My name is Pepsi. At least that’s what they used to call me, once upon a time, when I had a family. No one calls me Pepsi anymore – but I remember my name.

Now they call me Lalli, Golu, Table, Dirty Dog, depending on who is calling me, in the street where I live.

I don’t remember too much about how I came to be here. One day after I had passed out from terrible pain, a kind boy gave me a piece of roti and some water to drink – it was the first time I had anything to eat in many days. When I looked around I saw I was on this street.

I heard the kind boy say to someone a few days ago that I am around ten years old, and have been living on the streets forever.

I’m not sure what “forever” means, but this wasn’t always my life. I remember a home, my family with two big humans and two small humans, all living in the great indoors. I used to be fed cakes and sausages and other delicious things every day; I had a bed of my own, and the little ones used to play with me and make a huge fuss of me.

Life was beautiful.

Till one day, when I saw the big humans looking very serious and packing up all their belongings, while the little ones were crying and petting me. I was sad they were sad, and tried to lick away their tears to make them feel better, which somehow made them cry even more.

The next thing I remember – I was on this big road with large scary things zooming by, and so much noise all around me!

I had never been on the road without my family before, and I ran around for many many days looking for them. I was worried they were lost and worried about me. Then, exhausted, I sat down by the roadside near a cart.

And suddenly, a strange man started beating me with a stick and yelling loudly! I thought he was playing at first, and I tried to fetch the stick which I had been taught to do. But for some reason that made him even angrier, and he started throwing stones at me. One of these hit me – and everything suddenly went black. When I woke up next, the kind boy was next to me, giving me water and a roti.

And so my new life began. I tried to stay close to the kind boy’s house, and waited eagerly for him to give me food every day; but also give me the one gentle pat on my head which was the highlight of my day.

I can’t tell him this, but not everyone is like him. Some people make a big fuss and start shouting at me when I go up to them to say hello. Some days ago, a big, scary man also chased me with a stick and I ran away as fast as I could. It was so confusing and so strange: I hadn’t said anything to him!

I had a few friends in the street; Chiefy and Kaalu were my best friends. But I have not been able to find them for many days now. I heard the kind boy say to someone that a big scary thing zooming past had run over Chief when he was sleeping, and he was lying unattended with many broken bones. He had been sent to some place called a shelter. I don’t know if he will ever come back… I hope he does. Life is lonely without him.

The kind boy is also trying to find Kaalu. The last time I remember seeing him was when a big van came and two people caught him and put him in the van and took him for a ride. But I think they must have forgotten the address and dropped him off in some other lane – and now Kaalu is lost. I heard the kind boy say he must be in extreme pain after his surgery, and won’t be able to survive on a strange new street.

I wish I could have a home again, and someone to care for me. I heard yesterday that all of us living on the streets will be picked up and taken away. I will miss the kind boy, but I hope this means there will be a family and little ones, and I can get a small bed to lie in and food to eat in the great indoors once more. And maybe I will be able to see Chiefy again.

That’s all I wish for, really.

Hemali Sodhi is the founder of A Suitable Agency. She loves travelling, reading, and dogs.

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