How streets dogs in Delhi help build communities

Raghu is refusing to eat his lunch—a bowl of rice mixed with boiled vegetables. He sniffs it and returns to his spot in a corner of Delhi’s Khan Market. “Chicken nahi hai na aaj (there’s no chicken today),” says Meenakshi Yadav, giving Raghu, a visibly overweight nine-year-old street dog, a gentle slap. A few minutes later, he’s emptied the bowl.

Yadav, who works as a cleaning lady in a shop in Khan Market, travels 30km every day from the outskirts of Delhi to reach her workplace. Alongside her own lunch, she carries food for five stray dogs, including Raghu—all brothers who have lived outside the shop since they were puppies. Though Yadav is a vegetarian, she brings them chicken once a week. On some days, Rajkumar Mishra, the guard at a neighbouring shop, brings chicken for them.

“I used to throw stones at them when I joined here (in 2021)… I was always scared of dogs,” Mishra says. “Now, the guards from other shops (in the same lane) and I sit with them (at 4pm) to share tea and biscuits.”

For some street dogs, Delhi can be a pretty good place to be in. The rich, like Yadav’s boss, can go overboard—he bathes the five dogs once a month and pays for their regular check-ups. As do the not-so-rich like Yadav and Mishra, in their own little ways. People living on the streets, who barely have enough for themselves, also feed strays.

It’s not an unfamiliar sight: Packs of dogs hang around restaurants for scraps (which they usually get), and sprawl on their bellies outside shops as passersby react with “aww” or “oh my god”, depending on where they fall on the animal-lover spectrum. Two evenings ago, a gentle brown street dog sauntered into an India Design Fair preview party and was welcomed by the guests with ample head scratches.

But Delhi can be harsh too. For the past few months, conversations inside the halls of the Supreme Court have centred on whether Delhi’s streets are suitable for dogs at all—and whether their presence makes cities more dangerous for humans and animals alike. That’s not entirely untrue: India, despite having some of the most pro-dog laws, leads the world in deadly rabies cases. Some Delhi residents have supported calls for their removal.

These dogs that belong to no one still choose their streets and their humans, and in doing so, bring people together. In my locality, for instance, for the past one year, I have seen a woman feed strays between 5-6am. She rides a scooter through the streets, carrying a 1kg pack of dry kibble. About a month ago, she was joined by two more women—her neighbours—on separate scooters, thus covering more ground and dogs. Car cleaners feeding four-legged regulars is also a daily sight.

In south-west Delhi in Janakpuri, a group of youngsters in their 20s have assigned themselves duties across 14 residential colonies—feeding the street dogs, washing their winter sweaters, creating resting spots near trees or in balconies with fans during summers, and taking them to the vet whenever needed.

As the debate over where street dogs belong continues, scattered across Delhi are small, stubborn pockets of care, where dogs that belong to no one are still looked after. They give people a reason to pause, to talk, to show up at the same hour every day.

When I ask Yadav and Mishra about the drama over Delhi’s street dogs, the former doesn’t hesitate. “Babu kahin nahi jayega (he will not go anywhere),” she says, pulling Raghu into a tight hug.