Phouka Sitting

Phouka is a three-month old Langur monkey who was rescued as a newborn by Goa’s International Animal Rescue when his mom was accidentally electrocuted, a fate that befalls thousands of Indian monkeys each year. Because baby monkeys in the wild are never left alone by their families, IAR arranges for Phouka to have round-the-clock care seven days a week. Volunteers are used to relieve IAR cofounder, Jo Hicks, who is Phouka’s surrogate mom, so that Jo can run errands, rescue puppies and kittens from the local markets, battle Indian government bureaucracy and eat lunch. I’m the new Tuesday Phouka babysitter.

Despite my considerable credentials as baby, dog and cat sitter, Jo insisted on pre-screening me before entrusting Phouka to my care. You see, Phouka’s particular. He’s no puppy, undiscerning and eager to be loved. Phouka has definitive likes and dislikes, though from what I’ve observed it seems clear he generally likes women and categorically dislikes men.

Phouka is a tiny little gray and black monkey with enormous ears and feet, which make him look cartoonish. He can be described with various cliched adjectives–adorable, human-like, funny, mischievous. Also, perhaps owing to his tragic loss early in life: clingy, needy. For example, he insisted on accompanying me to the loo, which he accomplished by velcroing himself to my calve.

At various points during the morning, Phouka demonstrated adventurous boldness, bouncing around the patio on which we were situated, climbing on his favorite dog, Urchin, peaking over the balcony when he heard a familiar voice calling out from the pool below. If he lost sight of me for even a split second, however, he let out a distressed shriek and came flying back to attach himself to my head, promptly dislodging a piece of my hair and chewing on it.

He showered me with kisses and, less appealing, pee. He napped nestled to my ribs. He chewed on pistachio nut shells and painstakingly took about 10 minutes to eat one grape. He snatched the business card I was using as a bookmark and, generously, gave it to Urchin, stashing it safely in her ear.

We played hide and seek. He reminded me so much of other toddlers for whom I’d babysat that at one point I began reading to him. That’s when he made it clear he was a monkey after all. He sat on my book (White Tiger) and began gnawing on its pages.

Our day progressed serenely until Glenn, a British volunteer who is spending a year helping out at the monkey sanctuary, made an appearance. That’s when Phouka’s dark side emerged. He hissed and howled at Glenn. Phouka will not stand for sharing any of his attention from women with another male.

It was clear Phouka liked me a lot, which produced in me a heady feeling. I’m so great with animals, I thought. Animals love me. But then Jo returned and Phouka promptly attached himself to her without so much as a goodbye peck for me, just like every other child for whom I babysit does when his mom comes home.

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Animal torture, neglect and suffering is rampant in India and everywhere else in the world. In developed countries, such as the U.S., where the abuse is often hidden (as in the food industry) and categorized as scientific research (otherwise known as vivisection), it’s much easier to ignore than in India where human cruelty and indifference towards animals is blatant. But in all societies, the chief culprit in animal abuse is the same: ignorance.

Our personal choices determine how animals are treated. It starts with simple awareness and questioning. Most of us know how much our food and other animal goods cost us. But how many of us are willing to consider the cost to animals?