During the early days of the COVID-19 lockdown, like many others, I found myself consumed by uncertainty. But amid the news cycles, isolation, and eerie silence outside, what struck me most was something quieter—something most people didn’t notice at first.
The animals were starving.
The chai stalls had shut. Restaurants were closed. Regular feeders were confined to their homes. For the thousands of stray dogs and cats who relied on these routines to survive, the lockdown brought more than silence—it brought hunger, fear, and slow suffering.
I didn’t set out to launch a campaign. I just couldn’t ignore what I was seeing. One morning, I stepped out with packets of pet food and leftovers. I began driving through parts of Pune—early, before sunrise, while the city slept. I saw stray animals sitting near empty shops, wandering through quiet lanes, waiting near familiar spots without understanding why no one came.
That first trip turned into many.
To move during lockdown, I sought and received written permission from the Police Commissioner. I chose early morning hours—4 to 5 AM—so I could cover more ground without disruption. Eventually, others began reaching out. Someone had food to donate. Someone else had seen a dog in distress. Slowly, a small, informal network took shape.
Together, we pooled resources, shared locations, and ensured that feeding didn’t stop just because the world had. We weren’t trying to fix everything—we were trying to do something.
But the experience left me with a deeper question: Why does it take a crisis for people to find each other? Why do we wait until it’s urgent to act, or to connect?
That’s when the idea for Animal Volunteers of India began to form. I wasn’t trying to start something grand. I just wanted to create a space where those who care for animals—rescuers, feeders, vets, and everyday citizens—could find each other without friction. So we built a pan-India open online directory: www.animalvolunteersofindia.in. A space to connect, act, and respond faster during emergencies, and also to feel less alone in the effort.
Today, we’re working on an app that will make this even more real-time and traceable—so people can locate the nearest volunteer, coordinate feeding schedules, and track the care of specific animals across neighborhoods. The hope is not just to help more animals, but to help more people help.
Looking back, I don’t think what I did was extraordinary. I think what was extraordinary was how many people were quietly willing to do the same—if only there was a way to come together.
This isn’t about rescue. It’s about recognition. Of suffering, of responsibility, of each other.
Because sometimes, compassion isn’t loud. It begins with a quiet noticing—and a refusal to turn away.