Finding Nemo

It was a working Saturday for me and I was quite in the weekend mood already, struggling to concentrate on the mundane paperwork crowding my desk. These working Saturdays are particularly difficult to wade through, especially since my husband has all Saturdays off. The man has absolutely no qualms of peacefully lazing on the drawing room sofa, while I hurriedly make way through the morning rush on a Saturday, sweating and sulking about going to work. Hence, to make sure that I am not alone in this Saturday torture, I often hand him a list of chores to be performed at home, while I am away at work. That day, I had entrusted him with a severely important task – buying fish. Now, many may not understand, but a good fish to a Bengali, is as important as the Sun is to the Earth - we simply cannot do without it. Thankfully, the fish bazaar near our Mumbai home serves a splendid collection of sea and fresh water fishes, such as Pomfret, Rohu, Hilsa, Basa and the like, suiting our budget and taste over the week. “I will get fresh and best”, my husband, half asleep, had proclaimed from the sofa that day, promising not to ruin our Sunday lunch.

So, there I was, working and day dreaming intermittently, as goes the Saturday routine at office. My mind wandered to thoughts of the Sunday lunch menu at home – Pomfret cooked in a thick tomato gravy, garnished generously with chopped coriander and served with hot steaming rice. Ah, what a bliss it would be! Suddenly, my attention fell on the clock. It was 4 pm. My husband ought to have called by now, showing off his loot of the day. But there was no news yet. Curious, I dialed his number.

“Hey, had lunch? No news of fish shopping today?”, I asked.

“Haven’t had the chance to have lunch yet. A lot has happened in the last few hours! I just wasn’t getting the time to call you. I have news.”, he said, panting.

“Okay”, I said, anxious as to what awaited me. “Tell me.”

The story began with my husband and his friend, who recently moved in to the same colony as ours, heading to the fish market, bags in hand to carry their purchase. As they got off at the entry gate of the bazaar, they noticed a mother cat feeding her kittens, who were all in a very playful mood, teasing and jostling with each other to get their share. At a small distance from the lot, was a pile of vegetable garbage, comprising of discarded scrap from the market vendors. There, just beside the pile, was what looked like a tiny kitten, lying dead still. At first, they didn’t understand. It seemed impossible to them that a kitten should be lying like that, despite being within the line of sight of an active mother cat. Slowly, they moved closer to have a clearer look and what they saw, was nothing short of heart-wrenching. It was a kitten indeed, with gravely infected eyes – both the eyes were covered in pus and the left eye looked mutilated, the eye ball almost hanging out of the socket. An army of flies were swarming around her eyes and she was too weak to even shoo them away. But she was breathing, small breaths at a time, the only indication that she was in fact, alive. They gathered that the mother cat had abandoned her, separating the rest of her kittens to prevent any spread of infection. They kept watching the kitten, discussing amongst themselves the possibilities of calling an animal rescue centre. Just then, the mother cat came forward, brushing against their legs and softly mewing at them.

“Maybe she wants to tell us something”, the friend said.

The cat kept at her gesture, moving back and forth between the kitten and them, as if requesting to rescue her baby. After waiting for a little while longer and not finding any help, they decided to take the final call. Without further ado, they picked up the injured kitten and placed her in the empty shopping bag.

“We must take her to the Doctor right now”, said the friend, who has had prior experience in managing pets. “Her eyes need attention. She might die any moment”.

Quickly, they looked up vets and as always, Google suggested a few near their location. They chose one randomly and rushed, following the directions given by maps. Reaching there, they almost barged in, expressing their urgency to the Doctor. Gently, the friend took the kitten out, placing it in front of the Doctor for necessary treatment. The Doctor, after inspecting the kitten, looked up at them in amazement.

“Where did you find her?”, she asked.

The boys explained how.

Heaving a sigh, she said – “Her left eye is no good. We will have to take it out. But not now, she is too weak. I am giving her some medicines and writing down a few, so that the right eye at least clears out. These have to be strictly administered. Special attention is to be given to her food. You can give her boiled chicken and rice, ground to a fine paste. Chicken broth will also do, but eating is a must. It’ll be a miracle if she survives”.

The boys looked on, carefully taking note of all the instructions the Doctor gave.

As she began to write a prescription, she asked, “what is her name? I need a name to write her prescription”.

This was a question they had not expected. Thinking of a name at that point seemed more difficult than saving the kitten’s life. They gaped at each other, looking for answers. Then, to my husband’s surprise, the friend replied – “Nemo. You can write her name as Nemo, please”.

The Doctor put an Elizabethan collar around her neck, to ensure that she doesn’t scratch her eyes accidentally. Somehow, it made her look regal, even in such shabby health. Once done at the clinic, the boys collected the medicines, promised to update the Doctor on her improvements, if any, and headed back home, with the tiny kitten in hand.

“So, we have a new member in the Mumbai family now”, my husband said, bringing a conclusion to his story.

I had been listening to the entire story in rapt attention, uttering not a single word as my husband narrated. At the end of it, I had tissues in my hand.

“You there?”, my husband asked.

There were a million things I wanted to say at that point in time, but all I said was –

“That is beautiful Dipro. You and Sunny are such good people”.

“We had to rescue her. It was meant to be. Let’s hope she lives. You come home soon. Nemo is waiting for you”.

“Tell me something”, I asked. “Why did Sunny name her Nemo? Because she was in a fish market?”, I said, referring to an animated movie featuring a fish by the same name.

“No silly!”, my husband laughed out. “Because we found her”.

As my husband said, it would have been easier to walk away, to not take this responsibility. But sometimes, we have got to do what’s right. It has been a week since Nemo has been home. Turns out, she is a fighter after all, staying alive against all odds. We couldn’t save her left eye though, but she sees fine with the right one, making all the mischief that a happy and healthy cat should. In the little time that she has spent with us, she has already decided on a few essential things – first, my husband is her mother and rescuer -she lights up just at the sight of him; second, television is awesome – she stays engrossed in watching television, especially if they’re showing Harry Potter; and third, the bean bag at the corner of the guest room is the cosiest spot in the house – she invariably heads there for a nap, after every meal. She loves to fight with the drooping curtains of the bedroom and is petrified of the small stress ball, which my husband thought would double as a toy for her. For now, she is a chicken-eating cat, but I know for a fact that she will love fish, when we are able to include that in her diet. After all, certain things must be common in the family.

We took no time in coining some one-liners for her name though. For instance, if Nemo is hungry, we call it ‘Finding food’, if she prefers a nap, it’s called ‘Finding bean bag’, if she wants to cosy up, we say ‘Finding cuddle’ and so on and so forth. It is just a small private joke. As for us, we have had our share of findings as well – ‘Finding parenthood’.