The Dogs of Vienna

It was a mystery to Sriram how and when the dogs in Vienna got their shit on the sidewalk.

He saw a lot of dogs and he saw a lot of their dinner ending up on the sidewalk, after having - from the looks of it - passed thoroughly through the whole circuit of canine gastric juices. But try as he might he had never in his time in Vienna caught a dog in the act. In Bombay all Sriram had to do to catch animal life in action was go to Flora Fountain to see armies of weak horses lugging mysteriously happy couples in loud and tall carriages. The people looked thrilled to be so close to each other as the wind went gently by while the horse's hooves rattled on the tar and the owners whipped and whistled and annoyed everyone out of the way.

Those horses shat where they stood; though they hardly ever stood still they managed to leave their traces on the streets where they pulled their weight. To Sriram, the horses appeared self-conscious as they participated unwillingly in someone else's idea of romance; they never made eye-contact with anyone and stared worriedly at a distant pasture beyond the reach of ordinary imagination. Unlike the dogs in Vienna, who only looked morose, the horses in Bombay always seemed anxious to Sriram; he supposed that being stuck at a job where you had an easy day only if no one was exhibiting enough love would keep you worried about the state of the world. But through it all, Sriram thought with some pride, the horses kept their dignity. Secure in the knowledge that they helped the world go round, no one objected to their leaving a little shit in their wake.

But not so the dogs in Vienna. Sriram desperately wished he could convince a few that they were important in the general scheme of things but Sriram didn't speak the necessary dialect and in any case the dogs didn't bark back. Any communication with the dogs was accomplished by looking and looking away. At times Sriram got so melancholy he could cough and smoke a pipe. It was in Vienna that he started having his dreams in inversion. While he was awake, Sriram dreamt his bad dreams, the kind that let psychoanalysts afford elegant offices. On his short walks to the subway station or the cafeteria he dreamt he was falling, but falling calmly. Some days he would be in the elevator and dream that he did not have his trousers on. The net effect was that Sriram walked as if he was on the edge of a tall building, fearful a strong wind would send him sprawling to the concrete below. In the elevator, he constantly looked down at his shoes and checked his belt in self-conscious anxiety. (So that is why the horses looked away or down to the earth at nothing in particular, Sriram thought, they are always uncertain if they are naked and if it is all right to be.)

Sriram was constantly surprised that people in Vienna greeted him in the elevator. By the time he looked up the moment had passed, the time was over and he found he had nothing more to say. On the days he knew who greeted him, he would be late with his response and a fit of despair would seize him. What does it take to respond automatically and naturally to a hello, he wondered.

What does it take to stay awake.

At nights, Sriram dreamt he was at his desk analysing business processes and finishing assigned tasks briskly. In these dreams Sriram got along splendidly with the rest of the elevator. He refused to greet in any other language but English as he was certain that learning to greet in a foreign language was more accommodating than we need to be. His English response was sure, correct and immediate. The rest of the elevator could often read the day in his voice: crisp if the day was full; full if the day promised to end early. In his dreams Sriram always walked with his shoulders square and with his eyes as friendly as a thick door. Traffic lights changed for him. Strangers passed forlornly by. In his dreams Sriram's actions had a finality which begged work off his desk and freed him to look at what his boss called The Big Picture. Sriram, his boss called him over, we need to get familiar with the Big Picture. Do you think you can have a look at it?

But of course Sriram could have a look at it; he was wearing his crisp voice and his impossible nothing-is-impossible smile. It was disquieting to see him peer at the future like he couldn't wait to meet it again. Even though in this version of him he was well equipped to win all his battles, this Sriram was never troubled by notions of victory and defeat. While his focus was admirable, his detachment deprived him of the ruthlessness needed to get ahead. The real Sriram was forever in doubt about ambitions and progress and in his uncertainty made the right decisions. Or at least the right mistakes, the kind that annihilated entire cities for the greater good.

Sriram woke from his dreams instantly. He did not linger in the grey areas between darkness and light. He left no time for his guardian angel to pass the baton to whoever was in charge of his day; he was on his own till the night sank around him again. In a deep forgotten way Sriram knew he had no safety net. What people thought was his unwillingness to let go was just him watching out for random accidents to leap out of unseen corners and disturb the natural rhythm he thought the universe kept. While he checked the doorways for bandits or bombs, people assumed he was being alert or naturally curious. He was not. How does one learn to walk carelessly these days, Sriram despaired. There were so many things waiting to go wrong that it was a wonder to him that he learnt to walk at all. The fact that he had gotten through his childhood without pox and acne was to him a sign that bigger disasters waited. That pickpockets hadn't stripped him clean on one of his careless days did not cause him relief. Instead, he anxiously waited for the Law of Averages to make its way down to his name on the list. His education brought to his purview newer dangers to watch for. Sriram hated inflation, stock market volatility and other booby-traps he was helpless against. He knew that his ability to understand the dangers did not guarantee him security; he felt like a shepherd who had spotted a dragon lazily flying above the farm. What could you do but stand still and hope it flew past you? Sriram suspected that dogs in Vienna sniffed at remote corners and strange legs out of the same nervous need to know that there are no hidden blackholes through which the planet could slip and lose its way. No wonder they looked morose; shiny healthy coats and black button noses were fine for cold weather and icy winds but offered no protection against merciless chance.

Sriram's uncertainties served him in many ways. Being doomed to be able to see all viewpoints, his flailing efforts at trying to get to a conclusion were often mistaken as an healthy attempt to bring perspective. When Sriram did take a stand, he was appalled to find he sounded like a Communist or a Critic; that is not me, he was certain. Trapped in motion, never sure where the land was, Sriram ended up steering everyone in a general direction through a force of logic he did not fully understand. Sriram wasn't sure where it all led; but was happy to go along since everyone seemed satisfied as long as they named the destination Paradise.

Sriram's version of paradise was a pretty simple affair: a pasture beyond the reach of ordinary imagination where horses looked wistful, dogs waited for you to bark back greetings in elevators and dragons flew by while you watched. Sriram was appalled the dogs in Vienna weren't there already. If being healthy but miserable wasn't enough to get you in, really, he wondered, what does it take to get to Paradise?