The Humorous Autobiography of Gaury: A Cow's Sacred Yet Unfortunate Journey in India

 

Autobiography of a Cow: The Moo-mentous Tale of Bovine Greatness:-

Greetings, humans! My name is Gaury, though I've heard you call me by various other names like "Moo-Moo" or, quite rudely, "Beef" (how dare you!). Allow me to take you through the utterly fascinating journey that is my life, hooves and all.

I was born on a lovely morning in a pasture that smelled of fresh grass and freedom. My mom told me I was destined for greatness, and I believed her—after all, everyone seems to want a piece of me, literally! From the moment I took my first wobbly step and let out a confused "Mooooo," I knew I was different. I mean, who else can look adorable while chewing cud for hours?

Now, let me address the obvious. Yes, I spend most of my time chewing. It's not as simple as it looks, folks. There’s a method, a rhythm, a zen to it. You try turning grass into sustenance and a little bit of methane, and tell me it's not a skill!

Then there’s the milking. Oh boy, here we go. Humans have this thing about my milk. Every morning, without fail, they line up with buckets, machines, and whatnot. I stand there, graciously providing, while they rave about “freshness” and “organic goodness.” It is even said that once a baby turns 12 months old, cow's milk becomes the next best thing after a mother’s milk. Imagine that—a human baby depending on me for nutrition. Talk about being essential!

Let’s talk about fashion for a minute. My black-and-white coat? Iconic. It's a timeless pattern, and don't even get me started on how well I rock it in every season. No designer can replicate this level of chic, darling. And my eyelashes? Natural curl—eat your heart out, beauty influencers!

Of course, not every moo-ment in my life is glamorous. There was that one time I mistook a haystack for a pillow and woke up with a very sore neck. And once, I tried running with the horses—big mistake. Hooves were not made for sprinting; we cows are more of the "slow and steady" type. We take life at a leisurely pace because we know one thing: everything good in life, like a patch of sweet clover, is worth waiting for.

But let’s get serious for a moment. In India, I am worshipped like a goddess. Yes, you heard me right—a goddess! There are entire festivals where people bow to me, feed me, and paint me with beautiful colors. I hear prayers and see people revering me as a symbol of life, motherhood, and prosperity.

But here's the million-dollar question: do they really treat me like the goddess they claim I am? I mean, they worship non-living statues of gods, keeping them clean, offering them flowers, and placing them in grand temples. But when it comes to me—a living, breathing symbol of divinity—I'm left on the streets, dodging traffic, scavenging for food, and fending for myself. How does that add up?

One minute, I’m being garlanded and blessed in the temple, and the next, I’m abandoned on the road, struggling to survive. And the irony doesn’t stop there. India, a country that prides itself on its Hindu beliefs, is also one of the largest exporters of beef. Yes, you heard me right. The largest exporter is, in fact, a Hindu. So, on one hand, they pray to me, and on the other, they profit from my kind being turned into beef. How can someone call me sacred and yet treat me like a commodity?

And sometimes, it’s worse. I see my fellow cows injured, hit by cars, and ignored. Some of us don’t make it. We die on these very roads where we are supposedly revered. It's heartbreaking, isn't it? They call me holy, but their actions tell a different story.

So, here’s to me, Gaury the cow, living my best life—one moo at a time. Just remember, the next time you see me on the road, maybe slow down and ask yourself: are you really treating me like the goddess you claim I am?

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