MOO…’VE OVER
Weekly Column: By Our Very Confused Columnist.
Let me introduce you to the most influential creature in my life—not a mentor, not a celebrity, not a life coach from YouTube, but my pet cow, Laxmi. Yes, Laxmi the Cow, CEO of Chaos, Director of Dairy, and unofficial supervisor of my daily routine.
People who live with dogs boast about loyalty.
People who own cats brag about elegance.
I, however, live with a cow who wakes me up every morning by knocking on the kitchen door with her horns like a tax inspector collecting dues.
The neighbors think she is extremely intelligent.
I know better—she’s simply hungry 24 hours a day.
Last Sunday, Laxmi staged what I can only call The Great Escape. I left the gate open for eight seconds, and she marched out like a Bollywood actress entering a grand finale. Within minutes, she had reached the nearby vegetable market and was sampling tomatoes directly from the vendor’s cart while the shopkeeper screamed like he had discovered a robbery in progress.
I tried negotiating.
“Laxmi, leave the tomatoes. We have food at home!”
She looked at me with the calm wisdom of a philosopher and continued eating like she was reviewing gourmet cuisine. Meanwhile, the vendor demanded payment, the crowd cheered like it was a cricket match, and someone shouted:
“Sir, your cow has a better diet than I do!”
I paid for the tomatoes, apologized fifteen times, and led Laxmi home like a defeated lawyer escorting a client from court.
But here’s the truth:
Life with a cow is never boring. She has more personality than most humans I know. She listens patiently to my problems (mostly because she’s too busy chewing to interrupt). And when she’s happy, she does a little dance—lifting one leg dramatically like a classical dancer who forgot the choreography.
People ask me,
“Why keep a cow as a pet?”
I tell them:
Because unlike humans,
she doesn’t argue,
she doesn’t judge,
and she produces free milk.
(When she’s in a bad mood, she just kicks the bucket. Literally.)
So welcome to this new weekly column, where I will document my unpredictable adventures with Laxmi — the cow who thinks she is royalty and behaves like she owns the neighbourhood.
From rooftop grazing attempts, to disagreements about bedtimes, there’s plenty to report.
Stay tuned.
Coming Next….
Life With Laxmi – Neighborhood Edition
By The Man Who Owns a Cow, Not Regrets (Yet)
Every neighborhood has characters: the gossip auntie, the uncle who believes every illness requires eucalyptus oil, and the teenager who thinks reversing a motorbike loudly is a personality trait.
But my neighborhood has something truly unique: my pet cow, Laxmi — who has successfully become the most discussed resident in a 3-kilometer radius without ever saying a word.
The neighbors have developed strong, dramatic opinions about her, and the reactions fall into distinct categories.
The Proud Supporter: This is Aunty Sunita, who claims she always knew greatness was coming to the neighborhood. “A cow is a sign of prosperity!” she declares loudly every morning to anyone walking by, even strangers who clearly only came to buy bread.
She also brings Laxmi bananas, apples, and occasionally beauty tips.
Last week she asked me: “Should we register her for a grooming competition? Her fur is glowing lately.”
I did not have the heart to tell her the glow was from rolling in a mud puddle.
The Complaining Uncle: Enter Gupta Uncle, Chairman of Grievance Committee (self-appointed). He files complaints about Laxmi every three days:
- Eating flowers
- Standing in the road like a roundabout
- Mooing loudly during his afternoon nap
Last week he dramatically waved a notebook and shouted:
“This cow has broken law and order!”
I suspect he believes Laxmi is planning a political coup.
The Kid Fan Club: Every evening, about ten children gather around Laxmi like she’s a celebrity at Comic-Con. They take selfies, offer her grass, and ask philosophical questions like:
“Aunty, does she understand English?”
“Can she do homework?”
“Can we ride her to school?”
Laxmi listens politely while chewing calmly in slow motion like a wise monk refusing unnecessary stress.
The Buffalo Suitor: From the next street lives Bholu, a bulky buffalo who is convinced Laxmi is the love of his life. Every morning he stands at the gate, staring in admiration while snorting romantically. The neighborhood refers to this as “The Monsoon Love Story.”
I now have to supervise Laxmi like the father in a 90s Bollywood film.
The Secret Admirer: Last week, I caught the retired professor next door reading a newspaper to Laxmi. When he noticed me, he looked embarrassed and muttered:
“She likes literature.”
I pretended to believe him.
Owning a cow has given me more social experience than college.
The neighbors once ignored me completely — now they greet me like royalty, asking daily:
“How is Laxmi today?”
“Did she sleep well?”
“When is her birthday? We should plan something.”
Nobody asks how I am anymore. I have officially become The Cow’s Personal Assistant.
Next week’s headline:
Life With Laxmi – The Supermarket Scandal
By The Man Dragged Across Town By A Cow
