Guest Author
By Teena Mehta
I accidentally ran into a sweet couple during my casual evening walk. They were traveling for two weeks and needed a sitter for their dog — just for one day, not even overnight.
I looked at the dog. I rarely sit for small dogs, and he wasn’t exactly one of those cute, loving bundles of joy that melt your heart. He seemed a bit standoffish. But it had been a while since anyone asked me for help — and helping others is something I truly love to do. So, I agreed.
A few days before the hosting day, their daughter came over to introduce us. The dog did not like me. There was a lot of barking. I don’t remember ever being afraid of too many dogs, but he barked so much that I thought he might bite out of sheer frustration. I reminded myself to be careful — after all, he’s an animal.
He carried himself with such confidence that it was almost comical for his 20-pound frame. His self-image was far larger than his size. I found it oddly endearing, that proud, strutting gait of his.
We were curious about his name. “Limbu,” said Anisha, the couple’s daughter. I had never heard that name before. She explained that Limbu means “lemon” in her native language, Marathi. “Because when he came to us,” she laughed, “he was very sour to everyone around him.”
That made sense. I could feel that sourness in my first meeting with Limbu. The “meet and greet” went okay — I gave him lots of treats, hoping he’d warm up to me. But he remained distant.
Finally, the day came. Limbu arrived with all his paraphernalia — bed, food, leash, toys — and, of course, his sour attitude. He started barking again as soon as he entered. My husband was on a work call and didn’t want the barking in the background, so I needed to calm Limbu down.
Instinctively, I began reciting my prayers. I looked at Limbu as though he were the divine presence I was invoking through my prayer. My intent was simple, to see the divine in him. As I sang and connected with his life energy, something magical happened.
For a moment, Limbu’s eyes locked into mine, as if asking, “Are you sure?”
But I continued praying, offering love and devotion to the divine within him. Slowly, his energy shifted. His body softened. The barking stopped. He melted, right there on the rug, listening intently to the prayers, soothed by the warmth of my devotion.
The calm lasted about ten minutes before he started barking again. I looked into his eyes once more and began reciting my prayers. This time, as if remembering what he’d just experienced, he quieted down again and melted into that same peaceful stillness.
After that, Limbu and I became best friends. He talked to me in his own little ways, played with me, acted funny and mischievously, always full of joy and life. We connected at a deeper level, one that felt like mutual reverence. It was as if he was bowing to my recognition of his divinity hidden beneath the sourness he once projected.
That day, Mr. Sour taught me something profound:
How easy it is to see only the surface — the sourness, the bitterness, the defensiveness in others — and miss the divine spark within. Sometimes, what looks like hostility is just a cry for recognition, a call for love, for someone to truly see them.
All it takes is a shift in consciousness, to look beyond the sour and connect with the sweet essence that lies within us all.
Teena Mehta has a Doctorate in microbiology and experience as a marketing manager in the medical device field, she enjoys blending scientific insight with creative communication. She lives in Cary with her husband and their 14-year-old son. Contact: dua.teena@gmail.com.
