What I learned yesterday was that the remedy to stop the common bull fight in the middle of the road is to throw water on one of the bulls.
You know what I found out?
That doesn't really work.
India in general, but Banaras in particular, lives with animals, large and small, as part of her traffic landscape. Note Exhibit A (photo) below.
A couple days ago in the middle of morning traffic two fat bulls, horn-locked, fought aggressively in one of the few gaps in the road divider of Lanka; one of the most congested areas--both in terms of traffic and particulate matter--in Banaras. I was riding my bicycle past the scene as men shouted and people ran for their lives.
One man had a small mug of water that he splashed onto the rump of one of the bulls to somehow magically calm them down but (surprise) to no avail.
Eventually, like in every episode of Animal Planet, one male succumbed and one was the victor, and the cow ran away unfazed. But unlike the Discovery Channel, this was not in some jungle, this was in the middle of morning traffic.
Mostly, I enjoy the presence of animals in my everyday life. Unlike many, I have not been attacked nor mistakenly poked by any bulls or cows. It's probably due to sheer luck, but I like to think of myself as a "cow whisperer." My friends caution me as a crazy videshi (foreigner) when I approach cows or bulls to pet them.
I think what attracts me is that they are such large animals but very docile. Even in the middle of Lanka traffic honking horns at their tails, they sway at such noise as if walking through serene pastures. Once a friend and I saw a baby calf drinking its mother's milk from the udder in the middle of traffic. My friend said, "Isn't that the most beautiful thing in the world? A baby drinking from its mother's teats." I agreed, awkwardly.
While other animals react to our every move--dogs bark, birds fly off and monkeys scratch their rumps at the sight of us--cows seem the least bit concerned about our presence, as if we're not even there. And maybe that's why I dare to get close to them--I feel invisible.
Maybe I reach out to them because at times I feel they are the only ones at peace in this chaotic world of ours. Sometimes when I pet a cow, she does turn her large face toward me. Maybe they look at us and think, "You're the supreme species in this world, why do you run around and make so much noise? What do you have to worry about?"
Huh.
What do we have to worry about?
You know what I found out?
That doesn't really work.
India in general, but Banaras in particular, lives with animals, large and small, as part of her traffic landscape. Note Exhibit A (photo) below.
 |
| Large animals, part of the Indian traffic landscape. Yeah, deal with it. |
One man had a small mug of water that he splashed onto the rump of one of the bulls to somehow magically calm them down but (surprise) to no avail.
Eventually, like in every episode of Animal Planet, one male succumbed and one was the victor, and the cow ran away unfazed. But unlike the Discovery Channel, this was not in some jungle, this was in the middle of morning traffic.
Mostly, I enjoy the presence of animals in my everyday life. Unlike many, I have not been attacked nor mistakenly poked by any bulls or cows. It's probably due to sheer luck, but I like to think of myself as a "cow whisperer." My friends caution me as a crazy videshi (foreigner) when I approach cows or bulls to pet them.
I think what attracts me is that they are such large animals but very docile. Even in the middle of Lanka traffic honking horns at their tails, they sway at such noise as if walking through serene pastures. Once a friend and I saw a baby calf drinking its mother's milk from the udder in the middle of traffic. My friend said, "Isn't that the most beautiful thing in the world? A baby drinking from its mother's teats." I agreed, awkwardly.
While other animals react to our every move--dogs bark, birds fly off and monkeys scratch their rumps at the sight of us--cows seem the least bit concerned about our presence, as if we're not even there. And maybe that's why I dare to get close to them--I feel invisible.
Maybe I reach out to them because at times I feel they are the only ones at peace in this chaotic world of ours. Sometimes when I pet a cow, she does turn her large face toward me. Maybe they look at us and think, "You're the supreme species in this world, why do you run around and make so much noise? What do you have to worry about?"
Huh.
What do we have to worry about?
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