February the Fourteenth

This morning, I went for a spirited, revitalizing jog in the Osho garden. (A moment to bring everyone’s attention to the word ‘jogged’. I ‘jogged’ – that is, I ran like an intoxicated duckling. I didn’t just perambulate like a sleepy drop of molasses around South Koregaon as some people think I do.) Anyway, after my aforementioned stint of blood rushing exercise, I perambulated like a sleepy drop of molasses around South Koregaon.

Now, South Koregaon has some lovely, plush bungalows. Gardens with marble statues and sofa-sized swings upholstered in peach chintz. White wrought iron furniture. Long driveways and arches. Manicured lawns fringed with delicate blossoms. And my favorite – marble name plates that say, ‘Poona’, instead of Pune. Houses with vintage je ne sais quoi where breeding rubs off on the pedigreed canines. They cover their mouths with their paws when they cough and strut around as if on high-heels. I’m sure they all have Burberry raincoats for the monsoon.

Anyway, outside one such house stood a black and white striped squirrel. At 7:30 in the morning, it was indeed bright eyed and bushy tailed. I was happy to note that it had been depicted so correctly in Enid Blyton books. The squirrel was looking up at the huge, black iron gate very fixedly. It seemed to be reading the sign, ‘Beware of Dog’. Then it looked about and on finding nobody to share a moment with, looked at the sign again. It scratched its head. Surely the sign couldn’t be for it, could it? Maybe the flurry of furry didn’t quite understand what ‘Beware’ meant. It looked about again, flicking its tuffy tail. It blinked. It rubbed it’s bright, round nose. It smoothed its hair and ran its paws over its chubby cheeks.

Then it gave the sign one last glance and went in through the little flap door of the gate.

I’ll just put it down to young love.

Happy Valentine’s Day, all.