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….
2. 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:
3. Life With Laxmi – The Supermarket Scandal
By The Man Dragged Across Town By A Cow
If you think taking a dog for a walk is challenging, allow me to introduce the advanced version of that workout: taking a full-sized cow for a stroll. It is not walking — it is resistance training mixed with public embarrassment.
Last Tuesday, I made the grave mistake of believing I could take Laxmi for a short walk around the neighborhood. She looked unusually calm, which in hindsight was clearly the calm before the storm.
Everything was peaceful until we reached the new supermarket, MegaMart Deluxe, the pride of the neighborhood. Automatic glass doors, air-conditioning, fancy trolleys — very modern. And apparently, very exciting for Laxmi.
The moment the doors slid open with a dramatic whoosh, Laxmi’s eyes shone like she had just found a doorway to paradise.
Before I could blink, she marched confidently inside, pulling me behind her like a ragdoll on a leash.
The security guard yelled,
“Sir, cows are not allowed!”
I yelled back,
“Trust me, this was not the plan!”
But Laxmi was already inside, exploring the aisles like an experienced shopper.
First stop: The Vegetable Section.
She walked straight to the tomatoes, sniffed them critically, and pushed aside two crates like a professional inspector.
Then she moved to the spinach section and began eating directly from the shelf while the employee screamed like he had discovered a crime.
People stared.
Children clapped.
Someone shouted,
“This is better than Netflix!”
A lady filming the entire event whispered,
“I’m posting this on Instagram — she’ll go viral!”
Then came the ultimate chaotic moment:
Laxmi discovered the bananas.
She lifted the whole bunch with her mouth and trotted proudly toward the dairy aisle, as if selecting ingredients for a smoothie. I tried to grab the bananas from her, but she gave me the look — the same look she gives when I suggest eating grass instead of bread. A look that says:
“Do not test my patience.”
At this point, three employees surrounded us with the seriousness of a hostage situation.
“Sir, remove your animal,” the manager said firmly.
“She’s not an animal,” I corrected.
“She’s Laxmi.”
The manager blinked twice in despair.
“I don’t care sir. She is eating our stock.”
Finally, using a combination of emotional bribery (jaggery cubes), negotiation, and mild dragging, I managed to escort Laxmi out of the supermarket.
As we reached the exit, the automatic doors hissed open again, and the guard said,
“Thank you for shopping with us. Please… never come back.”
Outside, villagers gathered like reporters after a political scandal.
One uncle asked,
“How much did she buy?”
Another joked,
“Are there cow discounts on Wednesdays?”
I wanted to disappear.
Meanwhile, Laxmi looked extremely proud, chewing victory bananas like a queen returning from conquest.
MegaMart Deluxe now has a handwritten sign taped to the door:
“No pets allowed. Especially cows named Laxmi.”
And people still stop me on the street and ask:
“When is Season 2 of the supermarket episode?”
To which I respond,
“Never. I’m traumatized.”
But deep down, I know…
Laxmi is planning something bigger.
Her eyes sparkle with the dangerous curiosity of someone plotting a future raid on the bakery section.
Coming Next…………..
4. Life With Laxmi – The Yoga Retreat Disaster
By The Man Forever Embarrassed in Public
It was a peaceful Sunday morning—the kind that makes people believe life is beautiful and problems are small. Birds chirped, the weather was pleasant, and I foolishly thought it would be a calm day with my pet cow, Laxmi.
A new yoga instructor, Guru Prashant, had set up a weekend yoga camp in the community park. Posters everywhere claimed:
“Achieve Inner Peace. Free Your Soul. Breathe.”
I assumed only humans attended.
Apparently, I underestimated Laxmi’s curiosity.
The trouble began when I took her out for a morning walk. As soon as we reached the park, she heard soothing flute music and smelled fresh grass, and her ears perked up like radio antennas. Before I could react, she trotted straight toward the yoga group.
The participants sat peacefully in perfect posture—eyes closed, breathing deeply with spiritual dedication—until a large cow entered the circle and sat down on a yoga mat, right in front of the Guru’s sacred microphone stand.
Guru Prashant opened his eyes, confused, and whispered,
“Ahh… a new student?”
The class gasped.
One woman screamed.
Someone dropped their copper water bottle.
A man in the back whispered,
“Is this a spiritual sign? Should we bow?”
Laxmi sat with perfect dignity, chewing grass slowly, eyes half-closed like a meditation master.
Honestly, she looked more peaceful than all the humans combined.
The Yoga Session Continues
Trying to maintain calm, Guru Prashant cleared his throat and said,
“Let us begin with ‘Pranayama’ breathing.”
Everyone inhaled deeply.
Laxmi exhaled loudly.
Very loudly.
The sound was so powerful that three pigeons flew away and a woman in the front fainted slightly from laughter.
But the instructor bravely continued.
