The echoes of Holi

We lost Holi, our beloved Labrador, through a quirk of fate, leaving us bereft and bewildered. Though four years have passed and we have learnt to live without her, she is always there in our minds, in the framed photograph on the mantel, the long leash that still hangs from the wall, and the bark of every dog we can hear anywhere.

I remember her white and beautiful with a cocky plume in her tail and her wake-up call every morning. Her limpid brown eyes would be alight with joy, and her sprightliness welcomed the day in anticipation.

She waited for her biscuit in the morning; she enjoyed her midday meal with great relish. She led you to her leash, asking for a walk, and went prancing up the garden path looking for adventure, sniffing in the grass and running all over the place with abandon. She looked at the rising sun, and she growled in good humour at her reflection in the waters of the little stream. For her, this was her life in familiar environs with someone she loved faithfully and devotedly.

To sit with her on quiet evenings even as she lazed at my feet was an exquisite experience: "to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace”.

What makes a dog happy just to be loved and her presence valued? What makes her so happy, without jealousy or discontent the entire day with its daily ritual of a walk, mealtime, and a few kind words and caresses? She seeks no change, no variety, no freedom from boredom in her selfsame, everyday Sisyphean life, where everything is known and loved because it is known. Nothing is hoped for, nothing anticipated, no fear for the future, no unhappiness for the past, only a life in the present.

Friends were welcomed with an appreciative wag of the tail, and strangers she was wary of, not for herself but for those she considered her bounden duty to protect. I looked at my grandson of three years and grieved over the fact that he would never know Holi as he looked at her photo and mouthed softly, “Holi didi.”

Having lost her, I lost my best friend, her solicitude and empathy in times of distress, and her love that was ours all the time. Just as I exulted in her coming, I mourn her passing. We understand everything comes only to go, nothing lasts, and everybody leaves, but this inherited wisdom does not help, and we are consumed by pain and devastated at what has taken place. The humbling realisation that grief is the great denominator, freeing people from hierarchy, as we all grieve the same way. There are no heroes in grief. Anatole France says, ”Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” Some presences are irreplaceable; only memories keep us afloat.