Mother Cow, gentle and serene, part of the Indian urban scene. Providing thick milk for our masala chai.
She wanders through hectic thoroughfares, oblivious to the madness around her, her saggy skin reveals her ribs below, like the canvas of a tent thrown loosely over its poles. Tuk tuks and rickshaws swerve past her as she continues to totter along nonchalantly on her daily round. Knobbly knees as she waddles across the street.
She skilfully manages to work her expectant face through the crowd and waits patiently for leftovers from the samosa stall. She knows what she's due. She knows she reigns supreme and she knows where she's going, so get outta her way! Something I learn the hard way when charged at in a dark city alley by a herd of bulls startled by a stray firework.
Passing pedestrians brush past the bumped holy creature, often giving her a tender stroke or caress, perhaps even stopping to whisper a prayer to the sweet speckled creature.
After passing the day wandering the city streets this homing cow can somehow find her way home in the evening to her owner. Invisible Urban Farmer.
Like many things Indian a strange accepted system that actually works through the chaos – an urban cattle system complete with grazing patterns, ownership and milking. Also aiding a curious city ecosystem where cows scavenge like rats begging and digesting discarded food and shred cardboard boxes.
Her water buffalo cousins gather at the Ganga for their daily bathing ritual in the holy river. Bringing good luck to festivals and holy occasions, particularly the five legged variety who is worshipped for her strange deformity, adorned with jolly orange decoration and groomed by a holy man.
Kill a cow and you go to prison.
0 comments:
Post a Comment