Next pose: Downward Dog.
Everyone bent forward gracefully.
Laxmi looked at them, paused, and performed something that strangely resembled the pose—lifting her tail and stretching her legs straight out. The entire class stared in disbelief.
Guru Prashant announced solemnly,
“Behold… the Cow Pose.”
Someone corrected him,
“But sir, cow pose already exists in yoga.”
He replied,
“Not like THIS one.”
The Incident
Everything was still going fine (more or less) until the instructor asked the class to say the traditional chant:
“Ommmmmmm…”
Everyone chanted beautifully, like a choir.
Then Laxmi added her own contribution:
“MOOOOOOO!”
But louder.
Much louder.
The sound echoed through the park like a loudspeaker malfunction.
The meditation circle collapsed into chaos. People rolled on the ground laughing, some wiped tears, someone recorded the whole thing for TikTok.
Guru Prashant sat frozen, staring at Laxmi as if she had just rewritten ancient scripture.
Finally, he whispered,
“This cow has reached a higher spiritual plane than all of us.”
Laxmi simply blinked and continued chewing.
The Ending
After class, the yoga teacher came up to me and said:
“Sir, your cow is a divine being. She understands the peace we strive for.”
I nodded politely, hiding the fact that the “divine being” had just stepped on someone’s yoga mat and left a hoof print the size of a coconut.
The instructor requested,
“Please bring her again next week.”
Before I could refuse, Laxmi nudged him affectionately—clearly accepting the invitation.
So now, every Sunday, Laxmi attends yoga.
She has her own mat.
She is apparently a role model for relaxation techniques.
Meanwhile, nobody asks how I am doing.
I am simply known as:
“The guy who brings the cow to yoga.”
Coming Next……
5. Life With Laxmi – The Ice Cream Incident.
By The Man Who Has Lost All Control
Summer arrived in the neighbourhood like an angry hairdryer.
The sun glared down with such aggression that even the stray dogs refused to walk, preferring to lie flat under parked cars and rethink life decisions.
Naturally, on such a day, the only logical solution was ice cream.
I decided to treat myself to a cool break and casually mentioned out loud,
“I’m going to buy ice cream.”
Big mistake.
Laxmi the Cow, who was lounging under a tree like a retired movie star, suddenly stood up with the enthusiasm of a toddler hearing the word “chocolate.” Her ears twitched, her tail swished, and before I could escape, she positioned herself directly in front of me like a bouncer.
Clearly, she had decided to come along.
So off we went — a man walking toward the ice cream stall, and a cow trotting behind like a VIP security escort.
People stared.
Autos slowed down.
Someone shouted,
“Is that a new delivery service?”
Arrival at the Ice Cream Shop
The shop was crowded. People fanned themselves with newspapers, forming a queue that moved slower than a government file.
Then Laxmi entered.
Not gently.
Not politely.
But with the confidence of a celebrity entering the Filmfare Awards.
The moment the shopkeeper looked up and saw a cow in line, his soul visibly left his body.
“Sir… why have you brought a cow to my shop?” he asked, trembling like a freshly-fed pigeon.
I attempted dignity.
“She’s just waiting for me. She loves company.”
At that exact moment, Laxmi stuck her head over the counter and sniffed the ice cream containers like a professional food critic.
The customers were delighted.
The shopkeeper was not.
“Sir! Control your animal!”
“She’s not an animal,” I corrected.
“She’s Laxmi.”
Nobody found this comforting.
The Ordering Disaster
When it was finally my turn, the shopkeeper, still blinking in shock, asked,
“What flavour?”
Before I could speak, Laxmi leaned forward and slurped an entire scoop of vanilla right from the display tray.
A collective gasp spread through the shop like an applause wave at a stadium.
A little boy yelled,
“She ordered before you!”
Another shouted,
“Give her chocolate next!”
The shopkeeper nearly fainted.
“Sir, she cannot eat from the box!”
I apologized profusely while trying to pull Laxmi backward.
She resisted with the strength of a tractor, her eyes locked on a bucket labeled ‘Mango Delight’.
Finally, completely out of arguments and patience, I said weakly:
“Can I please buy a cone?”
The shopkeeper handed one to me nervously.
And then, don’t ask how it happened — before I even lifted it to my mouth, Laxmi grabbed the cone out of my hand, licked it triumphantly, and chewed.
The crowd erupted in applause.
One woman clapped like she was at a concert.
Someone filmed the whole thing on their phone.
The shopkeeper sighed,
“Sir, she must never return. Please.”
I nodded, defeated.
Laxmi?
She walked out like a queen finishing a press conference.
Neighbourhood Reaction
By the time we reached home, the video had already spread across WhatsApp groups.
Messages flooded in:
“Your cow has better taste than my husband.”
“Next time she should try Butterscotch.”
“Please bring her to my birthday party.”
