A Chat (though she thinks that i didnt chat nicely)

Ting-Tong.

I looked up from my rummaging. Guests.

My father's old (they always iterate that they go way back) had come to pay a visit.

He was accompanied by his wife and his daughter, a cute young thing. I was about to squeeze her cheeks when she side stepped experlye and said, "Excuse me, I am eleven."

"Right." I said, withdrawing my hand. I recollected an incident that PC was telling me about. Of course, you know about it.

After all the niceties had been exchanged, all the fuss over how much the children have grown done with, the grown-ups began talking about Room number 2419, a mysterious place where my father and his friends had done things that...that people generally do at that age.

Since I had nothing much to do except to offer occasional laughs of disbelief, I began fiddling with my hair, collar, fingers and so on.

"Tell me something, what do you use for your hair? Gel or water?", asked the eleven-year-old-girl whose name I later found out was Rinki.

"Er, I don't use gel. Water occasionally.", I answered, looking at her curiously.

"No, you use gel." She said sanctimoniously, as if that's a felony.

"No, I don't!"

"Well, for the past ten minutes you have been constantly fiddling with your hair!" She accused. "You are a show-off!"

"Well, that's because I was sitting idle, dear." I said and added, "And come to think of it, you have been trying to put that lock of hair behind your ear for quite some time now." I said pointedly.

"So?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"So what?!"

"I am a girl." She said, as if that explained everything. "We do that."

"Right." I said, and wisely refrained from pointing out the small hole in her logic. Just eleven after all.

Remind me to be careful about how i use the word just.

***

She seemed the quintessences of curiosity once she got the measure of me. Is that a good thing? She stomped about without the slightest regard to whether I mind or not.

She suddenly came upon my guitar during her scrupulous inspection of my room.

"Play it.", She said austerely. I looked at her.

"Please." She added as an after thought.

I decided to play "Happy-Birthday" and "500 miles". I have very limited choices, you see.

"Play Jai ho." She said.

"Er, I am not an expert. Jai ho is pretty tough."

"But I want-"

"I cant." I said, and went on strumming absentmindedly.

"Tell me something, Why aren't you talking to me?" she asked.

"Er, I am talking!" (Kindly read the blog from the beginning if you, the reader, have any doubts.)

"No, I mean properly. Like chatting." She said, raising her left eyebrow. Now, I envy people who can do that. It's SO expressive! I want to do it. That reminds me, Raktima can do that too. Hmph.

"Well, you might have not noticed, but we have some differences. I am not used to talking about the stuff that you might want to talk about." I explained kindly.

"Yeah, you are right." She said, nodding. "Boys are pretty dense." She said knowingly.

I blinked.

"I was referring to our age difference, dear. I am 16. You are 11." I said, trying to gain back some respect.

"Oh thats not a problem!" She said, jumping up. "Girls have a 5 year mental lead on boys, don't you know! We are more advanced, you see. You try me, I can keep up!" she said giving me a dazzling smile.

'A chauvinist if there ever was one!' I thought to myself before I treated her to a Rohan smile.

[There is a particular photograph in facebook in which Rohan has been captured smiling. The camera man was Roro. It's that smile that I am talking about. Please, do see it.]

"Well, What do I talk about..." i said, thinking.

"Why don't you start with how many girlfriends you have?" she asked innocently.

"I, er, How many?"

"Yeah, like 7 or 8?"

"Aa.."

"Oh leave it." She snapped."You probably don't even know what a girlfriend is.", She said dismissively. I tried to give her another Rohan smile.

"Don't do that, you look like a baboon."

"Right.", I said, hissing. She made me realise that I can hiss a word that has no "s" in it.

"How many boyfriends to you have?", I asked her to drive the conversation away from turning into a comparison between a baboon and me. I was expecting triple digits.

"None." She said contemptuously.

"Why am I not surprised?", I blurted before I could stop myself.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing!" I said quickly.

"Yes thing!", She said suspiciously "what surprise were you-"

"Oh, i said that it's a surprise that KKR are batting like that." I said, nodding at the television.

"What does KKR have to do with boyfriends?" She asked.

"You see, Shah Rukh Khan... was the boyfriend..." I began.

"Oh, do shut up." She said irritably. "I don't want boyfriends.", She stated royally.

