Cows Moo-ve

In the early morning of Saturday, July 6th, we explored the sidestreets and storefronts of our neighborhood, Vivi Mohalla, Mysore. The sun had risen but the sky was slightly overcast. The atmosphere was a lot quieter than the bustling city life we’d come from, a mere three hours away in Bangalore. Nevertheless, people mostly man were out chanting at passerbyers, eager to sell their products: bananas, coffee, coconuts, mangoes, chains of different colored flowers etc. Others sped past in school uniforms, dress shirts and loafers on mopeds, honking at us to move when we had mistaken the right side of the road for the wrong one. Many of the shops were still closed; the neighborhood had yet to hear the grind of metal doors unfolding upwards with a crank of a lever. We marvelled at the architecture and the colorful greens, oranges, blues, yellows, and purplish walls of apartment buildings. Some women sat cross-legged outside their front gates, scrubbing children’s clothes and then slapping the wet fabrics out on the pavement, pressing out remaining wrinkles.

Nearing the outskirts of the neighborhood where a large crop of land stood bare and overgrown behind a clay fence, we noticed a group of three cows grazing on a pile of hay. Their droppings on the public roads had indicated their travel even before we saw them but we still stood to take a picture. Leanne and I were a little ahead of Kanako and as we turned to look elsewhere, one cow had separated itself from the other two and proceeded to nudge her backside. With a jolt, Kanako felt herself being pushed forward, an awkward kind of shove that elicited both a shriek of surprise and terror. She quickly crossed the road away from the cow while I turned around and snapped a picture. Here was our first official contact with a cow needless to say we were freaked out.

Over the next few days, cows frequented crossing our paths. When we walk back from yoga class around 7:30 am, Monday to Friday, we see cows eating from the garbage bin. With ropes around their necks, signaling the property rights of the owner, the cows help the shorter animals forage for the best produce. Using their height, their narrow faces fit inside the opening holes of the bin as they pull bags of split banana peels and leftover meals from the depths of the smelly refuge. We hold our breath while pregnant stray dogs rummage through the overturned containers of scraps left behind by their black and white peers.

It’s possibly true that cows in India have more freedoms than some people. Cows are sacred beasts. Many roam between busy lanes of traffic with cars and auto rickshaws, cutting swiftly and braking at the last moment to avoid hitting them. They move around in outdoor market spaces too. On one ocassion, we had sat down for a bite to eat at a street food station, hoping to get an egg paratha (egg roll made with dosa) when a dark black cow with horns approached the stall. His eyes were brown and stared longingly at the main cook with the scent of fried food flavoring the air. The cook paused for a moment to toss the cow a giant adli. The cow chewed still salvating, thankful.