I met a young Labrador roaming the streets after midnight. I first saw her while I was out walking with the kids; I had to hand Zuri and Zena over to Anand so I could approach this beautiful black Labrador. She must be around one to two years old, as she’s still quite small and seems to be growing into adulthood. Her eyes are golden-brown, pools of sadness, and she looked up at me with the most beautiful eyes I’ve seen since seeing Zuri’s.
I felt an immediate, profound sadness for this dog, wandering the streets without a collar or name. I don’t know her story or whether she’s lost and frightened, perhaps left her home because of the Diwali fireworks, or if she was tragically abandoned, as so many dogs are every day.
Each year, countless dogs are displaced by the noise of Diwali fireworks. It’s crucial for us to recognise that we share this ecosystem with other beings who don’t understand our traditions and rituals. This issue isn’t confined to Diwali in India—similar things happen worldwide, whether on the 4th of July in the U.S., the running of the bulls in Spain, or the fireworks at weddings.
Yet, people who are deeply religious or defensive about traditions might dismiss our concerns, saying, “If you care so much about these animals, why don’t you take them into your own home?” But every living creature has the right to exist. Forcing animals from their homes/spaces due to noises they can’t comprehend is behaviour we can collectively work to avoid.
However, I’m at an age where I understand that humans tend to prioritise themselves, often neglecting the impact on everything around them. Whether it’s the food industry, mining, deforestation, resource exploitation, or climate destruction, these issues are rampant. A lost black dog running through the streets of Mumbai, scared and homeless, is sadly low on most people’s list of concerns.
If I had more space, I might have taken her in, but I already have three furkids and a family of six under one roof. If my sister and I had separate homes, perhaps I could have taken her in and found her a loving home. My mentor often tells me that I can’t care for everything and everyone in the world, attributing it to my “controlling” nature—my tendency to protect those I believe need safeguarding. He once even said I had a “saviour complex.” Be that as it may, I believe that if more people felt even a fraction of the empathy and compassion I felt when that dog looked up at me, the world would be a kinder place.
Hearts Still Care 