Even Gupta Uncle, chairman of the Complainers Club, said:
“Honestly, that was impressive. I never finish an ice cream that fast.”
Laxmi stood in the courtyard, content, licking imaginary leftovers from her nose.
I sighed.
In this household, I am no longer the owner.
I am the unpaid personal assistant of a dairy superstar with expensive dessert preferences.
6. Life With Laxmi – The Wedding Buffet Disaster
By The Man Permanently Embarrassed in Public Spaces
Weddings in our town are grand affairs—bright lights, loud music, food for hundreds and gossip for thousands. Even the ceiling fans wear decoration. It’s the kind of event where people dress like royalty and behave like detectives, silently analyzing everyone else’s outfits.
Last Saturday, the Sharma family hosted the biggest wedding of the season. The entire neighborhood buzzed with excitement — and by “entire neighborhood,” unfortunately, I also mean my pet cow, Laxmi.
The trouble began when she saw me wearing a clean shirt and polished shoes. Apparently, Laxmi has learned to recognize “special outing clothes,” because she immediately assumed she was invited too.
I tried reasoning.
“You’re staying home today.”
She stared at me without blinking.
“You don’t even know the bride and groom.”
Silence.
“You won’t fit on the dance floor.”
Tail swish.
Finally, she rammed the gate open gently — the way a bulldozer gently removes a building — and marched down the street with determination. I had no choice but to chase her like a desperate parent at an amusement park.
Arrival at the Wedding
The moment we entered the wedding venue, everything stopped.
The music froze.
The drummer paused mid-beat.
The bride’s relatives gasped in synchronized fashion.
Someone whispered dramatically,
“The groom’s family brought a cow? Is this a conspiracy?”
Before I could clarify that Laxmi was my uninvited plus-one, she inspected the red carpet, nodded approvingly, and walked straight into the food section with the authority of a wedding planner.
The Buffet Tragedy
The buffet tables shimmered with elegant decorations—silver trays of pulao, kormas, kebabs, salads, and desserts arranged like edible jewelry.
Laxmi’s eyes widened like she had discovered heaven’s entrance.
First target: The salad counter
She dipped her head into the cucumber bowl and ate like a professional nutritionist.
The caterer screamed,
“Sir! Remove the animal!”
I corrected out of habit,
“She’s not an animal, she’s Laxmi—”
Before I could finish, she moved to the pulao section, inhaled an entire serving tray, and then gracefully stepped toward the gulab jamun bowl.
This is when absolute chaos erupted.
Guests panicked.
Cooks yelled.
The band started playing faster, like background music to a chase scene.
Children cheered,
“Go Laxmi! Go Laxmi!”
The groom’s mother fainted — either from shock or because the pulao smelled amazing.
Laxmi, meanwhile, found the dessert corner and began gently fishing gulab jamuns out one by one, chewing peacefully, eyes closed in pure bliss.
The Grand Exit
It took seven adults, three plates of jaggery cubes, and one emotional speech by the bride to convince Laxmi to leave the venue.
As we finally dragged her outside, she licked her lips and mooed loudly — probably reviewing the catering experience.
The groom stared at me and asked weakly,
“Sir… was she from the bride’s side or ours?”
I replied,
“She belongs to the universe. And she likes gulab jamun.”
Neighborhood Aftermath
By morning, the headline in the local WhatsApp group read:
“Cow Steals Show at Sharma Wedding — Video Breaks Internet.”
One uncle sent me a message:
“Please bring her to my son’s wedding. We want attention too.”
Another wrote:
“Make sure she signs the guest book next time.”
Laxmi sat in the shade, content, with the calm confidence of a celebrity who knew she had delivered a memorable performance.
And once again, nobody asked how I was doing.
7. Life With Laxmi – The Great Traffic Jam Incident
By The Man Whose Cow Controls the City More Than the Mayor
If you ever feel powerless, please remember this:
My pet cow, Laxmi, once caused a traffic jam so massive that even the police asked her for ID.
It all began on an ordinary Monday morning. The sun was bright, the roads were busy, and I was foolishly optimistic, thinking I could take Laxmi for a peaceful walk.
We were halfway across the main road when Laxmi saw something that caught her full attention:
a vegetable cart loaded with fresh corn — her absolute favorite snack after ice cream and anything edible.
Her entire body froze like she had seen destiny.
Then she turned sharply and planted herself right in the middle of the road… and refused to move.
I pulled.
I begged.
I bribed with jaggery.
Nothing worked.
To make matters worse, she sat down.
Not standing stubbornly — no — she went into full meditative pose, legs folded, head held high, breathing deeply like a yoga guru demonstrating the Savasana of Defiance.
Within seconds, vehicles lined up behind us — motorbikes, rickshaws, cars, and one bus full of college students who immediately began cheering like they were at a cricket match.
Someone shouted:
“Give her corn! She will move only after breakfast!”
