Holy Cow!

A while back, when Subramaniam, our gardener-turned-dairyman with a cow and a-year-old calf, did not deliver the milk, we took him to task the next day. He smiled his toothless smile and said that the cow had kicked the bucket.

"Oh I am sorry. Was it an accident?" My concern for his sudden loss was genuine. 

"Of course it was an accident, you silly girl! What do you think, my gentle cow-sy will  spill  the milk on purpose?"

While Subramaniam sounded quite offended, I was relieved to hear that the cow, fondly called Sundari, was alive and kicking, and had not kicked the bucket yet.

A few days later, Sundari was invited as the chief guest by the village headman to the inauguration of his new mansion. She was expected to be the first one to saunter into the building and bless it with her divine presence. Instead of feeling honoured, she was horrified by the prospects of stepping into a confined space.  Used to roaming around in green pastures and soft wet ground,  concrete floors and plastered walls seemed to terrify her. The headman determined to get her blessings, pushed, nudged, poked and bumped her, trying to thrust her forward, past the vestibule into the main living room, where oblations were being offered.

So traumatic was this experience for Sundari, that from that day onwards, she stopped giving milk and had to be sold off.

So, there we were again, reluctantly buying homogenised milk, packed in polythene bags. It did not even have the thick,  dark yellow layer of delectable cream which adorned the surface of Sundari's milk. Moreover, buying packets of milk translated into contributing our fair share of plastic to the landfills. So, we started getting powdered milk in a cardboard box. Even though it could not equal the fresh one from the cow, our eco- conscience was  guilt-free.

One day, I saw a woman, on her way back from work, trying to load her Vespa with a pile of fresh grass. "What are you going to do with this?" I asked, while helping her secure the bundle to the extra career she had attached to the back seat. 

"Oh, it's for the cow we just bought last week," she answered matter-of-factly. Her answer must have inadvertently brought a quizzical look on my face. For, who in the cities, buys a cow? We  hear of people buying TVs, washing machines, cars...but a cow? Sensing my puzzlement, she continued, "Our two children don't like the store-bought stuff, so my husband and I decided to buy a cow. They love both, the cow and the milk she gives!" Perplexed, but happy to learn of the great lengths some parents go to,  in order to ensure that their children receive the nutrition they need, I muttered, "hats off to a great mom" as she sped off.

Subramaniam soon bought another cow. This one, he named Lakshmi. She was all brown, with great compassionate eyes and a white trident shining on her forehead. And the whole neighborhood rejoiced. Subramaniam's wife Shanti cooked pal khoa with the first fruitage, and distributed it around,  a very spontaneous gesture which reinforced our customer loyalty towards her. And just like before, we were back on the track, with fresh milk from Lakshmi being delivered to our doorstep. We felt pampered and grateful. The quality of milk was excellent and yielded enough cream to make our own butter. Time flew past, and fresh milk from Lakshmi became part of the mechanical clockwork a day tends to fall prey to. And just as we began to take this great privilege for granted, Subramaniam announced he was selling Lakshmi. Shanti, his wife was not well, and could no longer milk the cow. "How about you, or any of your three sons? Isn't anyone up to the job?" My mother asked, implying that the boys just needed to work harder.

"I wish..." sighed the gardener-turned-dairyman, adding, "she is partial to Shanti, when it comes to milking, and wouldn't let anyone of us near her during the process". 

Now, that was an eye-opener. And it was with some irony did I realise that while most all politicians can milk the cow,  it needs a different set of hands for the simple yet graceful act of milking a cow. Holy cow, indeed!