If you’ve met me in public for even the briefest time, you’ll know I have a deep-rooted fear of most non-human living beings. In fact, this fear has been the source of considerable amusement to my insensitive-to-trauma friends (and it’s shocking how many of those there are! Insensitive friends, I mean, not the traumatic episodes). One time, as I was walked down the street with a friend, he paused to point at every creature we came across and ask, “Dog there. Scared? Cow – scared? Oops – crow. Scared?” And this I found pretty annoying. So here’s a clarification. Almost all four-legged creatures: yes, scared. Especially dogs. Among two-legged creatures: most ok, but crows and chickens not ok. And bats. And fat pigeons that might be feeling a bit nervous. All insects are fine. Oh, and I like horses – I think horses are nice.
Many have tried to pull an analytical number on me in their attempt to rid me of my phobia. And so they would ask about any childhood animal-related trauma. But really, unless the trauma also resulted in partial amnesia, I don’t remember any particular event that triggered my fear of the furry. And yes, furry humans are a no-no too! Only two incidents really come to mind that may have had some impact, but I really doubt it.
Incident 1:
I was probably 7 or 8 years old and was spending the afternoon at my grandma’s home, one among a series of “row-houses”. Her house is located somewhere towards the end of the line. The cousin (a month elder to me) and I were merrily playing about, doing the nonsense things little children do. Somewhere in the middle of that row was the home of a fiend Doberman, and both the cousin and me stood observing as the maid led him on a leash for his daily rounds. As maid and dog made their way towards the other end of the row, the cousin, stupid and sadistic as he is, decided to tease the animal. And so he started making funny barking sounds and generally tried to attract the animal’s attention and infuriate it. The trick worked.
In a matter of seconds, but what seemed like extreme slow-mo to us, we saw the animal break free of his leash, turn around and come bounding for us. Now, the animal was at one end of the row, the cousin was somewhere at the middle, and I was at the other end, close to the gma’s house. I would have said I froze in fear, and was rooted to the spot in horror; only, that would be an insult to my gazelle-like reflexes. As soon as I saw the animal charging at us, I made a few short graceful leaps to safety (gma’s house) and pulled her heavy iron door after me. But what happened in the next few seconds continue to have a very dream-like quality. My cousin, who undoubtedly was seized of similar herd instincts, came rushing in after me. I remember watching from the bars of the gate as he came running, seized with terror and on reaching the gate, banging at it and yelling at me to let him in.
I spotted the dog only two houses away, howling in mad rage and all set to tear into my cousin within seconds. As my cousin banged and pleaded, I was seized with sudden indecision – whether to worry about my own safety or that of my cousin. But in a remarkable triumph of good over evil, I finally opened the gate a little bit to drag my cousin in and banged it firmly shut again. And just as I slid the lock in place, the creature was at the bars, pushing its paws in, murder in its eyes. That, I think, would be traumatic enough to inspire a lifetime hatred for dogs. But the odd thing is, I was never really the one in danger. My cousin should have been the one to be affected for life. Remarkably, the very next week, he was spotted sitting on another stray (no doubt imaging he was a warrior returning home on his horse after a victorious battle).
Incident 2:
First day of college (JC). I remember making my unsure way from Churchgate station to KC, thinking gloomily about the pink top that I had worn, one that I had hastily picked out after mom made some last-minute criticism of my original choice. Pink. Huh. I kept stealing glances at the sky, watching out for any flamingos that may suddenly swoop down, mistaking me for a mate. The impression is so vivid that to date, I rarely wear pink. Maybe that’s also one of the reasons my sub-conscious urges me to watch out for flying things that may suddenly sweep in out of the blue and start attacking me.
Wish Freud were around!
Leave a Comment
No comments yet.
Comments RSS TrackBack Identifier URI