I was flabbergasted. No one tells me to shut up! But the bottom line is that i did shut up. :(

"But don't worry, boyfriends happen all the time. You need to chill out. Besides, don't you think that you are a bit too young for-" I began.

"No, I don't think so.", She said complacently. "You are perfectly old enough to-"

"I was talking about you.", I said.

"Oh its the same, don't you know the equation?" She asked, probably thinking to herself 'hes dumb.'

"Equation?", I asked densely.

"Are dhyatt, I told you. 11G=16B. Difference of 5. Its a constant.", She snapped "Like in Physics. My mum told me that g, thats is gravity by the way, is a constant." She said smugly.

"Right.", I said, gritting my teeth delicately. "You are smart."

"I know. I get that a lot." she said, smiling good-naturedly. Was she joking? Maybe. I can never be sure.

***

"Yeah, I am in South Point. You didn't know?" She asked me severely. I was being reprimanded for something that I had no possibility of knowing. Jesus.

"In class six. In high school." She finished.

"Oh, I am in 11. In the same school."

"Oh! Then you should come and meet me during Lunch break!", She exclaimed.

"Uh, Oh-kay.", I said, nodding, imagining a very eventful Lunch break.

"And bring your friends along. Your girlfriends, boyfriends...everyone!", She said brightly.

"I don't think that will be a good idea..." I said cautiously. I have some self respect, you know.

"What?!", she asked.

"Nothing nothing. Yeah, i'll do that, yeah."

***

Guys. When's the school reopening? :(

And, are there plenty out there like this little young thing? Mommy!

catch-22

Catch-22 is a good book. Definitely.

Life.

A little boy, who has seen but 6 summers, walks home from school crying.

Sniffing loudly, he knocks on the door.

His mother opens the door.

Seeing him cry, the natural question.

"What happened?" she asked in a voice and expression that he could never understand. All he knew was that it made him feel like he was the most loved boy in the world.

The boy, eyes filled with tears, brought up his elbow, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal a cut near the elbow.

"Mimi said that this cut will become big. My hand will fall off, and i will have only one hand!" he said, trying to stop himself from wailing loudly. His teacher had told him that boys don't cry.

His mother couldn't help smiling.

"No dear, your hand will not fall off." She said kindly, taking him inside.

"It will not?" asked the boy, hope immediately flaring inside him. He believed everything that his mum said. His mum was Einstein and Newton, don't you know. She knew why the starts twinkled. She even knew how far America was. Awesome.

"No, it will heal completely and your arm will be just like it was before." She said smiling, while washing the cut.

"Really? Then Mimi is wrong?" he asked, undertones of smugness already creeping in his voice.

"Yes, she is." Mum said, inwardly smiling at the theories that kids come up with. Well, thats them, isn't it?

An hour later, washed and fed, the boy toddled to Mimi's house to tell her what he thought of her theory.



Years later.


A boy sits in his room looking at the drizzle outside. pitter patter. tip top.

He likes to keep his room dark.

"What happened?" asked his Mum, walking in quietly without switching on the light.

"Nothing!" exclaims the boy. "Why should anything be wrong?" he asked, laughing slightly.

His mother looked at him straight. And narrowed her eyes slightly.

"You wont tell me? Fine." Said Mum.

"But what do i tell you?!" asked the boy, looking half-amused. "Theres nothing wrong!"

"Then, why are you laughing nervously? Why are you staring at the rain?"
The boy prepared himself for these questions. And quickly began to fabricate answers.

His Mum knew him well, he knew that, but he also knew his mum well.

"I believe you." said his Mum. And she left.

The boy was left behind feeling worse than he was before, although he didn't think it was possible.

This is what life does to people. And they say...well, they say a lot of things.

Smelly problem of xeroxing fans and needles.

There is JUST something about the smell of Spirit. What i love about the house being painted is the smell of the spirit. Ah, Bliss! What a perfectly out of the world fragrance! If it weren't for the repulsed looks that mum throws at me, I would most probably spray it all over me.

The smell is quite affecting too. It drives everything out of my mind. Feels like something good is happening. Increasingly silly, i know.

But i cant keep a bottle of spirit with me all the time. Its sad, really. I don't even have the luxury of nail polish removers.

So, the window grills have been painted black. They were green before, if you must know. So, all in all, a good change.


***

My mum theorized that there are Four wide variety of mums.
1.Good mum
2.Bad Mum
3.Normal mum
4.South Point Mum.

the others being common, i will concentrate specifically on the South Point Mums.

