Been looking…

Its that season. The season for rain. When the sun goes on vacation, handing over charge to dark clouds laden with rain.

The dark clouds have been pelting rain like sun rays. Incessant. All night long, the sound of the rain landing on whatever comes in the way : the floor, the wall, the tin roof, or the man running with the raincoat on.

And so i have been looking. Looking at sky. Looking at earth. Looking at people from the earth, looking at sky.

Looking at the single bird sitting on a construction pole, braving the rain. In solitude. Perhaps in reflection. Of the world and its ways. Of man. Of nation. Perhaps of inflation.

Sleep stays a good distance away. The rain providing music to images of loved ones that stay far away. Looking at images run in the mind. Looked at with love and longing.

To look at mother Earth responding. With a green haze that covers the mountains and molehills and soaking up the collective communities of slums and distinct dwellings in high rises.

So that’s about the one thing the monsoon gets the eye and mind to do. Sit back and soak it all up. Keeping the windows open, the rains have been some sight to see. Nestling the filter coffee laden stainless steel cup and staring into the dark clouds and silver rain.

Oh yes. There are many items on the the ‘to do’ list, that still sit pretty. People to meet. Projects to finish. Flights to take. Documents to sign. Books to read. Pictures to click. Workouts to commence. Friends to be talked to. Of course, blog posts to write.

But then, the rain you see…the rains are just beautiful. Not pouring because they are seen as a thing of beauty. Because that’s the way to be.

So there ! I thought i will return to the blog world, laying the blame for the two week hiatus at the rain God’s door step.

By now, that lone bird has taken flight. Those bamboo poles jut into the sky. Into the rain. Am still looking !

Care for some filter coffee ? The rain show is on. At my window.

Rain Day Lessons

And so its been pouring its heart out. There are puddles on the road, wherever puddles are possible. And wherever not possible, puddles are created. For the road stands ‘washed away’ in bits and pieces.

The rain batters your windshield and your car’s wipers are working overtime. As you constantly hear your tyre finding a fresh pothole. You realise, that its been a wet night.

And then, out of nowhere, you see a thin slender post standing. In the middle of the road. You take this road daily. And you know this post is new. And as you near it, you realise that its a prop. A prop of a old rags and clothes, on an iron rod. Stuck into the road.

Jutting out of the road, almost like a natural formation. Something like a erupting jet stream from a broken underground pipe. ( ‘natural’ for a city dweller ) !!

For a brief moment you wonder who must have put this up. And why should they have done it. The rain continues to fall.

The car behind honks.

You move on. And in some distance a group of men, standing by the side of the road gesticulate. The rains pour on them as well. You realise that there is quite some water on the road. Not only that, there is a steady current, in the water that’s running under your wheels. Although, this is still the same road.

You realise that the men by the side of the road are attempting to guide you. They stand there. Showing you exactly where the potholes are. And you navigate. Looking at where they are pointing their hands. And in a few quick minutes you cross the stretch.

The rain continues to beat your windshield. With the same force with which it beats their back. You watch them through the rivulets of water that are sputtering off your side mirror.

The men have moved on to guide the car behind. Far beyond, the slender post with rags, is still standing.

And you wonder, how often you gladly suffer, so that someone else has it slightly easier. You hear the rain drops fall on the roof. Silence envelopes your mind.

And your soul as well.

The ‘Gods’ Must Be ‘Crazy’

Readers would be familiar with my previous posts on the monsoon.
But since then, the skies have been clear for the past week. I can spot the stars clearly. The drizzle is now a trickle. And every other Mumbaikar swearing that this is the worst Monsoon in a long while.

I was surprised that it had not caught the attention of the media, before i spotted this on CNN IBN

Am already worried. As i write, the rain gods seemed to have receeded further.

So, we are told that a small change of Rs.9 crores was offered for abstaining from voting. The media cares. The people stop, stare, converse animatedly and move on. The opposition crows that the battle is far from over. Etc etc etc etc

Amidst all this, the farmers in Mahrashtra & the rural hinterland plus a small dispensable set of people are worried more about another abstention.

The abstention of the rain Gods !

Standing. Rain. Refrain !

Well, they just stood there. As the rain Gods showed thier might & as the BMC ( a.k.a Corporation) stood on mute mode, these creatures stood their ground.

The schools declared holidays. Offices asked employees to work from home. Trains ran slow. On some lines they didnt. But oh these birds, they stood their ground!

The neigbourhood was out complaining about the BMC, while ignoring the plastic waste that each house was dumping into the rain water drains. Alyque Padamse came on TV & talked about the rains & BMC. Mahesh Bhatt came on TV & spoke about the rain & BMC. So did such other sundries with similar sundry subjects. The radio jockeys continued to babble. But these birds. Oh they never heard a thing. For they rain bathed like a carefree Romanian gypsy by the Mediterranean sea.

The car had water almost till the door handle. On the outside, thankfully. The number plate got washed away. Calls landed on the phone with bated breath and ‘hope all is ok, this is your first monsoon here’ refrain. All in concern. All in care.

The few minutes of panic ridden activity seems pointless when i look at these birds. A shake there. A ruffle here. A twitch of a feather. And a scratch with the beek. Standing without a care!

The rain continues to pelt for hours. Without pause. So much so, that it doesnt seem to be droplets of water but strings of water connecting earth and sky. In the continuity appearing like powerful strings that were standing still !!

So the rains were standing up. The commuters were standing. The school boys were standing. The office goers were standing. Men. Women. Cars. Buses. Dogs. Taxis. Cows. Neighbours. Autorickshaws. Buses. Security Gaurds. TV cameramen. Me. All standing !!

In contrast. Ruffling the unruffled feathers , in that distant terrace, so were the birds….!