Home Invaders!

The dictionary defines planking as a covering or flooring constructed of planks. This happens to be the structural science behind the old earthquake proof houses that dominated the architectural landscape of Shillong for a long time. A colorful tin roof and a wooden floor more or less sums up the look of it.

Commonly referred to as an ‘Assam Type’ , the house where I grew up was one such piece of construction. The raised platform between the earth and the floor, all thanks to the planking, was therefore a shelter for many a family of mutts during my growing up years. I witnessed generations of stray dogs call it home as it was a safe haven for them to procreate and bring up the future progeny. Safe from harsh natural elements the little pups did well and survived when they ordinarily would not have. Except the occasional ill tempered dogs that my dad and uncle chased away using little rounded pebbles as ammunition, we shared a peaceful coexistence with our neighbors downstairs.

As most of us know, composting is the decomposition of organic waste and a compost pit, locally called a Gadda, was a permanent fixture in all the houses in our locality. The final byproduct, compost, did wonders for our yards and gardens. An efficient and scientific process, it did more than just that. 

Meal time visits from felines and canines who greedily gorged on the leftovers in the pit created a bond between the kids and the daily guests, some of whom (mostly cats), found their way into my cousin’s hearts and finally into our home. Chaos ensued as the food chain effect took over and the dog - eat-  cat - eat - mouse game turned real as we witnessed corpses of the lower animals way more often than we would have liked to. While the dead mice lying around the compound only triggered high pitched shrieks of disgust in us young Roys, the lifeless and mutilated bodies of the ‘pet’ cats triggered tears of sorrow and pain, and the mourning period lasted till the time a new kitty scavenging the pit was brought home. 

An old house with it’s cracks and crevices is a favorite destination for bees to reside in and they hardly waste time building a mighty crib. It is almost always too late by the time it gets noticed. Our house was no exception to this and we had to deal with multiple bee hives which frequently grew to the size of soccer balls. After an intolerable number of attacks, it was time to fight back. Getting rid of these gigantic clumps of beeswax involved intricate planning. Hours of discussions and days of preparation later, the hives would be approached by the elders holding flaming kerosene torches in their well protected hands (read gloves and plastic sheathing), full sleeved shirts (with skivvies underneath) cello taped to where they met the gloves, track pants taped to sports shoes and to top it off, a cricket helmet protecting their ski mask covered faces with sun-shades to complete the look! Not an inch of skin was ever exposed. Surprisingly, the strategy worked and the bees would usually swarm out and the hive would be destroyed. I still like to believe it was the scary attire and not the blazing flame that did the trick.

Be it the skinny brown dog poking his head into the hedge trying to find a way into the garden or the hair less black one running away with one of my white canvas shoe a day before the school drill; the cats which showed us real time what a cat fight really meant or the nasty stinging bees that brought out the brilliant war tactic planners in our elders; I owe all these memories to the old house I grew up in! 

Good, bad and out rightly ugly, some of the most amazing experiences are indeed born out of the most ordinary circumstances.