Monday, July 29, 2013

A sleeping ocean

'I was once a sleeping ocean and in a dream became jealous of a pond' - Saint Rabia

On a warm sunny evening while I was sitting in my backyard breathing in the clear sweet air which was filled with the perfume of the fresh green grass I happened to read these words in a book of poems written by saints across the ages and places. I read these words and smiled. A knowing smile that I knew existed in the depths of my being but lately had been buried under feelings and emotions of anxiety and hopelessness.

We are the ocean with all that we have. In the depths of our soul shine so many pearls of wisdom enclosed in the shells of challenges which we know as emotional pain and psychological troubles. Skillful opportunities masquerading as divers dive deep and far to seek these pearls and free them of the baggage of perceived troubles. Once each pearl is free it rises to the surface of our ocean waiting for the waves to bring them ashore. Once on the shore they are available for the world to benefit from. Those who are wise will seek the pearls from all the oceans and weave a necklace of experiences wearing it around their neck as a constant reminder of the various lessons each one offers.

We are the ocean who has much inside it to offer to ourselves and to others. But ever so often we forget our magnitude and drift off in a deep slumber of inaction. The winds of change stir our water the wrong way. In stead of beautiful soaring waves they create storms of loss and negativity. We get carried away in this illusion of doom and gloom. Our might and magnitude loses its value and everyone else appears better to us. This illusion lends to our dream a vision of falsehood which we are unable to see through. The dream is so real even a pond appears mightier. Other people appear to have it better than us or more than what we have to work with.

But what is a pond to an ocean? A drop at best. The dream can only last as long. The moment we smile that knowing smile that knows our own might we are free from the sleep. We are awake to our own potential and wisdom. There is no longer any reason to be jealous of any other pond and the depths of our souls is all we need to take on every opportunity.

We are to only look inside us for the treasures hidden. Only we have the potential to take us places we need to be. There is no reason to be jealous of any ponds for what is a pond to an ocean? A drop at best.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

A moth to a flame

It has been a long day. It has been snowing for weeks and the winter nights have been long and chilly. She has been looking all evening for a place to stay for the night. A place to rest her tired wings and get some warmth to soothe her aching muscles. Tomorrow will be another day and who knows what challenges that will bring. So tonight she needs to rest. Her eyes need to shut and her mind needs to drift to a faraway place. She looks ahead and darkness stares back at her. Her mind wants her to give up and let go. 'How long can we do this?' It asks her. Even her heart wants to rest. Take a break from the incessant agony of the long winter that it has been. Her eyes are closing and she is barely holding on. Her head turns slightly to the right and she sees a bright spot in the distance. Her eyes widen and her mind takes notice. She turns towards the light and moves towards it. Hope? Perhaps.

As she comes a little close to the light she becomes cautious and waits, staring ahead at it. The light in the darkness brings her some relief. She wants to soar and reach it as fast as possible but there is something holding her back. It that makes her wait instead. She cant put a finger on what it is but it makes her stop. The desires of her heart to reach the light makes her mind cautious. She treads lightly and softly towards the light. As the distance reduces, she can see better. She sees the light. She sees him. He is playing with the wind, moving in sharp movements to escape the winds wrath just in time. He knows the wind is mighty and can take him out in a second but he doesn't care. Some call him too reckless for a flame. Come to think of it, why would a candle flame tease the wind ? Living dangerously like he pleases? Perhaps, like they say 'Live on the edge or you are wasting space...'

He sees movement in the woods. He sees her floating in the evening sky. One look at her and his heart skips a beat. She looks like an angel gliding towards him. Her movements are like a little dance. She moves froward, stops mid air with her wings frantically fluttering to keep her in position like a ballerina pauses before the next move. He knows she is just a moth but there is nothing ordinary about her. He stops his play with the wind and calms down. He draws more energy from the wax and his light now shines brighter. There is a silence between them and it feels like the calm before a storm. Live on the edge...that appears to be taking a different meaning here. He invites her with more glow and warmth. He can see she is tired and needs to rest. He wants to help her and make her pain go away. He wants to make her smile. That is the only thought that crosses his mind. I have to make her smile, I have to see her smile.

As she approaches him her heart beats faster. The warmth she feels from him is just what she needs and her wings relax, but her hearth continues to pound inside her. They look at each other and say nothing. There is no need to say anything that their eyes have not conveyed. She needs what he has and he needs to give. He needs to see her smile.

