Shoba Narayan’s friendship with Sarala, the milkwoman, leads to the writing of a tale replete withwisecracks, wry observations and warm memories

Writer Shoba Narayan’s fi��rst encounterwith Sarala was a trifl��e serendipitous;she met the milk woman (and her cow)in the elevator of Ivory, her newly con-structed apartment, “named after abanned product created from elephanttusks which quixotically, is painted in ashade called ebony,” she observes inher latest book, The Cows of Banga-lore: And how I came to own one (Si-mon & Schuster).

And though she didn’t know it then,it marked the beginning of, as RickBlaine once said, a beautiful friendshipthat included Narayan playing an ac-

tive part in, (and sponsoring) the dra-matic purchase of an ungulate.

“She became my philosopher, guideand shrink. But it didn’t start out as afriendship,” smiles Narayan, who washere in the city to launch this latestbook in association with Chennai’sPrakriti Foundation. It was perhaps Sa-rala’s nature that made it inevitable,however. “There is calmness to her,ease, a generosity of spirit, and I haveto believe that it is because of the ani-mals she is surrounded with,” she says.

More importantly, however, Sarala(like Narayan) is a gifted storyteller; thesort of person who, Rumpelstiltskin-like, spins magic out of the mundane.

“She has a certain charisma, a way ofsavouring life that a lot of us have lost.”In Sarala’s world, a cow will “start skat-ing” if it walks across a marble fl��oor; anaccident that results in multiple milkpackets spewing its contents on theroad is a “good omen” as it means that“the gods have sent us a milk shower”;problems can be divided into high-rise-sized and hut-sized; discussing acow’s price in public is disrespectful,“Would you discuss your daughter’sprice in public? Even if you had to gether married off�� and give her a dowry?,”demands Sarala at one point of thebook.

While the burgeoning friendshipbetween the two women, replete withwitty wisecracks, wry observations,and admittedly, a bit of opportunism(Sarala constantly asks for money, fa-vours and treats for her animals in ex-change for becoming a muse of sorts toNarayan) is the core of the book, it also

off��ers a wealth of information, bothfactual and mythical. Facts on A2 milk,pasteurisation and the evolution, spe-ciation and domestication of cows rubshoulders with Vishwamitra’s battlewith Vasistha’s cow, Manu Needhi Cho-lan’s justice-driven fi��licide (the cow isthe protagonist of this story) and ex-tracts from Ayurvedic texts extollingmilk, bound together by the writer’sown brushes with the bovine.

“If you go back by a millennia, youwill see that every culture was ob-sessed with cows. What is unusualabout India is that the obsession hascontinued to this day,” she says. An ob-

session, which over the course of herdecade-or-so-long association with Sa-rala, became her own too. “I didn’tplan on writing a book about cows,they literally walked up to me,” shelaughs.

Memoirs and moreThere is a Marquezian feel to the Indiadescribed in the book, an inherent ear-thiness lacquered with sublimity andwonder. “Multiple centuries collidehere and we are so privileged to see it,”says Narayan, who off��ers examples ofthis all through The Cows of Banga-lore. A rooster continues to rouse theinhabitants of the fancy high-risebuilding where Narayan lives; lined-upstainless-steel milk cans, “look like ub-er-sculptor Subodh Gupta’s installa-tions”; fortune tellers and folklore stillplay a role in major life decisions; thereis no paperwork involved in the buyingof a cow — the ₹��75,000 purchase wasbased on trust, so to speak. “It is likebeing in a dream. You have to look forit. Most of us are too busy to see it,” shesays.

Narayan, who grew up in India andlater studied in the US, spending thenext 20-odd years of her life there, de-fi��nitely does. “The authenticity of In-dia lies below its aspiration. And whenyou travel outside your country, youlearn to view it in a positive way,” saysNarayan, who graduated from the Co-lumbia Journalism School, whichawarded her a Pulitzer Fellowship.

It was at Columbia, in fact, that shediscovered and honed her craft; al-most all her books (she has writtenfour including this one) are memoirs ofsorts, where her own life becomes theprism through which she views theworld. “I took a couple of classes therewith some legendary professors of thattime, Samuel Friedman and Ray Cave.Diff��erent people had diff��erentstrengths and my strength seemed tobe this mix of personal writing in a waythat looked outward into the world,”says Narayan, who has written aboutfood, travel, fashion, art and culturefor a number of publications, includ-ing Conde Nast Traveler, FinancialTimes, The New York Times and Mint,among others.

But she grew tired of what she calls a“hyphenated” existence and longed toreturn. “America is very lonely afterthe bustle and colour in India,” saysthe award-winning journalist and co-lumnist, who did move back to India in2006. Her books, Monsoon Diary: AMemoir with Recipes and Return to In-dia, capture these memories. “Mon-soon Diary was looking outwardthrough food and The Cows of Banga-lore is looking outward through cows,”she says, adding however, that she haschosen not to dwell on cow politics inthis book.

And what of Sarala? She no longersells milk and owns only two cows,“one of which is the one I bought her,”says Narayan. Her daughters-in-lawdon’t have “mattu raasi,” apparently,so she has given up on them. Instead,she runs a supari shop. “I sometimesgo and sit there; people still come totalk to her and tell stories.”

:: Preeti Zachariah

How the cowcame home

CELESTIAL DROPS

According to Greeklegend, the milky waywas created by milkdrops from Hera, thewife of Zeus.

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There is a Marquezian feelto the India described in thebook, an inherent earthinesslacquered with sublimity andwonder

Tellingbovine love talesShobaNarayanwith herlatest book

* S RRAGHUNATHAN