Happy Father’s Day

When I die, I want to come back as a cow in India.

Indians don’t eat cows. Well, Hindu Indians don’t eat cows. And vegetarian Indians don’t eat cows. And that’s a lot of Indians, so I’ll just simplify by saying, “Indians don’t eat cows.”

Even more than that, Hindus consider cows to be holy. That’s right – holy*. They’re sacred.

In India, cows are everywhere. Wandering the streets. In the medians. Eating grass. Sometimes dragging a rope as if they’d once been tied to something.

I asked our guide, as we were driving to Agra, “Why are the cows in the streets?”

“They wandered out, I guess.”

OK, I get that – “But why don’t they regulate the cows in the streets? Why don’t they do something about it?”

“They’re holy cows.”

“OK, so holy cows can do whatever they want?”

“Yes.”

OK.

I vowed to do some more research on this.

In Kerala, it was no different. We’d round a corner and there would be a cow in the middle of the road. We may have to swerve in order to not hit this cow. Because cows don’t run. They stand there – staring at you (and your car). Chewing. Slowly.

Doing as they damn well please.

In fact, it’s kinda like they run the place. I was highly entertained to see cows putting themselves back to pasture after a day in the road. It was nightfall and we were getting ready to see a martial arts performance in Kerala. And one by one, the cows ducked under the fence and put themselves back to pasture. Just in time for bed. By sunrise they’d be in the road again. Of their own volition.

No one seemed to mind. It was a fact of life. Cows in the road.

I minded.

I mean the roads are dangerous enough as it is. Driving in India is total chaos. There are rickshaws, tuk tuks, motorcycles, people, tractors, buses, cows, goats, dogs, cars (did I mention cars?) – all on the road. And these are not wide roads.

Oh, and did I mention monkeys?

There are monkeys.

And they don't like to look at you.

When Kelly and I booked our Golden Triangle tour to Delhi-Agra-Jaipur, the itinerary made a point of saying – several times – that we’d be traveling down “India’s finest freeways.”

Well, that’s a relief.

They did not note, however, that there are cows all over “India’s finest freeways”. Or the fact that there are no laws – or law enforcement – on those fine freeways.

Now I really like cows. I’ve always said this. I think they’re really cute. They’re docile. They don’t seem to bother anybody. I like things that don’t bother anybody.

But I’m not sure I want to give up my life for the life of a cow. It may not be an even trade. Hindus would say it would be an even trade – because apparently a cow could be one of your relatives reincarnate. And that’s fine. But how do we know it’s not your crotchety old Aunt Eunice? The one that never let you touch anything in her house?

Drivers in India seemed to pay special attention to not hitting the cows. I wondered… in what scenario would a driver actually hit a cow?

Hmmm….???

OK, you are driving down one of India’s finest freeways – rounding a curve, let’s say. Approaching you in the left lane – as you clear the curve – is a bus (it may look something like this).

Do you see the people on this bus? They are riding on top of it.

Luckily you’ve honked before rounding the curve because the bus is pretty much in your lane (which is why you honked in the first place). At that moment, a cow walks into your lane from your right.

You:

(A.) Hit the sacred, holy cow

(B.) Swerve to miss the sacred, holy cow and run off a cliff

(?)

I wasn’t sure the answer would be A. I’m kinda thinkin’ it would be B.

And that scared me.

I hardly ever see cows – living in Boston, Chicago, San Francisco or Sydney, you just don’t run into farm animals. I don’t see goats either. And I love goats. Why? Because they’re funny looking.

In Kerala – walking around – I had opportunities to see cows up close & personal. Say hi to it. See what its up to. Snap its photo. Capture its aloofness.

I tried to make friends with this particular cow by giving it my left-over corn cob after I mowed the corn off it. It seemed kinda pleased. I think (?)

One cow – my favorite cow – actually approached me and tried to put her head under my skirt. She nuzzled me. I pet her little head. I wanted to take her home. I loved her ears.

On the last day, I saw a really beautiful cow eating grass on the side of the road. Pradeep and Saji were talking to someone in Malayalam and I thought I’d go say hi to the cow (cowlish and peoplelish are about as close as English and Malayalam anyway).

Ah, what a beautiful scene. We were in Munnar – there were mountains layered with fog and clouds. Hills smothered with tea plants. And there was this cow with beautiful Munnar behind it – perched on the precipice of all this beauty.

I snapped a few pictures. Hi, cow. How are you, cow?

It wouldn’t look directly at me. Not for more than a millisecond. Not enough time for me to get the perfect shot.

I got closer – looking the cow in the eyes. Hey, cow. Look at me.

I waved my arms. Hello. Make a clucking sound. Like you call a kitty, kitty, kitty.