The vegetable vendor, dramatically clutching his corn like treasure, yelled:
“No! This is premium corn! She is plotting!”
Meanwhile, traffic police arrived, blowing whistles aggressively as if whistles were anti-cow weapons.
One officer, sweating like he ran a marathon, demanded:
“Sir, control your cow!”
I replied honestly:
“If I could control my cow, my life would be very different.”
Another officer bent down politely and asked Laxmi:
“Madam, please get up, this is a highway.”
Laxmi blinked slowly, chewed air thoughtfully, and continued meditating.
The officer sighed and radioed the station:
“Code Brown. Animal in protest mode. Send backup.”
Backup arrived in the form of three constables holding ropes, which Laxmi ignored with the dignity of a queen declining cheap jewellery.
The Turning Point
Finally, a little girl walked up with a corn cob and said sweetly:
“Aunty cow, please get up. I’ll give you this if you move.”
Laxmi’s ears twitched.
Negotiation accepted.
She rose like royalty, took the corn delicately, and walked off the highway leaving behind a wave of applause, laughter, and several people recording the entire crisis for social media.
The police officer wiped his forehead and said:
“Next time, sir, carry at least five emergency corns.”
I nodded gravely,
like a soldier receiving battle advice.
Aftermath
By evening, the video spread everywhere.
Trending captions included:
- “Cow Protests Traffic System”
- “Vegetable Cart Diplomacy Restores Peace”
- “Police Negotiate with Four-Legged Activist”
Even Gupta Uncle — chairman of the Complaint Society — admitted,
“This was the best traffic jam of my life.”
People now greet Laxmi like a celebrity:
“Madam, please don’t block the road today.”
“We have work. Don’t protest.”
And me?
I have officially become known as:
“Cow Handler, Emergency Corn Supplier, and Professional Apologizer.”
8. Life With Laxmi – The Sports Day Surprise
By The Man Whose Cow Now Has a Medal.
Every year, the local school hosts a grand Sports Day — a competitive battlefield where children sprint like they’re escaping homework, parents scream instructions louder than coaches, and teachers pray silently for peace and solid attendance.
This year, I attended to cheer for my neighbor’s children.
I made the terrible mistake of passing by the school gate with Laxmi.
Once again, she followed me like a fluffy shadow with horns.
“Please behave,” I whispered to her like a parent begging a toddler in a supermarket.
She ignored me completely.
As soon as we entered the school grounds, Laxmi’s eyes widened. There was grass, cheering children, and most importantly… watermelons on a refreshment table.
I could practically hear the Mission Impossible theme music.
Enter the Chaos
Everything was going smoothly — races were happening, parents were clapping — until the announcer declared:
“Next event: The 100-Meter Sprint!”
The children lined up at the starting line.
The starter raised his whistle.
And that’s when tragedy struck.
A boy dropped a slice of watermelon near the track.
Laxmi spotted it.
Her body stiffened like a racehorse hearing the starting bell.
Before I could grab her rope, the whistle blew — PEEEEEEP!
And Laxmi took off like a rocket.
The children sprinted with determination, but they had no chance. Laxmi overtook them like a high-speed train, hooves pounding, tail flying, determination in every muscle.
Parents gasped.
Teachers screamed.
One child shouted happily,
“GO MOO GO!”
What followed was the most dramatic sports finish in history:
Laxmi crossed the finish line proudly, slid toward the watermelon slice, and ate it in victory pose while the crowd cheered like India won the World Cup.
The Award Ceremony
The principal wiped his glasses twice, unable to believe what he saw.
The P.E. teacher muttered,
“I trained all year… for a cow to win.”
But the children demanded justice:
“Give her the medal! She won!”
The applause grew louder, the chant rose:
“Laxmi! Laxmi! Laxmi!”
So the principal—in a truly historic decision—placed a gold medal (actually plastic) around Laxmi’s neck.
She mooed softly, very modestly, like an athlete giving a post-match interview.
Parents took selfies.
The flute player in the school band fainted.
I stood there smiling awkwardly, medal shining in the sun while watermelon juice dripped down her chin.
Aftermath
The school WhatsApp group exploded with messages:
“Please send training tips. How fast is your cow?”
“Can she coach our relay team?”
“Will she compete next year?”
Someone even suggested renaming Sports Day to:
“Track and Field & Livestock Division.”
And now, whenever I walk near the school, students salute Laxmi as if she is a national athlete.
One boy said seriously,
“Sir, she must go to the Olympics.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
At this point, nothing surprises me anymore.
Meanwhile, Laxmi now sleeps with her medal on her horn like a champion, refusing to remove it.
Coming Next…..
9. Life With Laxmi – The Zoom Call Catastrophe
By The Man Who Should Not Work From Home
Working from home sounds peaceful—coffee on the table, soft background music, productivity soaring.
