The Minimalist
Five am at the airport lounge in Bombay. A man zips past security, settles down next to me, whips out his celphone and tells his wife ‘ I’m here at the airport’. I tried to imagine the scene at the other end. She must have just been dropping off to sleep, having seen her beloved off, and wham, he’s on the phone to give her the Pilgrim’s Progress Report.
‘Hey, I’m at the grocers’. ‘ I’m in the Peanut butter aisle’. ‘ I’m standing in front of the biggest cantaloupes you’ve ever seen’.‘ I’m in line at the checkout counter’. ‘I’m getting into the car’. ‘ See you in a few’.
None of this for Yoda. No barking endlessly, no minute to minute updates. No endless texting, or ‘Wassup’ calls. He is from the Less is More school. He could easily lead a Master Class on the Sound of Silence.
We had taken Yoda to dine at Joel Robuchon’s restaurant in Paris. The hotel concierge had checked, and they were okay with the pooch, as long as he was suitably caged. Yoda’s bag passed muster, and we were ushered into the most elegant dining room in the world, styled like a library.
Dining at a master’s restaurant is like going to a Picasso exhibit. There is an air of excitement, held in by a hushed and reverent silence. You know that everyone wants to High Five, but dare not. We waited for the menu to be offered , and settled down for some serious contemplation. If I had paid this kind of attention to my college texts, I would have graduated Summa Cum.
Then Yoda barked. One sharp low decibel bark. Almost sotto voce. His goal was to alert us, but just us, to a need, and even people at the next table did not hear him. One look at his shiny eyes, and we knew what he wanted. A quick walk later, Yoda was back under Mina’s chair, light of heart and bladder.
Memory is a wonderful thing. Ask me what I remember of the meal, and I can only recall a seafood degustation. But to this day, I can hear the bark.
Yoda is the minimalist communicator. He has different modes. The first is the Look. You know that someone is looking intently at you, and when you turn around, there he is. A shake of the head, or a slight movement of his body and you know what he wants. If the Look fails, there is the Paw. A gentle nudge, no unseemly scrabbling at your trouser leg. And when all else fails, there is the Bark.
He uses the Bark almost every time we get on to a plane. His bag has been zipped up for boarding, and we set it down by our seats, as we stow our bags. One sharp bark reminds us that he is there, he is hot, and its time to unzip his bag. He too needs to check out the seats, the airline carpeting, his fellow passengers and the flight attendants. One day, I am sure he will ask for the inflight magazine, to look at the Duty Free.
Many years ago, in the days B.Y.( before Yoda) we heard Ivan Illyich speak in Bombay. He said that just as the spaces between the spokes of a wheel are necessary to define its shape, so is silence necessary to make communication complete. Yoda understands this full well.
He is the minimalist par excellence, a Koolhund, even though he has never designed a boutique hotel or a Prada showroom. Wasted effort is not his thing. He knows that the raised eyebrow is the grandest gesture, and the lower you talk, the more people strain to listen.
One day, Nokia will launch the doggy celphone. They will find a way to make it paw friendly. That’s a given.
I know we will get Yoda one. In sleek silver. When it rings, I am sure he will catch my attention. His body language will say ‘Would you please get the phone. Whoever it is, I’m not in’.
Mar 28, 2009 | | Book