Hi cow.

Here cow.

Before I continue this story, there’s one thing you should know.

This is how I was dressed.

Keep that in mind as I continue.

Click. Click. Aren’t you a pretty cow? You are such a pretty cow. Hi cow. Here, cow!

I took about twenty photos of this cow. Clucking and clicking and waving. Getting closer then backing away. I wanted the cow to pay attention to me. But I also wanted it to stay right where it was.

In the pretty scene.

It dipped its head at me. Down and up.

Look at me, cow. Stay there, cow. Click, cluck, snap.

It dipped its head again – stepping forward.

Click, cluck, snap.

I heard Pradeep say, “Madam!”

I ignored him. I was engrossed in this cow. And this picture perfect scene.

“Madam! Sometimes they attack.”

Silly. Cows don’t attack.

“What does?”

“They do.”

“ A cow?”

“Yes.”

I ignored him. Cows are docile. Cute.

“Madam!” he yelled from across the street.

“Yeah.”

“You know, in Spain.”

What does Spain have to do with anything?

The cow dipped its head again and walked a few more steps towards me. I ran a little – keeping my distance. Pradeep was talking nonsense – but no use upsetting him.

“You know like when they run down the street? In Spain.”

I stopped. Looked at him. “The running of the bulls,” I said to myself.

“This is a bull?”

He didn’t reply.

“Pradeep – is this a bull or a cow?”

“Yes, madam. It’s a cow. Same thing.”

“Oh, shit,” I said.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

I was just teasing a bull.

“Sometimes they attack people with red.”

I looked down at my shirt. Oh my God, I’m teasing a bull wearing red.

I’m such a moron.

A bull. With Munnar behind it.

He was totally coming to get me.

Now before I continue, three points in my defense.

1.) Contrary to popular opinion outside of the South, I did not grow up with chickens and pigs and cows. People have asked me – with a straight face – if I had pigs when I grew up (Susie, I’m talking about you).

No. I did not have pigs.

I would have wanted a pig. But I did not have one.

Or a cow.

2.) I had – just the day before – been to a spice garden where they had dairy cows. Big cows with teats full of milk. Nice, docile cows.

They had horns. I found that peculiar. I said, “I did not know female cows had horns.” Yes, they said. Some do.

Silly foreigner.

3.) I am not used to seeing bulls on the side of the road in the United States. I’m not used to this because normally a bull is kept in a pen by himself. Alone. So he doesn’t kill anyone!

The funny thing is my stepfather has been convinced that I’m going to get H1N1 virus while in Kerala. He is a bit alarmist about my travels. He keeps sending me emails about the swine flu. IN ALL CAPS.

This is a trend. When I was in Korea he sent me emails about how North Korea was threatening South Korea with nuclear war.

Similar things in Laos. Communism. Infection diseases. Whatever.

I like teasing him. I told him, “The people in Kerala probably sleep with their pigs and that’s why they get swine flu. And besides, I’m not eating pork while I’m in Kerala.”

He replied,

"SWINE FLU HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH EATING MEAT,OR PIGS. IT IS H1N1 VIRUS - THE VIRUS THAT WAS ALL OVER THE WORLD LAST YEAR THAT KILLED 1,000'S OF PEOPLE.

LOVE YOU"

As you can see, he would prefer that I stay home.

I told him I wasn’t concerned about H1N1. That I was mostly concerned about being eaten by a tiger since I was going into the Periyar Tiger reserve.

What I did not know was that seeing an actual tiger – one of the forty on the reserve – would have been considered more rare than being eaten by one.

This is about as close as I got. Saji pointed and said, “small tiger”.

But I saw some elephants.

Baby elephant!!!

BABY OMG BABY ELEPHANT

There is an infant elephant in between the two big ones. Do you see? They are hiding it.

He's in there.

When I went to Japan, I told my stepfather I was traveling alone. I said, “Well, I figure I’m bigger than all of them so what harm can they do?” Kidding him.

Let's just say, he didn’t think that was funny.

Hyper-vigilance. That’s what good fathers are made of.

But you can never predict what can happen to you in a foreign country. I could stress about these things – but mostly I don’t. I do a lot of research, I take precautions. Most of the places I stayed in India actually had security guards. Some with semi-automatic weapons. They say that most accidents happen 2 miles from your house anyway, so I just go with that. I enjoy my travels too much. And I figure if anything terrible does happen to me in a foreign country, at least it will make for a decent obituary.

KIDDING. Again – kid. ding. J

One thing I didn’t plan for – or get warned about in all caps – were the cows in India. The male ones.

You know – THE BULLS!

(* Like “Holy cow!”)