Unless, of course, your roommate is a cow.
Last Monday, I had an important Zoom meeting with senior executives. The kind where people wear formal shirts and pretend they’re not wearing pajamas below the camera frame. I even brushed my hair and set a clean background.
What I did not plan for was Laxmi.
She was peacefully relaxing outside, looking half asleep. I thought I was safe.
Big mistake. Huge mistake.
The Call Begins
The meeting started smoothly. Everyone greeted one another.
“Good morning,” I said confidently.
“Good morning,” replied the others politely.
Everything was going fine until someone asked me to turn on my microphone and explain my project.
Right at that moment, Laxmi decided she was emotionally neglected and entered the room by pushing the door open with her head like a police raid.
I froze.
The team froze.
Laxmi did not freeze.
She walked behind my chair, inserted her giant face into the webcam frame, and let out the loudest MOO ever produced in the history of remote meetings.
It echoed across every participant’s headphones like thunder in a small room.
People on the call:
- One person spit coffee onto his keyboard
- Another dropped her phone
- The boss removed his glasses and whispered,
“Was that… a cow?”
I tried damage control.
“No, no, that was… um… a sound issue… technical glitch…”
At that exact moment, Laxmi licked the microphone, producing a sound resembling an alien invasion.
My boss stared in horror.
“Sir, do you have livestock in your office?”
I sighed in defeat.
“Yes. This is Laxmi. She lives with me.”
There was silence.
Then someone’s child yelled excitedly,
“Hi cow!!!”
Suddenly the entire team waved at Laxmi.
Someone asked,
“Can she do any tricks?”
Laxmi, sensing she was now the star, nudged the laptop, turning the camera sideways and showing her nose in extreme close-up. Then she stepped on the keyboard, muting everyone and turning on screen share, revealing my desktop wallpaper — a picture of her wearing sunglasses.
The meeting dissolved into unstoppable laughter.
The Ending
The boss finally said,
“Well… this is the most interesting meeting I’ve ever had. Promote the cow.”
Someone added,
“That’s our new productivity officer.”
Laxmi flicked her tail proudly, as if she understood every word.
Since then, every time I join a meeting, the first question is:
“Where is Laxmi today?”
Some people wave expecting her to appear.
One colleague sends hay emojis in the chat.
Meanwhile, Laxmi now sits beside me during work hours like a supervisor, watching my screen with judging eyes.
I have officially lost authority.
I am merely the human operator for a professional cow.
10. Life With Laxmi – The Internet Celebrity Saga
By The Man Who Lost Fame to a Cow.
It was inevitable.
After the supermarket invasion, the yoga takeover, the wedding buffet attack, the traffic jam protest, the ice-cream theft, and the Zoom-call moo-nsoon, the universe finally decided what my fate would be:
My cow, Laxmi, has become a social media celebrity.
I, unfortunately, remain her unnamed manager.
It began innocently. Someone uploaded the Zoom-meeting chaos video titled:
“Cow Interrupts Corporate Call — Productivity Boosts by 200%”
Within 24 hours, it had 1.2 million views.
Within 48 hours, people started commenting things like:
“We need more cows in leadership.”
“Promote her to CEO.”
“This cow has better work ethic than my boss.”
I was shocked. Laxmi was not.
She sat calmly chewing grass, looking pleased with the global recognition.
⭐ The Fame Explosion
Suddenly, fan clubs appeared:
- Team Laxmi Official
- Moo Stars International
- Cow Influencer Fanbase
People started tagging brands:
“@Amul please sponsor her.”
“@Netflix give her a reality show.”
One comment read:
“She should run for parliament. At least she won’t lie.”
This received 32,000 likes in 3 hours.
Then the real chaos began —
My phone exploded with messages from journalists, vloggers, and brands offering collaborations.
Someone emailed:
“Can Laxmi endorse our organic feed?”
Another wrote:
“We want her as the face of our meditation app.”
A film school student requested,
“Can I shoot a documentary titled Cow of Destiny?”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The First Photoshoot
A photographer arrived wanting to do a professional photoshoot. He came with lighting stands, reflectors, and a tripod — like he was photographing Bollywood royalty.
He asked me politely,
“Sir, can the model smile?”
I stared.
“She’s a cow.”
He replied seriously,
“Every true artist can smile with their eyes.”
Laxmi suddenly lifted her head, tilted it slightly, and posed like a supermodel.
Click. Click. Click.
I suspect she practiced in the mirror when I wasn’t looking.
The Interview
A reporter from a popular magazine visited and interviewed Laxmi directly, asking questions such as:
“What inspires your success?”
“How do you balance fame and privacy?”
“What advice do you have for young cows dreaming big?”
Laxmi’s response was an elegant,
“Moooooo.”
The reporter gasped,
“So profound.”
I took notes. I don’t even know why.
