Zafar is sulking.
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In all the years that he has been a part of our lives, I have seen him:
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- happy (when people, any people, are in sight);
- dazed (in the early morning or after durians);
- bored (when the cats/ squirrels/ other dogs/ any neighbourhood creatures come by to eat his food);
- stubborn (when you say don’t run out of the gate, and he runs faster);
- in panic (when there is a thunderstorm, or fireworks during the festive season)
- apprehensive (when he sees bags lying around and boots being opened, because he knows someone is going away); and
- skinny as a bean (when someone does go away and the poor fella stops eating because he misses them).
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I am ignored....
But he has never sulked. In fact the word I would really like to use is merajuk. Sulking doesn’t seem to translate well enough.
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Yet here he is, at the ripe old age of 11-going-on-12, and he is merajuk-ing. Even more worryingly, he seems to be only behaving that way towards me. With everyone else, it is business as usual. But he won’t even raise an eyebrow in my direction. My comings and goings are unmonitored. When I call his name, I am ignored.
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Me, of all people! Me, who has spoilt him rotten and still talks to him in baby sounds to this day (he is 80 years old in human years). Me, who sneaks bits of food off the dining table for him to snack on while we’re having dinner (papaya is a favourite). Me, who threatened to go on a hunger strike when initially Pitaji wouldn’t allow him to come sit with us on the deck (but he eventually relented). Yes, that me.
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He came close enough to sniff my trousers one day, and then turned away, disinterested. That was a happy day indeed. Other than that, complete blank. Mega merajuk.
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The good days of lazing on the grass.
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I look back to more joyful memories. There was a time when he absolutely adored me. Like absolutely. All I had to do was walk past, and he would run forward in search of a cuddle. I was Numero Uno for feeding him fruit. The sound of my car up the hill and he would be waiting at the gate. Tail-wagging at record-breaking velocities should I call his name.
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It has taken me a few days to realise that something is off.
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First reaction: Errr what am I missing? Where is Zafar and why have I not seen him in 4 days?
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Second reaction: Come here little puppy! Here little puppy… hello? ZAFAR, WHERE ARE YOU!
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Third reaction: Aww man… why does he not love me anymore?
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Fourth reaction: Gawd what an ungrateful little thing! All I’ve done is love him and be good to him and now he is completely blanking me out.
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Fifth reaction: Zafar, this is not funny anymore. You come over here and I’m going to sort you out!
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Sixth reaction: Depressed. Even our own dog won’t look at me. AND I don’t have enough shoes to make me happy. Hit rock bottom.
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And now, there is light. Maybe he is not the problem, but I am?
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It dawns on me that everything about Zafar is constant. His love for us (and ALL other living things) is pure and unsuspecting. He really does love wholly and without judgement.
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But just like every other relationship, even this one needs two to hold the balance. And I have neglected him for days – rushing off in the mornings, returning home late, disappearing to do other things in my free time. My Zafar-time has been reduced to nothingness. But I didn’t dwell on it because you know… he’s Zafar! He has always been there; surely he would always continue to be there regardless of whether I spent any time with him or not.
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But Zafar had decided to take a stand. When you were moving between London and KL, fine, you were forgiven. So much to do, so little time at home. But now that you’re fully here? What is your excuse now? You can’t just take me for granted and expect me to follow you around like a lost puppy (pun intended :p).
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Our home works around Zafar's preferences. Carpets are moved to make way for nap time.
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And there it is. My lesson in taking things for granted. The things that fall into that list are obviously many, but this time I’m really just focussing on the amazing people (and dog!) in my life.
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Funnily enough I thought I was getting better at this. At one time I even made a list of people without which my life would turn grey, and made a point of letting them know that my rainbow exists because of the wonder they bring to it. Of course the words used/ approach varied depending on the relationship (e.g. my lovely grandparents vs. the big tree in Phuaji’s neighbour’s garden) but essentially I grew conscious of the fact that we all need some form of recognition in our lives, and it is simply wonderful to know, really know, because someone has told you, how valuable you are to them. Not even a handful of words, but said rightly, and they are enough to plaster a big silly droopy smile on someone’s face.
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But words don’t always work. Believe me, I tried them with Zafar. When I first realised that we had a problem, I tried the shortcuts to cheat him into loving me again.
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Sweet talk:
Ooo Zafar, how is my little bubbloo this morning?? Little schweetums you’re cho beautful!
Failed.
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Bribery:
Look Zafar, I have some papaya here! You want some? Come here then!
Failed.
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Force:
Ajaa (come here)! Bayth (sit)! Chall (let’s go)!
Failed.
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Guilt:
Ziffy… all these years I've fed you and lookd after you and this is what I get in return?
Failed.
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Which goes to show that sometimes, in some relationships, it’s not enough to just say it. There is no end to heart-warming expressions we have access to these days (as demonstrated above). The ultimate clinch, however, comes from backing them up with the act of making time. Maybe with some relationships there is this unwritten and undeclared expectation that words need to be backed up by being accessible to each other, both when we plan to make time, and more so we don’t. When I know that you will put aside your drama to make time for mine, then we’re home.
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No doubt, in this respect, I have failed miserably. As highlighted to me by our perfect-in-every-way Zafar.
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Bliss after a ball game....
So. In conclusion. I have some damage control to think about with regards to my relationship with Zafar. I could have just about survived knowing that I was Number Four on his list, but right now I think I’ve been bumped off completely.
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How do I fix this? He gives me so much love, and I think the two pats on the head he is getting from me these days just aren’t cutting it.
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I need to find a way to take him for walks on some mornings. When I have dinner at home, we will sit together again, as we used to (I still have faith in his love for papayas!). And I think it’s time to bring back the ball games and Jacob’s crackers.
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Thank you, Zafar, for being my chum, my great love, and my teacher. Big kiss and I looooovve you!!! xx
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Ok gtg. The weather is just right for a ball game. Zafar, aaja!
1 comment:
Awwww... Zafar is an adorable cutie... Wish you all the best in getting your pal back...
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