Category: Articles

Fear Is Not Justice

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Monday, 11 August 2025 — the Supreme Court of India has ordered that all stray dogs in the Delhi–NCR region be rounded up within eight weeks and placed into shelters.

Eight weeks. Two months.

Anyone who loves or works with street dogs knows what this means. It means these fur-kids will be ripped away from the only streets, corners, and human connections they know. It means they will be shoved into overcrowded, filthy shelters run by corporations and municipalities that see them as a burden, not a life. It means fear, disease, abuse, and death.

I have seen how dogs are kept in Mumbai’s pounds. The conditions are appalling. They are treated like refuse, not sentient beings. And now, the same fate awaits thousands in Delhi.

I’ve seen this cruelty before

I can’t read this ruling without my mind racing back to the first dog I ever rescued.

I was seven or eight when a young white pup with brown markings wandered into my compound. She was small, shy, and beautiful. I gave her shelter in an abandoned car, fed her, and let her roam free when I was inside my house. She became part of the little group of dogs that hung around the building corner.

One afternoon, I heard her yelping. I ran to my bedroom window and saw the municipal van. Men had caged her and were lifting her into the back. I was eight years old — I didn’t know how to fight them. And then she was gone. I never saw her again. That helplessness burned itself into me. I still feel it. 

I had named her Diana.

Years later, I rescued another — a fawn-coloured pup with a stubby tail and the gentlest green eyes. He had wandered into my housing compound, where the security guard was beating him with a stick. I scooped him up and took him home. He was affectionate, trusting, full of fleas and love. I named him Bilbo. I already had two dogs then and my home was small, so I found a friend to adopt him. Giving him away was like tearing a piece of my heart out.

We have to remember:

Rabies doesn’t just happen.

Dog bites don’t just happen.

They happen because we — humans, governments, societies — have failed.

Because vaccination drives are abandoned halfway.

Because sterilisation projects are underfunded and poorly executed.

Because the budgets meant for animal welfare disappear into corrupt pockets.

We create the problem, and then we punish the victims of our neglect. And now, an entire population of innocent dogs is about to pay the price for decades of human carelessness.

When one dog attacks, the response shouldn’t be to round up every dog. That’s the same flawed thinking as branding all men violent because some commit rape, or branding an entire religion dangerous because of one extremist.

It is bigotry applied to animals. It is fear driving policy. And fear rarely chooses the right path.

The easy way is always the cruel way. There are other solutions. There always are.

• Mass sterilisation drives done properly and consistently.

• Continuous vaccination programmes.

• Feeding zones where dogs and people can safely co-exist.

• Shelters that are humane, healing spaces — not prisons of neglect.

But these require work. These require compassion. These require the slow, difficult path that governments rarely take because cruelty is easier. Cruelty can be done quickly, with a press release and a photo op.

I’m not even from Delhi, but this ruling has left me shaken and deeply sad. I’ve seen what happens when bureaucracy decides that an animal’s life has no worth.

I’ve lost hope for the system. I’ve lost hope in leaders. I’ve even lost hope in many people I once loved. I know there are protests, petitions, people fighting — and I am signing them, I am adding my name — but inside me, hope feels like a very faint and dying ember.

The truth is, the world has taught me that humans can live through genocides, the slaughter of innocents, and barely blink. If that is true for human lives, how much hope can I have for animals?

If this ruling were truly about public safety, it would start with fixing the systems that failed. It would start with funding sterilisation and vaccination programmes properly. It would start with auditing the budgets already spent — and stolen.

Instead, this ruling chooses the laziest path: punish the innocent because the guilty are untouchable.

We do not cull all men when women are raped. We do not round up all children when one commits a crime. But we are willing — in the blink of an eye — to round up all dogs when a few incidents occur. That is not justice. That is cowardice disguised as governance.

And let us be clear: fear is not a reason to abandon compassion. Fear is not an excuse to brutalise the defenceless. Fear should never be the guiding principle of a civilised society.