Global Impact
The video spread internationally:
Japanese fans wrote haikus,
Americans demanded merchandise,
Someone started a petition titled:
“Give Laxmi a Blue Tick Verification.”
Meanwhile, the local newspaper printed:
“Cow from Gorakhpur Village Becomes Global Star — Owner Unknown.”
UNKNOWN???
I was standing right there next to her in the photo — smiling like an idiot chopped halfway out of the frame.
People now greet her:
“Good morning, Laxmi!”
“Moo-star!”
“Can we have an autograph?”
Then they look at me and ask:
“Can you please hold my phone while I take a selfie with her?”
I have become the cameraman in my own life.
Laxmi isn’t bothered.
She enjoys fame.
She now demands her grass served like room service.
Coming Next….
11. Life With Laxmi – The Movie Offer Madness
By The Man Still Wondering How His Life Became This
Just when I thought things could not get any stranger than my cow becoming a global internet sensation, fate knocked on my door again. Actually, fate didn’t knock — fate rang the doorbell 14 times like a courier guy in a hurry.
When I opened the door, I found a film director standing outside in sunglasses so large they covered half his face.
“Are you the owner of Laxmi?” he asked dramatically, as if delivering a line from a suspense thriller.
Before I could answer, Laxmi peeked from behind me and mooed politely.
The director gasped like he’d discovered buried treasure.
“That voice! Perfect! Natural talent!”
And just like that, he announced:
“Sir, I want to cast your cow in my new movie.”
I blinked. Twice.
“A movie? With… her?”
“Yes! A family comedy. Title pending. Working options include Moo in the City, The Cow Who Loved Bollywood, and Udderly Fantastic.”
I stood there speechless.
Meanwhile, Laxmi flicked her tail with a smug expression like a diva listening to her agent negotiate.
The Audition
The director insisted on testing her acting skills right there in my courtyard.
He turned to Laxmi and said:
“Show me sadness.”
Laxmi stared blankly.
“Show me joy!”
No reaction.
“Show me excitement!”
Still chewing calmly.
Just when the director looked defeated, someone in the neighborhood yelled,
“Corn! Fresh corn!”
Laxmi’s ears shot up, she lifted her head dramatically, eyes sparkled, tail waved like a flag — and she sprinted at record-breaking speed toward the vendor.
The director clutched his heart.
“MAGNIFICENT! RAW EMOTION! PERFECT CINEMA!”
He signed an imaginary contract in the air.
Negotiations
The director turned to me and said:
“We want her in the lead role. We will pay handsomely.”
My hopes rose.
Finally, maybe I would gain something.
Then he added:
“Payment in organic corn, hay cubes, and unlimited mineral water.”
My hopes died instantly.
“And what about payment for me?” I asked hopefully.
He smiled.
“Well… you can accompany her on set as her handler.”
So basically:
Laxmi = Lead Actress.
Me = Assistant With Rope.
Fantastic.
On-Set Chaos
The first shoot day arrived. They set up props and lights.
The scene required Laxmi to gently walk across the camera and stop near a bucket of flowers.
Simple, right?
Wrong.
The moment cameras rolled, she confidently ignored the flowers and walked straight to the snack table where actors’ refreshments were placed.
She ate all the bananas.
Then stole the director’s sandwich.
Then walked calmly across the set and sat down on a spotlight, refusing to move.
The director whispered,
“She is a genius. So unpredictable. So natural.”
The crew applauded.
Someone shouted,
“Method acting!”
I pulled my hair.
The Big Announcement
At the end of the day, the director proudly declared:
“We have found our star!
Press release tomorrow:
‘Laxmi – The First Cow Lead Actress in National Cinema.’”
Everyone clapped.
Laxmi bowed.
I stood behind holding her water bucket like a stage assistant whose dreams had evaporated.
Aftermath
By evening, posters appeared online:
📣 Introducing LAXMI — The Next Big Thing
✨ A Born Performer. A Natural Talent. A True Artist.
Meanwhile, the caption under my picture said:
“Cow’s Manager (Name not confirmed).”
Once again, she got the spotlight.
I didn’t even get my name spelled.
Laxmi now sits at home reviewing scripts (chewing paper) and practicing close-ups (staring into the mirror).
I think she believes she is a superstar.
Honestly… at this point, she is.
12. Life With Laxmi – The Cow Who Entered Politics
By The Man Who Never Asked for This Life
Every election season, politicians appear like mushrooms after rain — suddenly, everywhere. Posters, banners, promises, speeches, drama, free caps, free snacks, confusion — the usual circus.
But this year, something unprecedented happened:
My cow, Laxmi, decided to join politics.
Well, she didn’t exactly decide.
The neighborhood decided for her.
It began when a group of residents gathered near the banyan tree discussing election candidates. Each person complained passionately:
“No development!”
“No clean water!”
“No proper roads!”
“No honesty!”