Now, the south Point mums show very complicated characteristics. They seem to posses an infinite wealth of knowledge about their ward's syllabus, about which "xeroxes" are better, which teacher is giving out the most "Bankable" notes, how to ensure that their sons/daughters get the highest, et cetera.

The other day, i was ambushed by a couple of South Point Mums when i, in a moment of uncontrollable, unconditional madness, said that I am in 11, and in South Point.
*shudder*

Also, my mum recounted some interesting tales about some ladies, whom she had the good fortune of studying outside Jagabandhu.

A lady was lecturing others on the importance of xeroxes in a students life. All of a sudden, a Maruti 800 ran over her foot. She was immediately taken to Ruby General hospital. She came back an hour later with her foot bandaged.

She said, "As soon as i reached, they xeroxed my foot. Oh dear, what am i saying! I mean X-rayed..."

The side effects of xerox, ladies and gentlemen.

***

I find it very disagreeable. The fact that most five to ten year olds feel bossy at ease in my presence. What happened to good old intimidating tall 16 year olds? I must enroll for a personality hardening up course.

***

Also, has anyone of you found a cure for pins and needles? Well, this might work. If your left foot is undergoing the sensation, then pinch your right ear lobe. And left ear lobe for the other leg. Of course, do this only if you want to get rid of the sensation. I personally love pins and needles.


***

And i have a problem. An exhaust fan problem. Someone explain it!

An exhaust fan, when seen from behind shows an illusion. It is a black mobile patch that changes with the angle of sight. If your line of sight is perpendicular to the blade of the fan, its okay. As you move up or down, the black patch moves correspondingly down and up. At a tremendous risk of my nose, i studied it closely, but due to physical, mental as well as temporal interference from my mother I had to stop. I figure its something to do with light and stuff. Pray explain, someone.

Zoozoo!

Its been quite some time since they last made something this cool. Impressive concept, excellent ideas and amazing presentation! And fairly cuddly too! Why, these zoozoos could actually be considered a mascot for the IPL! I mean, hell yeah! They are almost synonymous to IPL 2nd edition! And more than the cricket, I spend my time waiting for the next Vodafone add. Vodafone has got some creative people, I must say!



Live long zoozoo!



Er, dont go by the picture. I wish a long, fruitful life to the zoozoos!

devil incarnate

If you have seen The Mummy, you'll know what i am talking about. Well, if you haven't seen The Mummy, then too you'll know what i am talking about anyway. I'll make sure of that.

I despise roaches. It may not be the most advertised or quoted fact, but that doesn't undermine its gravity. And the fact that they look like they are wearing mismatched shades with nothing but sinister intent in their eyes doesn't help matters. So, naturally, the incident brought out the best in me. Or, worst from the roach's perspective.

I was sitting on my table, happily contemplating how my friends would react to the intrusion of a poisoned slug in their alimentary system. The weather was humming along as well, warm sunshine sneaked in through the narrow gaps in between the curtain, Mum, exceptionally pleased that i cleaned by table, had put some fresh flowers on my table. A happy atmosphere in general. Things were perfect, that is, until the cockroach decide to cause mayhem.

It appeared out of nowhere, and landed precisely on the spine of my Comprehensive chemistry.

"Nice position, Moron!" I though evilly as i snapped the book shut.

But the cockroach had inhuman reflexes! Well, yeah, it wasn't human, but um, the point is it escaped.

And it escaped right beneath my chair. I don't know about you guys, but I have serious issues with roaches under my chair.

So, i fled to call for reinforcements.

After a minute of hasty planning, mum and i appeared, armed to teeth. Me, holding a destructive mortein all-insect killer. Mum, a jharu and a hawaii, Bruce Lee style.

She supported me in my crusade against roaches.

We found the vermin seeking cover behind my P.C. My heart sank. I could never risk hurting my P.C. While i was busy getting sentimental, Mum was all business. She took up a sponge ball from somewhere, and aimed it at the cockroach.

The clairvoyant cockroach dived out of the way before she threw the ball. Mum advanced with all the skills of a veteran roach hunter. There are a number of advantages of having a dangerously smart mum. On my side, of course. She gave me some complicated instruction to get my positioning and timing right as she determined the roach's reaction. She really understands roaches, you know. Life-long enemies know a lot about each other.

