The title doesn't lie. I found this little guy in one of the many markets around Bangalore in Karnataka, India. He was just sitting on the middle of the curb deep inside the market and just by the alleyway entrance into the meat market.
Girls were screaming and shrieking bloody murder as the men working around the areas would toss bits of pig fat and cow bone up in the air and towards the direction of the oncoming American girls. Who could blame them with the reaction and comedic show the foreigners gave them on a slow day in the market.
Just beyond this little guy's stoop I watched as wives and old men waited for their freshly harvested chickens to take home so they could prepare the nights dinner. The sound of the chicken harvester machine sent a narrow shrill chill down your spine at the first echo of from across the street, but soon became apart of the elegant chaotic white noise of its surroundings.
The girls who cried at the sound of the fresh cut chickens and sight of relentlessly washed but still blood drenched streets; found comfort later in the air conditioned restaurant down the street over their chicken tikka masala and hot chai.
Girls were screaming and shrieking bloody murder as the men working around the areas would toss bits of pig fat and cow bone up in the air and towards the direction of the oncoming American girls. Who could blame them with the reaction and comedic show the foreigners gave them on a slow day in the market.
Just beyond this little guy's stoop I watched as wives and old men waited for their freshly harvested chickens to take home so they could prepare the nights dinner. The sound of the chicken harvester machine sent a narrow shrill chill down your spine at the first echo of from across the street, but soon became apart of the elegant chaotic white noise of its surroundings.
The girls who cried at the sound of the fresh cut chickens and sight of relentlessly washed but still blood drenched streets; found comfort later in the air conditioned restaurant down the street over their chicken tikka masala and hot chai.
I bet he's the biggest alley cat that side of town. He seemed like a fighter and that his mother taught him how to survive, and not how to just get by. No hawk will ever be brave enough to swoop down on him.
At the time the only thing I could compare him to was my cat back home. I'm sure she was sun bathing in the windowsill. I see the different between them today more than I did then.
Wild things, street creatures, alley aristocats, and scavenger hawks do not feel sorry for themselves... They do not have the time to contemplate what tomorrow may bring. They are reduced and thrive into a day, a day that could end, a day that could bring them to tomorrow.
Their reduction is what keeps them going. Keeps them keeping on, in pursuit of prospering in the lowly subjugated place at the bottom of the pyramid. If you're clustered in the bottom, as the foundation for the top of the pyramid to thrive on... there is only one direction to go from there.
Up.
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