running away if the dog van has been reported or to offence should a dog picker has infiltrated into their sovereign territory.<br /><br />I go for the morning walk bleary-eyed, no doubt, propelled by my doctor and compelled by my magisterial wife so I can off load on the way the over-the- limit excess of lipids--bad cholesterol, triglycerides and the resultant bulge in the middle. <br />As I see the rag picker dipping his stick or even his hands into the yucky dustbin picking germs, viruses, bugs and such, I cannot but wonder the cross purposes of such morning outings by two different human beings. Odd, to think of it, but is not life full of such oddities?<br /></p>
<p>Arming himself with a prod like cart men do while driving bullock carts in sleepy villages and with a big polythene slack slung guardedly over his shoulder as if it contains a mini supermarket of goodies, the rag picker makes his appearance everyday with a cosmic punctuality on my early morning walking route. <br /><br /></p>.<p>A wiry man dressed in a faded shirt and a dhoti folded up carelessly to remain at half mast over his spindly legs to facilitate unhindered mobility, he goes about his job looking for what he wants mostly from dustbins. On spotting his object of quest, he lances it like a hunter harpooning a whale on the high seas.<br /><br />Not without reason the dogs start barking at him. Since the throaty and quarrelsome quadrupeds of a particular street have by an unknown charter territorial monopoly of roaming, sleeping , howling, pooping or biting any ankle at will, they do not like an intruder who does not walk straight along the road but moves hither and thither looking for things on the streets. Any resident dog, even a domicile, would agree that it would be difficult to predict whether the man with the big bag will pick up a piece of paper or a half brick missile.<br /><br />The fear is also deep seated for the rag pickers' movements may be akin to those canny dog catchers employed by civic authorities who look for them in corners hidden by a dustbin. There seems to be some sort of a network of jungle telegraph among the dogs who convey by word ( rather howl ) of mouth of the impending intruder. Spot decisions will be taken if they should resort to defence by running away if the dog van has been reported or to offence should a dog picker has infiltrated into their sovereign territory.<br /><br />I go for the morning walk bleary-eyed, no doubt, propelled by my doctor and compelled by my magisterial wife so I can off load on the way the over-the- limit excess of lipids--bad cholesterol, triglycerides and the resultant bulge in the middle. <br />As I see the rag picker dipping his stick or even his hands into the yucky dustbin picking germs, viruses, bugs and such, I cannot but wonder the cross purposes of such morning outings by two different human beings. Odd, to think of it, but is not life full of such oddities?<br /></p>