She lunged. The roach jumped out from behind its cover, shot a few murderous glances at us, and disappeared behind the dustbin.
Tasting victory, i planted mum at the door who looked terrifying with that jhata.

I carefully positioned myself. Careful in case i was ambushed.

And ambushed i was, but the caution paid off. I ducked out off the way as i realised that the cockroach had activated its last weapon. Wings.

"Two pairs of membranous wings from the meta thoracic region..."

Damn Membranous! They sure worked, and thats what counted!

"Mum, I-" I stopped midway as i looked at the door. My back-up had betrayed me. Mum had fled at the sight of the infernal wings. And she had locked the door behind her. I was all alone. And I had to fend for myself.

"Treachery!" My heart screamed, "Traitor!"

My brain began calculating the odds of my success. Nothing turned up. No, i thought, its no good thinking I'm like Danny Maclean.

The rest, as they say, is history. Except that no one knows about this bit of history. Its been carefully suppressed by conspirators.

I took on the devil-incarnate-cockroach. i decided to finish it once and for all. I fired with the mortein.

I injured it, but it was yet to die. It flew at me. I evaded it yet again, and managed to hit it with a newspaper. I picked up a hawaii, and threw it at the roach.

It scurried out of the way.

I was about to deliver the final blow when it went to the window and flew away. To fight another day.

Sigh. I wait for thee, cockroach, to settle scores.

Cricket? Leave it to Ricky.

I walked into Rohit's locality expecting a royal welcome in the form of a ball hurtling towards me, but i found it deserted. The reason became apparent in a while.

I found Rohit Staring avidly at a nearby field. Strange.

"Er, whats up?" I asked curiously.

"The ball went in there." He said gravely, pointing at the field.

"How can a ball go IN-?" I swallowed the rest of the sentence. It was essentially a pond, reduced to a marsh by a sinister variety of hydrophilous plants. Otherwise popular as "pana pukur".

"But looking wont help!" I said sensibly.

"Oh, didn't i tell you? Ricky was holding the ball." he said dryly.

"Ah! Right."

[Don't squirm. He broke the surface seconds later in the midst of howls of despair and disappointment. We were hoping that he would maintain a permanent existence under water. The world would be a better place altogether.]

____________________________________

I was batting. Standing tall, looking intimidating with the bat.

Ricky, after having washed himself with several kinds of anti-septics, was bowling.

Rohit screamed at Ricky.

"Remember, bowl in the right AREAS so that he can atleast FACE it."

Ricky grinned like a maniac and bowled.

Damn it, I did FACE it. Literally.

I went down like a rock as the ball interfered with my aqueous humor. But i did manage to scream out something.

"Now, i know why you failed in English, you moron!"

____________________________________

Ricky's next ball.

Rohit was the braveheart holding the bat.

I was more optimistic than Rohit.

"Bowl SLIGHTLY out of line so that he edges it, okay?" I told Ricky importantly.

He nodded like noddy.

He bowled.

Shattering glass. A shrill cry. And an empty cricket pitch.

And we thought batsmen were the notorious window pane breakers.

~

It was a night of uncertainty.
Why, then, did everything go according to plan? Well, i for one, don't know the answer, but it was a night of uncertainty. Of a deceptive wind with its gentle ruffle, of an elusive moon in the backdrop of subdued reality.

From home to the station, the cab, the traffic, the smoke, the banners, the loudspeakers, the crowd... it was all subdued. Like a painting with just the background. And then, the painter forgets to finish it. An unfortunate, inadvertent masterpiece.

I was feeling hollow. Sensitive to all that went around, but not really paying attention to the song. Or the cello, or the trumpet.
And i floated along, certain in my objective, uncertain in my perspective.

The station hit me like smoke. I coughed, shut my eyes, and the smoke passed through me.

The train was standing beside the platform, steadfast in its representation(s).

Trains are nice, are they not?

I mean, these modern Eastern Railway trains. I have an insatiable attraction for trains. The solitary headlamps, screaming into the night...illuminating the parallel tracks, following the same path for miles, for days.

This train journey was particularly different from the others. In fact, so much so that it could almost be called a novel experience. People change, and i am no exception.

Fortune smirked, and i got a window seat. As i sat there, peering out at the world outside, the subdued reality started to redefine itself. To something less subdued.