In the middle of this heated debate, Laxmi walked up calmly, sat down, and started chewing grass with impressive tranquility.
Suddenly, someone said,
“Look at her. She’s calm, peaceful, honest. She never lies.”
Another added,
“She solves more problems than the last three leaders combined.”
A third declared,
“Laxmi for President!”
And that was that.
The crowd exploded with enthusiasm.
Someone started clapping.
Someone else distributed biscuits like victory sweets.
I stood frozen, holding an empty bucket, wondering when my life went off-road.
The Campaign Begins
The very next morning, posters appeared across town:
🐄 VOTE FOR LAXMI
Strong. Silent. Grass-Fed Leadership.
Below it, a slogan:
“No Corruption. Only Milk.”
Campaign volunteers formed instantly — led by the children who worship her since Sports Day.
They marched through the streets chanting:
“Moooo for change!”
“Grass for the masses!”
“Four legs, one vision!”
Gupta Uncle, chairman of the Unofficial Complaint Association, complained loudly:
“This is ridiculous! A cow cannot run for office!”
But the crowd shouted back:
“Better than the last guy!”
Manifesto Launch
A press conference was organized.
Laxmi sat on a raised platform wearing a flower garland like a seasoned politician.
I was forced to stand behind her holding a microphone, acting as spokesperson.
A reporter asked:
“What are her campaign promises?”
Before I could answer, a child grabbed the mic and read from a handwritten sheet:
LAXMI’S MANIFESTO
- Grass subsidies for everyone
- Traffic rules that involve corn instead of horns
- Mandatory nap time after lunch
- Ice-cream stalls every 200 meters
- Replace long speeches with short moos
The crowd cheered wildly.
Another reporter asked,
“Does she have a position on corruption?”
Laxmi mooed loudly.
The journalist gasped,
“Powerful statement.”
Rival Candidates Panic
Local politicians, terrified of losing to a cow, began reinventing themselves.
One arrived riding a bicycle, promising eco-friendly leadership.
Another brought a goat to appear relatable.
A third offered free umbrellas.
None succeeded.
Laxmi stole the show everywhere.
Even the police saluted her.
(Okay, maybe they were just stopping her from entering the bakery, but still.)
The Debate
The election committee organized a debate.
Other candidates argued loudly, waving hands like windmills:
“We will build roads!”
“We will provide electricity!”
“We will end corruption!”
Then it was Laxmi’s turn.
She walked to the microphone,
stared at the audience,
and delivered a powerful:
“MOOOOOO.”
The crowd erupted.
People stood,
clapped,
whistled,
and chanted her name.
No one remembered what the others said.
Aftermath
By the end of the week, survey headlines read:
“Laxmi Leading in Polls by Record Margin.”
Political analysts debated on TV:
“One candidate speaks too much, the other too little — but the cow is perfectly balanced.”
Newspapers printed:
“Hope arrives in four hooves.”
Meanwhile, I received messages like:
“Sir, please arrange a meeting, we want to donate grass.”
And once again, nobody asked how I was doing.
Laxmi now sleeps like a queen, dreaming of rallies, chewing her manifesto, and posing for photos with potential voters.
I fear she might actually win.
Next Week…..
13. Life With Laxmi – Election Day & The Victory Moo-ment
By The Man Whose Cow Just Became His Boss
Election Day arrived like a festival.
Drums, banners, loudspeakers, crowds, chaos — everything but peace.
People lined up outside polling booths, discussing the most important political question of the year:
“Have you voted for Laxmi yet?”
Even the election officials looked nervous. One whispered to another:
“What happens if the cow actually wins?”
The other replied,
“Then we will follow her orders and chew grass quietly.”
I tried to stay low-profile, but reporters surrounded me like pigeons around bread.
“Sir, how do you feel about Laxmi’s chances?”
“Is she confident?”
“What is her exit poll prediction?”
I replied truthfully:
“She’s currently eating sugarcane. I assume that means confidence.”
Meanwhile, outside the polling booth, children formed a drum-circle chanting:
“Moo for victory!”
while the rival candidate stood alone, looking like Wi-Fi with no signal.
The Counting Begins
By evening, everyone gathered around the community center where votes were being counted.
Tension filled the air.
People sat on rooftops, trees, lamp posts — one man even climbed the water tank for a better view.
The announcer, trembling with excitement, stepped to the microphone.
“The results are in…”
Silence fell.
Even the pigeons stopped fluttering.
“Candidate One: 312 votes.”
Murmurs.
“Candidate Two: 289 votes.”
Gasps.
“And Candidate Laxmi…”
(He paused dramatically, clearly enjoying the moment)
“…received 9,842 votes.”
The crowd exploded like fireworks.
People screamed.
Children danced.
Adults threw confetti made of shredded newspapers.
Someone set off firecrackers.
Someone else fainted.
