It was a sunny November morning when I saw him for the first time. It was a Saturday so I could wake up later than usual. I trudged down the flight of wooden steps of the 1960s construction of a two storied semi attached government house where we lived. I walked into the back garden where my parents sat on a couple of cane chairs reading newspapers on holidays. As I went outside, I realised there was a third person there. He was an old Tibetan man from Dharamsala who I had met a few months ago in my grandmother’s house in Manali. His skin was wrinkled, and he looked well into his seventies. He had worked for my family sometime in the 1960s and then decided to shift to Dharamsala, as his relatives arrived slowly, one by one from Tibet. My father and the old man talked to each other animatedly, with their eyes and heads focussed on something which I could not see. As I walked towards him and my father, suddenly I saw a little white and brown puppy. It was tiny. I was told he was born t...
Collection of human experiences.