Outside, a world was huffing and puffing with all its might. The coolies with their unbelievable balance, the trade cries of the hawkers, the chug-chug of some train, the grunge of metal somewhere. The cacophony almost felt like a subdued symphony.

I suddenly caught the eyes of a woman with a veiled face. She had a tumor on her face. As soon as she caught my eye, she turned away hastily, trying to hide herself. I turned away, feeling sorry for her. Or, did i turn away with disgust? There are somethings that i don't even admit to myself let alone others.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and the train whistled shrilly. It was time. With the trademark jerk, the train began to move, and for a moment, in spite of all the physics and tell-tale common sense, i played with the fact that maybe the station was leaving us.
______________________________________

The train had settled into its gentle rhythm. And its soothing noise. Its funny how the roughest noises seem soothing and gentle when ignored. Like the things that look lovelier when they are absent.

The distant bobs of light amidst darkness, the dark shapes of the tree, the three parallel shafts of light slanting on the ground from inside the train, the bright imposing moon splayed across the dark sky...It was a night of uncertainty.

After a while, i pulled myself away from the view outside, and tried to measure up the passengers. A rather unexpected sight met my eyes. All the persons in the compartment, and there were eight, were gazing into their cell phones with the sole exception of my father who liked his sleep. Where was the good humoured hello-hi? All my train journeys are associated with at least one bumbling friendship. I mean, i wasn't really prepared for this. Sad, really.

I took to studying the passengers. And decided to play a game. I looked at each of the passengers, and imagined what they were thinking.
The guy sitting beside me was smiling quietly, looking at his phone. I noticed it was text he was staring at. Most likely exchanging smses with his friend.

A fat, porky man on the upper side berth was staring contemptuously at the floor.
'Heh, He thinks he can cook better boullibaisse than me..."

A middle aged man, smoking his cigarette trying to imitate Rajnikanth.

A pretty young lady smoothening the wrinkles of her salwaar every 10 seconds.
"Someone is always watching me, I need to be presentable..."

Amidst all this the train moved on.

______________________________________

I got the middle berth. Recently, sleep on train has been rather elusive. I tend to wake up once every hour, check the watch and go to sleep again.

As the lights were extinguished one by one, i began to feel a weird sense of foreboding. Maybe because of the noise made by the train when crossing a bridge. I always have the nagging fear that the bridge will give away, that the last train was really the last straw for the bridge. With this kind of trepidation, sleep doesn't come easy.

By two, everyone was asleep. Or, they appeared to. I lied still, looking around like an owl. The deep sound of breathing, someone's hoarse cough piercing the silence, someone snoring, and of course, the train breathing.

I jumped down lightly from the berth, and went to the door. It wasn't locked. A man, dressed in rags, was sitting beside the door, looking despondently at the night rushing by. As i approached the door, he looked at me. He had smoky green eyes that clashed horribly with his grey-white hair.

"What are doing up so late?" He asked.

"Can't sleep." i replied, shrugging.

"Okay." Some people are so easily satisfied.

And he went back to staring at the night outside. His green eyes reflected curiosity. Not the innocent curiosity of a child, but the hardened curiosity of an experienced. An ironic, sardonic curiosity.

I lingered for a few minutes, and quietly came back. It was the green eyes that somehow put me to some sleep.

bed bugs?

A: Good night. Let the bed bugs bite. They are good guys.

B: Or maybe they are girls.

A:[before reading B's reply] They bite at nice places.

B: Er!! No! they aren't girls then!

A and B are real values.

One Liner

After everything,

"But I didn't actually ask you to do it, did I?"

A devastating sentence.

Inspiration.

Inspiration inspiration,
In and out like respiration,
Wonder for the moment,
Envy and then, atonement.

Dark and gullible, mellow
Serious, deep, a creepy halo.
Light, quirky and yellow,
Is their depth in shallow?

Time teaches the tricks,
Time heals and follows,
And from behind it kicks
Leaves you in the hollows.

Grudge Grudge and forget,
The tawny things that u never let,
Out through the moldy gate,
And try out its own fate.

Mask all that kept,
The ground beneath your feet,
Maybe You're actually inept
Like a scorching summer sleet.

Indecision on what to say,
Coupling with what not to;
You never will find a way,
Even when you have got to.

Inspiration inspiration!
What is thy purpose?
Is it holy complication?
Or just a blemished corpus.