She sits on the edge of a velvet couch that is next to the table he is on. The softness of the velvet with the warmth of the room lift her spirits. She takes a long breath, closes her eyes and her face relaxes into a smile. He sees that lets out a sigh. Make her smile...

Moments become hours. All they do is be. He shines for her and she rests.

The night melts away and gives way to the dawn. She wakes up and he is nowhere to be seen. The candle is cold and the sun will be out in a bit. 'I wish I could thank him', she thinks. She knows she has to go and meet the day for it is the nature of things. She has to keep moving. She wakes up and starts flying. Today is already better, warmer. The air is crisp and the sun is brighter. Everything looks bright and there is a hint of happiness. Is it the air or is it her? Is it him? She wonders. His thought makes her pause and she hopes she gets to see him again. The day progresses with normalcy. As the evening approaches she starts moving towards his house. As she approaches the window she sees him playing with the wind. Teasing it and moving away just in time when the wind lashes at him. He senses her presence in the woods and hopes she will come to him tonight. He pretends to ignore her and continues to play with the wind. He also shines a little brighter in the hope to attract her. It works for she comes to him and rests on the couch. She looks at him and smiles. He looks back and smiles. 'Long day?' he asks her. 'Long winter actually, and its just the beginning. Today was better though. I have to thank you for everything you did'. 'You are welcome', he says. Their first conversation. Not really, they said all there was to on the first night but no words were exchanged then. Words were not needed.

She leaves the following morning and he is gone again. They meet in the evening and let the night pass. They don't really speak much but words were never needed between them. The winter moves at a slow pace. He shines bright for her and she rests. Days become weeks and the winter becomes harsher.

One evening she is late. He can't focus and worries. Nothing interests him, not the wind nor other moths who frequent the place. Moments become hours and it is midnight when he finally sees her. She looks exhausted and weak. That worries him and he shines brighter in an attempt to make his warmth reach her faster. She comes to him and sits on the couch. His light is too bright and the warmth is too much for her. She moves away from him to the other couch which is at a distance from him. That worries him even more and he shines brighter so the warmth will reach her at the new distant location she is in. She feels it and looks at him. 'I am fine. It is ok', she says. He relaxes and the warmth reduces. He does not like the distance she has between them. It bothers him. She rests on the soft couch and in his warmth. The winter is getting harsher as it progresses. Today she had to battle with the winds and the snow storm. It is the nature of things. She cannot stay and not move. She has to face it and move ahead everyday. Tonight though, she needs to rest.

The following day another snow storm stares at her. He is gone again and she wishes the night was longer so she could rest longer. She picks herself up and moves ahead to face whatever the new day offers her. That evening she is late again and he is anxious. When he sees her approaching he is angry, impatient, relieved, happy and calm all at the same time. She looks exhausted and it hurts him. He knows he can make her smile and his desire to do that has never been stronger than what it is in this moment. She comes to him and sits on the couch. Her wings relax and her heavy breathing begins to slow down. His warmth makes her feel a little better, but does not make her smile. Today was a tough day. His desire to help her makes him impatient. I have to make her smile, she has to smile. Caught in this desire he draws more energy from the wax and shines brighter. The warmth explodes and she feels pain in her wings. She is startled and begins to move away. Her wings are hurt and burnt. She falls to the ground. She tries to get up and fails again. She cannot move. He sees her and realizes what has happened. He calms down and waits for her to move. His mind is blank and no thoughts appear. He waits with the hope that she will move.

Moments pass and she lies motionless. She is breathing softly but does not move. An hour later, she tries. Her wings hurt but she can get up and move a few inches. He looks at that and takes a breath. She moves again and flies a little further. She sits on the window far away from the warmth. He is relieved that she is alive but the memory of what happened a few hours ago comes back to him. He cannot understand why he did what he did and why did it happen that way. He wanted to make her smile and the warmth always made her smile. How did he overdo it? How did he not realize how strong he was and what her limits were? All he wanted to do is make her smile and take her pain away. How could he hurt her? How did that even happen? His darkness is darker than the deepest night.

It is early dawn and she is sitting by the window. The sun is not out yet and he is still there. She wants to move away from him. The pain is unbearable for her. All she wants to do is move away from him. She looks out the window and there is snow and wind. The outside looks rough to her but inside she feels trapped. She needs to decide where she can be. She lifts herself up and tries to fly out the window. Her wings have lost their strength and she falls down on the snow. It is cold and painful. He calls out to her to come back but she cannot hear him, the wind is blowing snow towards her. She picks herself up again and tries to fly. Her movements are slow but she moves ahead. It is the nature of things. She has to move.