If you have power, you have a choice:

You can use it to protect the voiceless, or you can use it to destroy them. History will remember which you chose.

So, I will speak. I will speak for Diana. I will speak for Bilbo. I will speak for every street dog in Delhi and beyond who will be torn away from their familiar lives, confused, terrified, and caged.

It was never their fault. It was ours. And no court order will change that truth.

If I cannot stop this, I can at least refuse to be silent. Because silence, too, is a cruelty.

Bitter Old Man

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

This evening, something happened that got under my skin more than I care to admit. I was down in the compound with the kids — by which I mean my dogs — playing a relaxed game of fetch like we’ve done since 2019. These are kids I’ve raised with care, consistency, and love. They don’t bark at passers-by. They don’t jump on people. They’ve never soiled the compound. We play in our little side of the compound, stick to ourselves, and co-exist.

It was a typical Mumbai evening — humid, a little breeze, people walking their toddlers and taking their usual rounds around the building. No one had a problem. Not one. In fact, a little girl toddled around us, giggling as she watched the dogs run. Her father smiled, unbothered. That’s how it usually is. That’s how it’s always been.

Until one man decided to ruin it.

He marched up to me — no greeting, no civility — and barked, “According to the law, you need to leash them.”

I looked him square in the face and said, “Don’t talk to me about the law. If you have a problem, then tell me you have a problem. Don’t hide behind rules no one else is quoting.”

This wasn’t about the law. This was about control. About bitterness. About some misguided belief that age entitles you to command people in their own homes. He claimed to be a dog lover too. I told him not to lie to himself and certainly not to me. I directly told him, if you have a problem be honest and tell me and when you are here, I shall keep them on a leash. I did so. Until he left the compound, after bitching to everyone around who would offer an ear. 

You cannot call yourself a dog lover and come up to someone who has raised these animals with care and discipline — someone who’s down with them every single day — and throw regulations in their face without context or conversation. I don’t owe you silence when you cloak your prejudice in legalese.

Let me say it plainly: I live in a city that is barely functioning. The road outside our gate is covered in garbage, broken tiles, and makeshift construction. Pedestrians walk in traffic because footpaths are non-existent. When the street lights didn’t work for months, nobody cared — until I personally called the BMC to get it fixed. That’s the real danger in this city. Not my leashed or unleashed, happy, well-socialised dogs.

But somehow, people like him don’t raise a voice when civic authorities fail us. They stay quiet when the street floods or the drain overflows. But the moment a dog runs free and joyful — my dog, with me right there supervising — they come out of their holes, quoting imaginary laws and feigning concern.

Let’s get something straight:

I have lived through years of irresponsible pet ownership around me — people who abandon their dogs when they move, people who beat them, chain them for hours, or never walk them at all. My dogs are family. I treat them like children. I clean up after them. I invest time and affection into their wellbeing and how they interact with the world. There is no “law” in this city that does more for these animals than a single responsible human does — and I am that human.

And yet, the one thing that triggered this man? Seeing joy. Seeing love. Seeing a safe, beautiful moment that had nothing to do with him.

I will not allow the fearmongering around rabies to be weaponised against every pet parent who’s doing their best. Yes, we need safety. Yes, we need awareness. But let’s not pretend that the hysteria online about dogs is based in facts or care. It’s based in fear. And fear is a poor excuse for cruelty.

I’m not here to be lectured by people who don’t pick up after themselves but have the audacity to pick bones with me.

So to the people like him: No, I won’t apologise for raising loving dogs in a city that desperately needs more kindness. I won’t apologise for giving them space to run, to play, to live.

And I certainly won’t take lectures from a man who’s blind to the real chaos around him, but sees a problem in a moment of joy.

If you’ve got something to say — say it with honesty. Don’t hide behind laws you don’t understand.

And don’t you dare call yourself a dog lover.

