There's a balcony here as well. It's more of a verandah. I sit there, on the stairs, looking at dogs and occasional cars that pass by our lonely alley. It's usually windy at night, the breeze accompanied by occasional rain. I message asking if you're free. You are. We get on a call. We talk of animals. Of cows and goats and dogs and cats. You grew up with them. Did you live in a zoo? I ask. You say kind of. That you were a domesticated mowgli. Then you show off your talent. You mimic their voices. Cat, dog, cow and goat. Your voice resembles goat's the most.

We would have two dogs when we live together, you blurt out of the blue. Two are too much, one is still okay, I contest. I have never liked dogs, been bitten by my uncle's pet at 10 that was followed by five painful injections. You fight for two. I for one. Two, one. Two, one. Two, one. It's a war. We argue and disconnect. I stare blankly at the road. A brown stray is lingering on the road, as if waiting. No other dog is in sight. I gape at it, its lonely strides, its incomplete face, its loss of zest devoid of company. Like my state without you on the phone. I text: "okay, two. :)" Sadu calling!

- हर्ष स्नेहांशु