The evening comes and goes but no sign of her. He waits for her or any news about her. Did she make it through the day? Does she hate him for hurting her? Does she know it was never his intention to hurt her, he could never do that? That he could give anything to bring her back? Make her smile...its all that matters to him. How could he? Just how could he?
All he has now are his thoughts, his memories of her and one question waiting for an answer - will I ever see her again?

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Coming to terms with it

Denial – it’s like one of those one way mirror glasses, which show you your reflection on one side but the other side is transparent and you can see through it all. If you are the one in denial, chances are you are standing on the side which shows you the reflection. You think you are the one with the correct point of view, perhaps have a sense of entitlement and genuinely believe that all is right in the world. You have a devil may care attitude and are making monkey faces at everyone. I mean, why make such a fuss about it all – right is right and other people just need to come to terms with it. You are thinking that its natural for the rest of the world to take time to notice great ideas and your’s is one such case. You are waiting for the rest of them to catch up. The rest of the world on the other hand, is standing on the other side of the glass and can see through it all. They can see your self-delusion and are utterly confused. They are wondering, how one can be so blind and not see that, err, you are so wrong and in the process of self expression, making a big fool of yourself. Some of them laugh at you and leave you for a basket case. Other sympathize, look at you with sad eyes, purse their lips and nod with the thought ‘Oh honey, how I feel for you. I have been there too, I hope you come out through this fine.’ A few have brought out a lawn chair with a bottle of fine wine and set up camp across from you. They are the ones who will encourage you to continue with the stupidity by offering pseudo-sympathy, smiling internally as they gradually push you down the cliff.

As time goes by, the mercury glass gets old and starts to fade. There are transparent spots and blotches in the reflective side and you begin to see what the rest of the world is seeing. Your mind slows down and begins to realize that what you thought is not really the reality. There is another perspective and it may have been the better or more accurate one. It probably brings a lot of shame, guilt, anger and frustration. No longer can you be so confident as before, you begin to walk with a slouch and your eyes don’t want to make contact. You also see the people with the wine glasses and finally realize that they need to go. Go far away from your life and leave you alone. The ones who sympathize, can probably stay as they have been there too. They get it. You finally begin to separate the wheat from the chaff and it starts to feel better. The veil of darkness shifts and soft yellow sunlight begins to peek through the silver clouds.

By the time it all ends, you have probably become stronger and wiser. Experience must count for something, after all. You have removed yourself from behind the glass and exposed yourself to the truth. You get used to the sunlight and it starts to feel light and beautiful again. You go about your life, walking on the paths with a grateful attitude. Until one fine day on your perfect morning walks, you come across the mercury glass again. Except, this time, you are on the other side, the transparent one. You see your friend on the unfortunate other side, behaving like the idiot in denial.
Question is, who will you be now? The one who laughs? The one who nods with empathy? Or the one with the bottle of wine and a glass?

Friday, February 17, 2012

Love is the soul of music.

‘Love is the soul of music.’ – words etched on my iPod.

Ever noticed how your favorite songs are always invariably associated with a memory of love. Of the first love you had and lost. Of the love someone had for you but you could not give back. Of the love from when it was fresh like the first rain and now is as seasoned as the darkest night. Songs that remind you of your parents love for each other or your time spent with friends you love like brothers and sisters. It’s always about love. Of the times when you listened to songs together.
Music knows no boundaries and can instantly connect many hearts as one, filling each individual mind with the same unique emotion. How powerful can something be? Imagine the implications of uniting humans sitting in different parts of the world with different cultures with the exact same feeling. Does one need any more proof that miracles exist? That we are all connected in some invisible ever present way with one another?

Every time I listen to a song that reminds me of love, I can close my eyes feel the other person or people sharing that space with me. It becomes a sacred moment, like a prayer. Personal to me yet reaching the audience the music has tied me with. I don’t need to see them or hear them or touch them to know that in that moment, we are connected. Like the two distant beads of my meditation mala – they don’t touch each other but know very well that the eternal circle unites them and binds them by the same string of love.