The Mirrors In the Mahal

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

A friend of mine is doing a show, and he has asked me to perform to two songs. One, of course, is a Sit Down qawwali — but the second song is a dance number. Basically, it’s a courtesan’s number, it comes from one of my favourite movies. You guessed it. It is picturised on one of my favourite actresses, Madhubala. It is sung by one of my favourite singers, Lata Mageshkar. It is composed by one of my favourite composers — Naushad Sahab.

When I see it on screen, it reminds me of a revolution. It reminds me of how love conquers all. It is the song that led me into the revolution of being proud of who I am, being proud of the men that I fall in love with.

It’s basically been an anthem since — I can remember — in terms of identity, in terms of a reaction against hatred, a reaction against bullying, against prejudice and against my own dad at times. I used to dance to this when I was young, wearing a ghagra, and thinking that I was Madhubala, standing up for my lover and my own love.

As I grew up, I realised that it’s a feminist song. It is a song where a woman reclaims her own agency, and says that I don’t care what the world says to me, I have to live by my own beliefs and by the virtue of my love. As I grew, and I grew into my own homosexual identity, I realised that this is the song that empowers. It’s like a gay anthem, obviously. And so it’s like talking about the closet. It says:

प्यार किया तो डरना क्या?

It says:

पर्दा नहीं जब कोई खुदा से, तो बंदों से पर्दा करना क्या?

These words are epic. These lyrics are epic. These lyrics resound in my own head and in my own heart. It brought in its own life lesson on love. Or rather, how it ought to be. It taught me about the Self. How one should see one’s self and be true to it. 

So when this opportunity came to me, I jumped at it. Then, I thought that I could not do it — because there are so many hitches, actually. There are so many things that keep me second guessing. 

I used to be a Kathak dancer. But I stopped dancing because my left knee just gave out in 2010. And now, of course, I can’t dance on it. My orthopaedic surgeon has told me — when I went for a check-up — that I shouldn’t be dancing at all. I also have a rotator cuff injury in my right shoulder, since months which is excruciatingly painful.

I have mentioned all of this to my friend who is hosting the show — who’s doing the show. He gave me an option to drop out but he also believes in me. And I mean, there are those who love me — who said that I shouldn’t be doing it, because of the pain, because of what I may be going through, and because of what I may go through after the show.

There could be further knee damage. There could be further damage to my shoulder. But I seriously feel that I need to jump at this chance — in the sense of this particular song — because it’s something that I lived by, you see. It was something that brought meaning to my formative years. 

And I’ve seen the show on stage — Feroz Khan’s Mughal-e-Azam — that tours the world. And I’ve always loved the way the song has been choreographed. I’ve seen it twice now. And it’s epic — the way they do this song. It’s such a spectacle to love up to in entirety. 

Of course, I could never match up to the choreography. So I did the choreography myself. I’ve been practising for the last three weeks. And I told my friend that I may not do it — give me a few days. He’d given me about a fortnight to think about it and rehearse and see if I can choreograph it. And I have done so.

Initially, I thought that I would ask somebody else to dance the pure dance part before the number starts. But then I decided that that would be cheating. I had to do it myself. And I really have put in my time, my effort, my entire heart into this.

And I don’t know how it’s going to be — the show is in ten days — but I am preparing a costume, and I’m preparing the choreography. Even today, I rehearsed and I tweaked a little bit of the dance movements — to suit the fact that I can’t do 27 chakras in one go. But I managed to pull in about nine of them in the piece within the piece.

And my body doth protest. Right now, my neck is hurting, my knee is hurting, and my shoulder is hurting. So I’m in pain. I’m also very anxious — wondering whether I’ll be able to pull it off on stage, and wondering whether I’ll be able to, you know, live up to the beauty, the sheer magnificence of the song.

I’m going to try my best. And then, of course, let the chips fall as they may. But I just wanted to put this out there — as to why I want to do it, and what drives me to do it despite the problems that I’m facing. And I think it’s a chance for me to be beautiful, and proud, and magnificent — through the pain.

That’s why I’m doing it.