Goodbyes

Sometimes it's the most unexpected things that can bring you down... like the every night ritual of popping Femilon. Yesterday I just stared at those pills wondering at the automation of the routine, willing them to defend their existence in my life, loud, threatening-to-be-thunderous sobs racking my body.

And sometimes, it's the simplest things that can prop your defeated soul up... like two heads entwined, gurgling with guffaws, a male bonding that I can never possibly recreate with Nino: and understanding a lesson that is painful but pertinent - that there is a purpose in being lost and lonely as well.

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We gave Sneelock the snail away yesterday... actually I did. Sneelock laid over a hundred eggs last month and nearly half of them popped out into tiny, beautiful, awe-inspiring babies. The terrarium would eventually be very small for all of them - and snail babies need a lot of calcium for their growing shells... something they best get in the wild. Nino and I'd spoken about the babies: I thought we'd keep one or two and put the rest away, carefully, in a place where they'd be safe. But Nino turned around and said very matter-of-factly that we'd have to give Sneelock away as well - Why, I asked - and he said, Well, the babies need Sneelock, right?

We thought long and hard about where to put Sneelock - snails are pests, technically speaking, so they wouldn't be very welcome in someone's garden. They needed to be safe, where the earth is moist, but where water is not very close - because they can drown, safe from dogs - because dogs can crack their shells.

So yesterday, when Nino was away at a b'day party, I picked up my gentle friend, and his/her babies, put them in a tiny box and drove a morose five minutes to Sundervan, a beautiful haven in the middle of Ahmedabad's concrete mayhem, where snakes and porcupines, geese and crocodiles make for one happy family. Trudging through the dense vegetation, in a area where visitors are not allowed to step in, as my dear father-in-law kept a watch, I settled Sneelock and the babies by a fallen, hollow tree trunk. I felt foolish at the sting of my tears: and I muttered a hasty goodbye, but I did take a picture of this beautiful creature that came home for a few days, and its babies, who'd climbed all over its shell, ready, for yet another adventure.

I will miss you, brave Sneelock, soo-per, stoo-pendous, mighty Sneelock. Just like your namesake, you were an unexpected entertainer and friend.

Our newest family member

Meet Mr Sneelock, our mighty African snail. He (well Nino insists he is a he, although snails can be hermaphrodites) loves potatoes, moneyplant leaves, lettuce and doodhi, in that order. He's a very curious guy and makes a lot of poo for a little fella. Slightly bigger than my palm when's he out and in his form, Mr Sneelock, says Nino, loves boys who do acrobatics. He also loves to walk, sip water from his leaf-shaped private pool and pee on the walls. Plus he has 'suction cups' on his belly, just like Spiderman, adds Nino.

He's our newest family member: and perfect entertainment for too hot weekend afternoons.