Love has its distinct shades that music can bring forth really well. Listening to James Blunt singing ‘your beautiful’ instantly takes you to a love filled with innocence, hope and a sweet sadness of knowing that dreams sometimes don’t come true. Goo goo dolls singing ‘iris’ reminds you of the strength of love that knows its bounds and fate. Brian Adams’ ‘have you ever really loved a woman’ so clearly spells out a man’s understanding of a woman’s maternal love. Many others remind you of the beauty and compassion of love. All through music. All for love.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Book Review - Shantaram

ShantaramShantaram by Gregory David Roberts

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Life is about discovering yourself. If you believe in this, you will appreciate Shantaram. Taking chances on his beliefs (right or wrong), the 'Hero' in the book swims through situations and circumstances in manners that are often criminal from a societal point of view, yet making you root for him.
Do the means matter more than the goal? Does the manner of achievement take away from or add to the final success ? Will you forgive the crime if the intent was good or if the cause was just?
How do we judge the man - based on how he achieved his objective or the purity of his objective ? Do you forgive RobinHood or do you hang him ?
The book raises such questions and takes you on a journey to answer them - all while the 'Hero' escapes prison, peddles drugs, counterfeits passports, runs a free medical clinic for the poor and falls in love with an escort.
Granted there are moments of half baked philosophical overdoses, but the beauty lies in discovering the philosophy yourself as you read through the book, and not in the passages where the author spells it out for you.
It teaches you the meaning of the phrase 'resigning to your fate' and you learn to appreciate the mysteries of life.
The book is engaging and almost spiritual - but what I loved most about it is the genuine sweetness of the love the author has for India/Mumbai and its people, which fills the pages of the book, much like sugar in tea. Chai anyone ?

View all my reviews

Friday, April 1, 2011


No one in my family has been a cricket fan. My father is perhaps the only man in India to dislike cricket - 'it makes the entire nation unproductive, we cant afford it' is his frank and honest opinion. My mother used to watch it, but not anymore. My brother does not watch television (which has been the cause of concern for us for a long time - which self respecting teenager will not watch television ?). My sister has never been interested in anything but her mirror so thats a non-issue. As for me, the only time I used to watch cricket is when my examinations were near and I needed a distraction from the stress. Rahul 'the wall' Dravid was a source of inspiration, the way he stuck it out inspired me to stick it out in the sleepy nights studying my engineering books. Not to mention that I had a huge crush on him, he could do no wrong. Still can't.

So when I met and subsequently married Harsh, an avid fan of the sport, I was in a dilemma if you will. Now I am not a sports buff, I am not very athletic myself and don't play any sport, so a little difficult for me to watch sports. I don't get it. So watching games with Harsh was a difficult thing for me. I hated the process of staring at the TV or even live games in the stadium, but enjoyed Harsh's enthusiasm. Eventually, the enjoyment faded and I gave up watching the games with him, much to his disappointment.

Then it happened. Unexpectedly and it caught us off guard. 2011 was the year the Cricket World Cup to be held. I did not show any interest in it at all, initially. All of a sudden, India reaches the quarter finals and is playing Australia. I am in office and google streams the scores of the match. My team mate asks me what I think of India's chances. A true Indian that I am, I wish to give my opinion on matters I know not much about nor care much about. I say we will lose, its Australia, the 3 times champion who know how to defend titles. He is miffed by my response and declares that he hated my guts. I understand. Cricket is known to invoke that kind of passion in Indians. Its in the DNA. We go on to win the quarter finals and are to meet arch rivals Pakistan in the semi-finals. In the next couple of days, I wake up from my 'non-cricket loving' slumber and rub my eyes. I finally wake up to the euphoria that is cricket.

The love and enthusiasm Harsh has for the game, finally made its way to my heart. I wake up at the un-Godly hour of 4 in the morning, even convince my boss to allow me to live stream the match in my office while I am working on developing a prediction model for some data. I wear blue, even bleed blue. All through the electrifying match, I message about the match, pray for players and wish for Pakistan's failure. My prayers and wishes (and those of 1.2 billion people) are answered and India beat Pakistan to reach the finals. My office mates ask me what's the fuss about ? I cannot really explain what an India - Pakistan cricket match is all about. Do you guys go to war over loss in a match ? - my manager asks me. No, I say, cricket does not cause wars, it replaces wars. Its 'bat'tling it out on the 'field' while grenade like balls fly around and brave men in blue and green give it their all. Its a game and yet so much more. The commander's in chief of both nations are present to observe and negotiate on other matters. A billion hearts skip a beat when a certain Sachin Tendulkar is in trouble or makes a shattering statement. A certain MS Dhoni is a man who is ruthless and passionate at the same time, who has the undivided support of one and all. Its a gentleman's game and thats how it was played.

