The forgotten many

My neighbourhood grocers keep a dog, a cat and a hen. The dog, a mercurial creature of the streets, begins to bark anxiously every time high-breed pets, trailed by their owners, prowl around the lamp-post to which it is tied. The cat sleeps all day in a cardboard box, stirring itself only at mealtimes, or to gaze moodily at the transactions taking place in the shop. The hen, even more of a recluse, is yet to make a public appearance. But it does make its presence felt by crowing passionately, usually in the middle of summer afternoons, from the hidden depths of the rickety shop.

It is unlikely that this idyllic state of coexistence is going to be affected if the Pet Shop Rules, 2010, proposed by the ministry of environment and forests, is passed by the end of June. For all intents and purposes, the draft rules do not stipulate regulations for animals that have not been purchased from pet shops. But it does give authorities like the Animal Welfare Board of India the right to inspect the conditions in which pets are kept by their owners. The owners, in turn, have to procure a licence for the steep sum of Rs 5,000 for each pet they keep, and get it renewed every year for Rs 2,000, beside abiding by a host of terms and conditions imposed by the State to ensure that the rights of these animals to a happy and healthy existence are not violated.

So, if an official from the AWBI does come knocking at the door of my neighbours, demanding licences and penalizing them for keeping unauthorized ‘pets’ — I don’t think they would dispute the term — the keepers of this unlikely trio would have to prove that these animals have not been bought but adopted, as millions of households adopt stray animals all over India. However, with red tape pervading every level of the bureaucracy, such an explanation may not hold water with some officer determined to make mischief.

By excluding the vast population of stray animals living on the kindness of strangers, and focusing exclusively on up-market pet shops and pet-owners, the draft takes an approach that not only endorses a form of elitism but also appears quite ridiculous in the Indian context. Having finally woken up to the traumas and trials faced by pets sold commercially, the State appears to be suddenly overeager to protect them from inhuman conditions. So, as the draft rules suggest, pets must be kept in ideal conditions within shops — they must not be in close proximity to abattoirs and butcher shops; they must not be exposed to air or noise pollution and immoderate changes of temperature; they must be given proper food and rest; and finally, they must enjoy the freedom to move and play around, even within the confines of their cage or kennel.

There can be no dispute with the first injunction. In fact, it is laudable that the proposed rules take a humanitarian approach to the problems they seek to address. The draft forbids trading in pregnant animals or those that are still very young. New mothers and their offspring that are yet to be weaned have been spared as well. However, even if pet shops were to observe some of these rules, is it practically feasible for every pet-owner living in a sub-tropical country, on a modest income, to provide all the creature comforts, including the ideal temperature and humidity, for their pets?

Most middle-income families who keep pets are huddled up in apartments no bigger than cubby holes. So, once taken out of pet shops, the animals may not find enough free space to frolic around or even an airconditioned room to relax in. Moreover, while it is a noble thought to force pet shops to follow stringent fire-safety measures, the irony is deepened by the fact that millions in India continue to live in potential tinderboxes and dilapidated shacks, ignored by the very State that has suddenly become so mindful of the woes of pet animals.

In India, a vast majority of people live below the the poverty line, deprived of their basic rights to education, health and a dignified existence. In such a dismal context, the State ends up looking like a heartless monster in the public eye if it tries to make heartfelt pledges on behalf of pets. So, while saluting the just concerns of the State, it must also be acknowledged that hundreds of wild animals in India are hunted with impunity every day, with the State unable to do very much to protect them. As various species are becoming extinct, human beings are also dying in large numbers due to lack of essential medical care, food and shelter. To insist on the stringent care of house pets when the State is yet to fulfil its duty towards its citizens is to enter a zone of ethical imbalance.

There is no reason to suppose, however, that the rules are going to limit the ownership of pets to an affluent clientele. The State appears to have provisions to make everyone happy. For instance, we are told that “The licence to the pet shops shall be granted by the local body after joint inspection with the representative/s of [the AWBI].” Local body, in this case, refers to “panchayat, corporation, municipal board of municipal committee”. The rule then adds that “If upon inspection, the team is not satisfied, the application… shall be rejected without assigning any reason thereof.” So the licence-granting authorities are effectively being given the licence to do exactly as they please. Even worse, by involving local authorities in what should be the joint jurisdiction of the AWBI and a team of qualified veterinary doctors, the rules needlessly politicize the system of delivery and accountability.

But this is not the end of the story. The passage continues, “However, the pet shop owner shall have the right to appeal within 20 days of receipt of letter of rejection to the Commissioner of the local body and AWBI, who after examination either may reject his appeal or may allow the same to... re-examine his application for licence”. This last provision, as it arbitrarily sanctions the absolute decision-making power of a certain section of the authorities, sounds like an invitation to indulge in unscrupulous activities.

Finally, sample this (although the list of wonders runs much longer): “After the application is submitted, the applicant will have to undergo a test to assess the knowledge of the applicant on animal protection laws in India.” In India, you can get a driving licence in a matter of hours, with a few thousand rupees and a pack of cigarettes in the bargain, without even sitting behind the wheel once, let alone demonstrating any knowledge of driving rules. So how difficult could it be to secure a pet licence even if that entails passing another test?