Someone shouted,
“Democracy has evolved!”
Laxmi, standing calmly at the entrance, blinked once and mooed with the confidence of a national leader.
The Swearing-In Ceremony
The next day, under the banyan tree, the oath ceremony was held.
The judge read solemnly:
“Do you swear to serve the public with honesty and dignity?”
Laxmi responded:
“Moo.”
The judge nodded.
“Honored and accepted.”
She was crowned honorary village leader with a garland big enough to be used as a hammock.
I stood next to her holding a ceremonial bucket, looking like a nervous assistant in a royal procession.
Villagers chanted proudly:
“All hail Leader Laxmi!”
Even Gupta Uncle wiped a tear, whispering,
“She restored my faith in the system.”
The Victory Feast
To celebrate, the entire village organized a feast.
There were sweets, music, dancing, and of course—
a special VIP ice-cream bucket for Madam Leader.
Laxmi devoured mango ice cream while posing for photos, wagging her tail like a true celebrity.
Someone asked me:
“Sir, what is your new role now?”
I stared into the distance like a soldier contemplating life and said:
“I am now the Personal Assistant to the Honorable Cow.”
And these days, whenever I walk through the village, people greet me not with “Hello,” but with:
“Where is Madam Laxmi? We need guidance.”
And just like that,
a simple pet cow became
a political phenomenon,
a celebrity,
and now,
an elected leader.
Democracy has never looked so… grass-powered.
14. Life With Laxmi – The Government Office Chaos
By The Man Promoted to Cow’s Assistant Without Salary
After winning the election in a landslide that shook the foundations of democracy (and the patience of rival politicians), Leader Laxmi decided she needed a proper office.
Nothing fancy—just a place where citizens could come, present their problems, and leave feeling hopeful and slightly confused.
So naturally, the location chosen was:
Under the Banyan Tree
The same tree where everything began — a symbol of shade, wisdom, and comfortable seating for cows.
But of course, people demanded something official-looking.
So they built a desk.
Yes. A real wooden desk.
For a cow.
They even placed a chair behind it.
Not that she could sit on it, but apparently an office without a chair felt wrong.
A shiny brass nameplate was installed:
Honorable Laxmi – Village Leader
Specialist in Public Peace & Agricultural Affairs
Office Hours: Whenever She Feels Like It
Opening Day
The first day of office operations drew a massive crowd. Reporters, villagers, children holding flowers, and one guy holding a legally questionable loudspeaker.
I stood to the side holding a tray of tea cups because someone decided that was my job.
Gupta Uncle stepped forward first with a serious expression.
“Madam,” he said respectfully, “our road has too many potholes. We request repair.”
Laxmi listened carefully while chewing grass, maintaining eye contact like a true professional.
Then she turned her head slightly and mooed loudly.
Instantly, five volunteers jumped to action and shouted:
“We will fix the road by evening!”
Uncle Gupta looked stunned.
“All these years, no leader understood me. And now a cow solved it in five seconds!”
Next Citizens in Line
Case #2: A farmer complaining about fertilizer prices.
Laxmi mooed twice.
Solution: subsidy announced immediately.
Case #3: A mother wanting better school lunch.
Laxmi nudged the basket of bananas.
Bananas added to menu next day.
Case #4: A child asking for a playground swing.
Laxmi flicked her tail.
Within ten minutes, half the village was building a swing set.
People were amazed at her efficiency.
One person whispered,
“She’s better than Google. Instant answers.”
Another said,
“She is the only leader who listens without interrupting.”
The Problem
Everything was going perfectly until someone brought up a difficult request:
A man approached nervously.
“Madam, my wife is angry with me. Can you solve it?”
The entire crowd leaned forward ready for divine wisdom.
Laxmi stared at him for a long moment.
Then she slowly turned around…
and WALKED AWAY.
The crowd gasped.
The man sighed,
“Yes, I understand. No one can solve that problem. Not even a cow.”
The women applauded her decision.
A Small Incident
In the afternoon, a government official arrived from the city—clipboard, suit, and a very serious expression.
“I’m here for inspection,” he said.
“Show me the official documents.”
I handed him the office register, which contained:
- One hoof print
- Three grass stains
- A drawing by a child that said Laxmi Rocks
The official stared at it silently for a full minute.
Then, without a word, he put the register down, saluted Laxmi, and left.
After Hours
When the crowd dispersed, Laxmi lay down peacefully, tired from solving so many problems.
I sat beside her and asked,
“Do you ever get tired of being a leader?”
She blinked slowly and nudged me gently.
Maybe she meant:
“Relax. Life is simple. People make it complicated.”
Or maybe:
“Bring more grass.”
Hard to say.
NEXT WEEK’S HEADLINE
“Cow Takes First Official Trip — Airport Security Collapses.”
And
“Cow Gives First International Speech — Audience Cries, Translation Team Panics.”