As I write this on the eve of the World Cup 2011 Final where India will 'bat'tle it out with Sri Lanka, I find myself making my way to Toronto, to be with Harsh who is posted here on an assignment. I have asked my manager to excuse me - 'I know we have a deadline, I know we have clients to please, I know the urgency of the project we have at hand, I know how much there is to be done, but the sheer thought of watching the Finals without Harsh is painful, so let me go' is what I tell him. My manager who has never seen me make such passionate and dramatic statements for anything other then data models is amused and lets me go. Harsh and our friend Jatin are out looking for pre-game supplies and I am at home, waiting for the morning. Our dog Kashmir is lying next to me and wondering what the fuss is about. So as we wait for the morning when the Indians will take on the Lankans, all I can think of is how excited Harsh is about my recent transformation towards the game. His eyes glow with pride every time I look at a cricket related news article and discuss the game with him. He indulges my stupid questions with good nature and seems to fall in love with me all over again. He smiles that amazing smile of his every time I say how amazing I think MS Dhoni is as a captain. He is probably thanking the God's that I finally was bitten by the bug. Actually, I am too.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

We always wanted a dog

We always wanted a dog. Well, I always wanted a dog and as any man can tell you, that’s all that’s needed for most things to happen when you’re married, a wife’s desire! Hence, we always wanted a dog. Now I have had the awesome luck to grow up with a lot of pets whom I loved dearly and some of whom loved me back. So having a dog was a no brainer for me, like a matter of fact, going to happen kinda thing. But for my husband, it was a different situation. He did not have pets growing up and his memories of dogs were not made of the I’m so cute take me home eyes or cuddle me I’m soft or rub my belly and I’m yours kinda dogs. His memories were made of a scared teenager trying to ply his bicycle at the maximum speed he could ride at because stray street dogs in Pune(India) thought the street he was riding on was their territory, which my husband was trespassing . Or maybe it’s a dog thing, to chase everything on wheels…not sure. Fortunately, my husband never had the opportunity to find out if they were merely chasing or had any serious intention of ‘defending’ their territory. But the vision of my husband as a teenager, skinny and gawky riding his bicycle as if his life depended on it and a pack of blonde Indian hounds chasing him always makes my day. Its amusing when the misery is not yours and particularly when it’s your spouse’s ! Again, married people can vouch for this – although not sure how long you will stay married now that you have openly acknowledged the existence of this fact.

So we set about ‘researching ‘ the what and how of owning a dog. Now, this researching aspect comes from my husband whose need to ‘research ‘ can extend from situations involving which is the best toilet tissue to buy up to what is the best six sigma approach to apply to the sequencing of the chassis of the town and country model of 2010. I am not saying that it’s not necessary or that it’s not useful, I’m just saying that it’s a pain in the you know what for someone who barely got through her research years as a student doing her Masters with the help of caffeine, caffeine and yes, caffeine. So for a year (yes, a whole year), we did just that – research. We saw all the television shows even remotely related to dogs, including Dog the Bounty Hunter(it has the word dog in it). It’s me or the Dog is a personal favorite – I know all the dogs Victoria the host and trainer helped by straightening their owners(Its never the fault of the dog she says) as if I was the agent who got them the show.

We took all the personality tests on all the websites who helped us determine what breed of dog was most suited for us – not Labradors as they are very energetic and our ‘personality’ would not suit them (with one ‘researcher’ and the other half being me, its inertia central in here people). A German Shepherd would not do because it’s a big guard dog and we have a small apartment which has nothing worth guarding – unless my mother’s pearl necklace that she ‘forgot’ at my place only to use that as an excuse to get another bigger one can count as a treasure worth guarding. Then again, I am not sure what self respecting German Shepherd would want to guard that…and self respect is what the Sheps and Germans are known for I hear, so…not a breed for us. A King Charles Cocker Spaniel looked like a good match for a while, but I think the pet shelter/adoption agency we applied to did not think we were royal enough for a King Charles. We understand, they have a reputation to protect. We thought a Dalmatian or a St.Bernard would fit the bill, but my husband kindly pointed out that if I ever had to take the dog out for a walk alone, it would be a pretty funny scene. I mean imagine a 100 pound woman walking a 200 pound giant dog. It seems fine at that scene, but imagine if that dog caught the scent of a squirrel and decided it wanted to chase it. Now imagine a 200 pound dog chasing a 3 pound squirrel dragging a 100 pound woman on what is supposed to be the dog’s leash. Pretty funny don’t you think. Again, refer to the point about the spouse’s misery, this is another example. I can see my husband smiling inside(I think he is rolling over with laughter with what must seem like the biggest laugh ever). Point in case, no big breeds for us.

