Bandu

Guess which one is Bandu?

You were probably the only one who got a name from Aai.
Its not that she did not like pets, but unlike us, she was sensible about disciplining them as well. And she tried to do the same with you. Initially you complied, but then of course things didn't quite stick to the course -- as was expected.
Bandu was a name of endearment. It meant a very dear one. A very dear, little one. And that's what you were. Our precious, dear little one with the softest fur and blackest, loving eyes.
Of course they were not kohl-lined like Tony's, but neither were you drop dead gorgeous like Tony. You were good looking, that is the intrinsic quality of your breed and it was natural that you would be so.
Unlike Tony's, I was not witness to your baby steps as you dashed and jumped your way in the house. In fact I wasn't even around when Baba got you home. I got to see you only on my subsequent visit to Pune. But none of that quite affected your animated and vigorous tail wagging or eager jumping into my arms, you did not give me a choice except to love you back.
You would eat your meals very reluctantly, waiting to be reprimanded and then cajoled before you ate. Quite like a child. And then you would come and rub your food-smeared snout on aaji's saree to clean it. She of course indulged you. And beamed with joy that you had eaten your meal and would now sleep soundly. You were everyone's baby after all.

Bandu in his famous Sphinx pose

Bandi, Bandushikha, Bandya, you responded to almost any name and came barking and wagging your tail when summoned.
Of course you were hopeless when it came to chasing off Kala Boka. The crook came and polished off half of Mau's food even as you lay sprawled in front of him watching him incredulously with those big, black eyes. Only a shrill Bandya! would snap you out of your trance and then you would make a feeble attempt at chasing KB, who by then would have made good his escape. Of course you returned wagging your tail anticipating adulation for your 'action', but we both knew it was a mock display of agility and vigilance.
Mau unfortunately got the better of you. She was probably half your size and as things go should have ideally been scared of you. But i guess you both suffered from a case of identity crisis. You forgot that you are a dog who was supposed to chase and threaten her. She kind of overlooked her reality as a cat who was supposed to feel threatened by you. Even if she sat on the threshold of a room you would refuse to enter it. And god forbid, if you were inside the room you would howl and whimper in misery hoping someone would dislodge Mau from her perch on the threshold. A million, Bandu you should be ashamed, could not infuse you with any valor.

Bandu, get off the sofa right now!

Come Chaturthi and you would be the first to show up for aarti. You would wait patiently till all the clapping and singing subsided for the naividyacha pedha. It was reserved only for you. The rest of us got our pedhas from the box, but you got yours from the silver waati, and of course before anyone else did. After all you had to rush out immediately and sit in the balcony and carry out the most important task of barking at stray gusts of wind.
You were bandu mama to our children. Greeting and barking at them with the same affection as you had for us. But by then your teeth had started rotting and each bark would spurt hellish whiffs of your last meal. So you became an example as we coaxed our children to brush their teeth on time else they would end up with a breath like yours.
And incidentally if you forgot, you had a weak heart. Cookie would keep reminding us all the time if we bothered you with some serious exercise. She was your guardian and star after all.
You had your favorites. And you showed it.
But above all you loved everyone of us, equally and sometimes more than what we deserved.
You would be up and barking excitedly every time I returned from Germany. You would not even let me put down my bags before jumping all over me, sometimes peeing on me in your excitement.

Bandu on Rakhi or Bhaubeej

Bandu, like all things in that house, you have aged. You are part of memories which bind us all. The living flesh and bone of emotion. You will probably be the last 'family' dog. Little Jivika has written a prayer for you. She does not want you to die. You were after all her pet as well. When you go, as you must, and in peace and with a lot of love, you will change the game for us. We were not quite children when you came in, but the house was still a house of our childhood back then. It was something which was essentially us. We were the 'children' of the house. We are adults now, or so we would like to believe, but with you, an essential and inexplicable part of us will also go, and just like you, we would like to release it with a lot of love and gratitude.