Tt was 1979. I sat in the corner of a crowde d criminal law classroom at the Dhaula Kuan Law Centre, hoping to remain invisible. Yet, the gaze of Mr. Dhar – a faculty member for whom I hold the deepest respect even today – was unerring.
File Photo: IANS
Tt was 1979. I sat in the corner of a crowde d criminal law classroom at the Dhaula Kuan Law Centre, hoping to remain invisible. Yet, the gaze of Mr. Dhar – a faculty member for whom I hold the deepest respect even today – was unerring. “Mr. Chugh,” he queried with authority, “what is meant by Culpable Homicide?”. “Killing of a human being,” I replied. He didn’t let me pause.
“What more?” he probed, seeking the vital missing link. I quickly completed the thought: “By another human being!”. That exchange, and the appreciation that followed, established a permanent hierarchy in my mind: the law laments the loss of life at the hands of another, but when the predator is an animal, the legal grief is filtered through the lens of “ownership” and “duty of care”. Decades later, in 2014, during a training programme for National Facilitators on Ethics and Values (conducted by the Department of Personnel & Training in collaboration with the UNDP), I was shown a diagram of a universe intended for every living being. To ensure a peaceful existence, we were taught to balance Acts and Rules with core values: purity, unselfishness, honesty, and love.
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A compelling example was shared regarding the multinational mission – involving India, Pakistan, and Nepal – to repopulate Eagles and Vultures, the indisputable natural scavengers who maintain the balance of life. Yet, as I walk the streets today, I find a misalignment in this balance. Two beings stand out in our urban ecosystem: the human and the dog. In the Mahabharata, Yudhisthira famously refused to enter Swarga (Heaven) if his faithful dog was not given its due place.
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But today’s reality is more fragmented. Unlike the eagle, whose population we seek to increase for ecological health, the stray dog population requires urgent, structured regulation. The irony is sharp: dogs are loved, yet they are feared. I recall an incident from the 1990s involving Sharada Ali Khan. While we worked in different departments within Shastri Bhawan, the shared corridors of the Ministry of Human Resource Development fostered many such stories. While learning to drive, she raised both her feet in a panic because a dog was chasing her car – momentarily forgetting she was protected by a metal chassis. I, too, inhabit this duality.
My commitment to the nation is deep; I contributed Rs. 50,000 from the royalties of my four poetic books to the Prime Minister’s National Relief Fund, a gesture once formally appreciated by the then Minister in correspondence to the then Prime Minister. I also contribute to NGOs that care for animals, yet I am gripped by fear when facing unrestrained packs in the open street. I admit I have struggled to bridge this gap. My son, Pranjal Chugh, managed to learn the “art” of developing a deep association with dogs while completing his MBA at IIM Ahmedabad.
Despite his example, that same “art” eludes me. This fear has curtailed my freedom to move. Failing to convince neighbours to feed dogs away from common entries and to ensure safe, unobstructed passage for residents – free from the aggressive movement of stray dogs – I approached the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC). On 28 October 2025, the NHRC issued clear directions in Case No. 5287/30/0/2025 to the District Magistrate (West) and the Secretary, Animal Welfare Board of India (AWBI) to take appropriate action within eight weeks, associating me with the process. More than six months have passed since that deadline – a p erio d def ine d by absolute administrative silence.
I am 72 years and 7 months old – too senior to have my safety ignored. The NHRC disposed of my case with directions to the District Magistrate and the Ministry of Animal Husbandry. Since then, silence. No hearing date, no relief – only the continued sight of “dog lovers” feeding strays at the mouth of my lane, fully aware of the violations. In my wandering mind, I often visualize my end. I stand before Yamraja, who asks, “Are you aware of Yudhisthira’s choice?”. “Yes,” I submit. “Then do you not realize your intent to restrict these animals could be seen as cruelty under The Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act, 1960?”.
I struggle for words, but Yamraja continues: “Today is for justice. While your earthly framers are slow, we have already carrie d out amendments in the Act read with The Animal Birth Control Rules, 2023. Much like the spirit of The Sexual Harassment of Women at Workplace (Prevention, Prohibition and Redressal) Act, 2013, the intention within the brain is now the sole criterion. You must learn the art of loving dogs and shun fear. If a dog bites you and you die, accept it as attaining Moksha.”. I snap back to reality.
I hear the barking of dogs outside, and the fear returns. I see news of the Supreme Court deliberating on animal rights versus fundamental right to life under Article 21. I am encouraged to see voices like Sudha Murty express a need for compassion, but I also look to the highest court for a fair judgment that recognizes my right to walk without a racing heart.
As I look toward the horizon, I am reminded that the true measure of a civilization is not found in its grand statutes or its lofty poetic ideals, but in the safety of its streets for the most vulnerable. When a 72-year-old citizen is forced to negotiate for the simple right to walk without a racing heart – while administrative mandates are met with a deafening, six-month silence – the ‘Spirit of Accountability’ becomes, quite literally, a mirage. We have built a world that correctly demands compassion for the animal, yet we have seemingly forgotten the ‘administrative empathy’ owed to the human.
If our urban spaces continue to be governed by the whims of the assertive rather than the safety of the elderly, then the balance we were taught in those hallowed law classrooms is not just misaligned – it is broken. I remain a seeker of justice, waiting for a system that recognizes that my Article 21 rights are not subject to the approval of a street pack or the apathy of a distant bureaucrat. In this Kali Yuga, I wonder: will the balance between the rights of the being and the safety of the human ever be attained?
(The writer is a retired Director and a practicing Advocate.)
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