October 30, 2011

Monsoon in Madras

If you choose to ignore the rotting garbage climbing on the broken Neel Metal Fanalca bin at the street corner and the vile-looking cables lying naked in the half-done drains on the roadside and look at the plant and animal life as the monsoon breaks out, there are little things to be enjoyed this season.

From terrace tops, you may sight the first flight of birds heading south.

The skies take on different forms too and the images become solid and severe as the rain-bearing clouds either hang above you deliberately or sail into the horizon taking their bounty to a land that must have sinned that much less!

I sighted a formation on Deepavali morning that looked like an elephant which was watching the celebrations down below, quite amused.

At the foot of the trees, a few worms crawled under the dead leaves and a gurgling sound echoed from the large wells that were sunk in the ground to tap the rainwater of this season.

I peeped through the small openings of the well and could scarcely see the water level but when the sun came out, a silvery reflection from down below told me that that this well would be able to take a lot more rainwater this November.

That night, we opened a window to gaze at the lightning, heralded by the roll of thunder. Would the flash find its way into the bedroom and look for overworked souls? Or could we tease it of its limited reach?

The hourly news bulletin entered its nth loop on the abandoned telly. There was the weatherman at his desk, in his turkey-towel covered chair, leaning at the mikes of the TV reporters.

'There may nor may not be rain tomorrow. There will be thunder and lightning followed by rain here and there . . .

We laughed at the prediction.

That night, the elephant in the skies came down. It lost its way, slipped into the open drain and got entangled in the cables.

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