Resilience of the four-legged

Rain Dogs by Rohit Chawla documents Goa’s stray dogs during the pandemic

04 Jul 2025

Black, with silver letters. It is 11:50 p.m. when I’ve finished reading Rohit Chawla’s furry magnum opus, aptly titled Rain Dogs. This short and sweet name is true to the heroes of the Velveteen photobook, who are rather sweet and short (only on all fours, they’d bark in protest) themselves.

As I look at the jubilant creatures tussling with Goa’s waves and the few human figures that appear, I think of, in the words of Swati Bhattacharya, “all the furry boys I’ve loved before.” I think of my own beloved pet lost to time and age. I think of the black dog I see every day on my way to the office, his muzzle growing greyer day by day. In its aftermath, I’m left with a muddle of grief and love in my chest.

Rohit has captured the stray dogs that roam the coastal state’s beaches during a time the world will never forget — the pandemic. Though their happy faces and sprightly tails may lead you to believe otherwise, the stormy monsoon sky in the background paints a different picture. A bleak one. Each photo is accompanied by short bursts of text written by some of the most prolific writers across the world. Javed Akhtar writes of how the strays gave him the will to go on during his toughest times. Sumana Roy wonders, upon seeing them curled up in sleep, why the word dog begins with a D and not a C. Heartwarmingly enough, all the writers have contributed to the book and have waived their royalties, with all proceeds to be donated to animal charities.

A strange kinship

It was on one of Rohit’s many walks on Ashwem beach that he first came across his subjects. The photographer had been allowed to live in a sea-facing room at Hotel La Amore, bereft of any staff or a working kitchen. Left to fend for himself, he’d often venture out on 20-kilometre-long walks and runs to keep himself occupied. His only company? Hordes of hungry stray dogs, running and tumbling in pursuit of food or a friendly pat. It was in their glossy eyes and sea-soaked fur that he found a mirror for his own uncertainty.

Thus began a strange project, devised out of both boredom and the need to understand his own emotions. But it came with its own challenges. As Rohit writes, “Unlike my human subjects, I couldn’t coax the dogs to do my bidding, couldn’t predict the moods of the monsoon or the erratic behaviour of the sea.” The emanating pictures, heartwarming yet bleak in the same breath, ask questions. Both personal and political. Are the dogs on Goa’s beaches an administrative failure or an oversight by humanity? Is there really a difference between the two?

Rescuing the rescuer

The book’s pages present a narrative tussle. As Santosh Desai puts it, “There is nothing particularly heroic about strays, but in some ways, perhaps, this is what real freedom looks like.” But the price for freedom is heavy. Though no leash or overzealous owner guards them, the life of a stray dog is not an easy one. As Kishore Singh says in the afterword, humans and stray dogs share an “unfairly skewed relationship.” They’re at the mercy of the people in power, of those around them, at every second. But the books create a symbolic reversal. Rohit, unable to grapple with his own emotions, turns to the dogs for an escape. The rescuer becomes part of the rescued.

Despite it all, stray dogs are no strangers to joy. Their love for life feels unconditional, much like the friendly faces that look out for and feed them. Is their ability to find happiness in the little things the silver lining of their existence? As Richard Siken would say, their suffering isn’t beautiful, but their survival sure is.

To quote Swati Bhattacharya (once more), “To all the furry boys who shared my life/and never got to have a real dog wife/I am glad they came along.

View Raindogs at 47-A gallery in Khotachi Wadi, Girgaum, Mumbai from 4 July 2025 to 3 August 2025