We now directed our attention to the little ones, the we’re so cute and we know it ones, the ones who are tiny by only size and can bring down a mansion with their sheer vocal prowess…the Chihuahua’s, the Shih Tzu’s, the Pomeranians, the Maltese and their kind. Apartment dwellers, couch potatoes, no children yet…perfect for a small breed, right ? Not so much and not always, as we found out. Now small they maybe, but that’s only the pounds of flesh we are talking about. The attitude punch they pack is a whole different story my friends. We saw this adorable Pekinese at one of the shelters. She was cute as a button, red soft coat, pretty eyes and that cute nose. We approached the crate she was in with all the affection and she proceeded to well…walk away in the other. Not the ones to be deterred by such minor ignoring by a dog, we went over to the other side where she was. She looked up, gave us that look for half a second and moved away again. Now I love dogs and all, but I must say my petty human ego was hurt. We later found out that the Pekinese are usually a one person dog and maybe she was too attached to her previous owner. In any case, my petty human ego was hurt at being snubbed by the cutest little red head and I had to move on. On another weekend, we happened to meet the most paradoxical dog ever – an English bulldog. The bulldogs if you have seen one, look mean. They ‘look’ like mean business and have the attitude of no messing around. They are broad shouldered, look like they hit the gym twice a day and run marathons regularly. If you have met one, you would know that in fact, they are the cutest little angels with the funniest attitude ever. They are gentle and love to cuddle. Sitting on the couch and watching the telly would be their favorite activity and getting up to shift their weight from the left paw to the right would easily qualify as workout for these gentle souls. This dog seemed like the perfect match…but my husband suggested that a seemingly lazy dog in the life of the laziest couple on the block would not be so good. I mean I don’t want to be competing for the title of the lazy, lazier and the laziest everyday…and that’s exactly what would happen in the house. A couple days later, we happened to go to a local pet store who were hosting an adoption event. We met the most energetic little fellow with beautiful brown spots on a soft white coat. His eyes were full of mischief and his nose was glued to the ground. Meet the beagle, the ones with the best sense of smell and bred to hunt small game. These wonderful ones are known to have a singing voice, err bark or howl. We immediately fell in love with this one and promptly went up to the desk to fill in the adoption form. The kind lady there asked us some ‘routine’ questions like who will be in the house (us) , why do you want a dog (err, why not?) , do we have a fenced yard ? (Nope - no yard no fence…we are apartment dwellers.) Oh oh she said, that’s a deal breaker for a beagle…they have to have a fenced yard to sniff and run around.

Disappointed by the months of no luck even identifying the right breed, we were near giving up on the whole dog thing completely. Maybe we should get a goldfish or even a ball python. Then one boring afternoon in office, I was reading the news and there happened to pop up an ad for an upcoming pet adoption event. I had almost given up but something caught my eye. It was a pair of the most soulful brown eyes I had ever seen (second to my husband). They were accompanied by a big black button nose, long ears, one brown and the other spotted. Her name was Kiss-me, listed as a beabull from Kentucky, currently residing at a local shelter waiting for a fur-ever home. Kiss-me needed a home and we needed her.

I called my husband and insisted I had found the one. He did not quite believe me haven given up the dog hunt way before I did. I contacted the shelter and set up an appointment for the following day. That morning, I dragged my husband to the adoption event at the very hour they said they would open(what if someone else fell in love with those eyes?)
We walked in and there she was. The perfect one. The soulful eyes and the attitude to match. She walked up to us, sniffed us for a moment, looked up at my husband and then it happened. He knew, just as I had, that this was the one. There was no doubt about it. When you know, you just know, they say. And how we knew.

A week later, she was living with us. Her name is now Kashmir (after the beautiful state from India as well as the wool from that region, just like her coat). She is a beagle and bull dog mix - like God decided to finally give us the best mix of a dog suited for us, the laziness of the bull dog along with the energy of the beagle. The sense of smell of a beagle with appetite of the bull. The attitude of the beagle yet the soul of the bull dog. I told you, perfect !
Every morning walking her is easily the most favorite time of our day. She has added so much love to our lives, it’s unbelievable. They always say…you don’t rescue a dog, a dog rescues you.

Woof Woof !