Whoa! That was a lot.
Head feels good.

When the clock says-"Rant!"

Why do i grudge people so much? i shouldn't begrudge people the little things that make them. Its a confession of sorts, but well i promise not to do so again. Its involuntary, you know. Wish knowing something was synonymous to "realising and accepting" something. Wish things were easy. Simple. At least, thats my wish for now.

I owe biology a sincere apology. I was fundamentally wrong in my assessment of the subject. I was too hasty in branding it a subject without life. In broadcasting that it was an unworthy subject. Feels extremely stupid in hindsight. Biology is beautiful. Reading about Centrosomes, as sir went deeper and deeper, you tend to feel small as you realise what is REALLY going on in that body of yours. Its unreal, life.

I mean, contemplating life biologically or, anyway for that matter, is too cumbersome a though for a frail brain like mine. The feeling that authors describe in their book through a character in his deathbed.
"What a marvel of creation..."

Its the same feeling of smallness that I get when i stare at stars for too long.

And my latest realisation is the tadpolistic outlook. Did you know that a human from a tadpolistic outlook is almost inhuman? Please don't duh, for unlike most, i try to think out of the box. There are two types of people who do that. Genius and Mental. Now, i wouldn't give you unscrupulous people the liberty to chose one of them for me.

Tadpoles have potential to rock the world. A tadpole is a human's alter-ego. We all have a tadpole self. Try looking at the world through tadpole eyes. Try the tadpole confidence. The world will seem a better place, tadpolistically speaking.

Anything for a change, trust me, anything for a change. Boys like me get desperate easily. So they should stop testing me so often.

I should never be trusted with power. I will lose my head. I am rather pleased to give advice to the power-man and criticize him. This also shows that i am essentially an irresponsible spineless git. But the truths the truth.

Recently i am being peed on a lot by babies. In malda, and now, at a friend's place. Its fun even. Optimistically speaking. I treat babies very well, no thanks. Its not any revenge whatsoever. Expunge that thought from your mind.

This is true rambling. Guess midnight brings out the true rambler in me. What with so many things to keep me busy throughout the day.

Oh my its already 12:30! Goodnight!

How terribly strange/ To be seventy...

Beautiful day. Nice weather. I am prepared with biology. I have mustered the guitar drills. I should be quite pleased with myself and life in general.

I find myself thinking of veiled stuff. Of bright stuff that become dark when treated properly. Beg your pardon, improperly. To gradual Self disgust. To facile despair.

Life sometimes looks just like a facetious joke. And "smashingly strange" at other times. While plain wonderful at other. And its more than just mood. Its not the fault of life either.

Some songs remind you of something QUITE different than what the song is about. Yes, i am talking about Simon and Garfunkel here. And They severely affect your mood. I mean, none of the S&G songs are about claustrophobia, are they? Or, about all things dark and beautiful? I can name a number of such things that they remind me off.

I love to hate the songs for what they do to me. And so, i simply love to listen to them.

Kathy must have been a wonderful person, eh?

Summer Rain.

Slam! bang-bang!

The windows in my room frolicked with the wind.

"Rick! Close all the windows..." My mum's voiced trailed away into oblivion, for i was running to the terrace. I was expecting this sudden gust. I had trusted the Meteorological department today.

As i stepped into the terrace, too many things happened at once. I got dust into my eyes, and I became temporarily blind. The wind and rain rammed into my face. Someone's Newspaper fluttered and stuck to my already battered face.

But i didnt mind.

I splashed my eyes and took a better look all around.

"What did i see?"

Remember the "Selfish Giant" by Oscar Wilde?

"He saw a wonderful sight."

Well, I saw a wonderful sight too.

Trees swaying with happy turbulence, the grey clouds rushing, flying low like an armada of space ships, the dark war clouds brooding grimly in the centre of the sky, the birds already splashing in the improvised bird baths, the wind blowing everything away...

The smell of wet earth, the "sonda" smell. The smell of dust and rain.

Ah yes, the rain.

Pin drops to thick splooshy drops the size of my thumbnail. As i stood there, it began to rain in earnest. Once thoroughly soaked, the rain felt seriously cold. But there was a warmth in the cold. The warmth of the first summer rain. And the due warmth of the first summer rains of the last 2-3 years that i missed.

As i stood there, blinking against the rain, some old songs began to play in my mind as if from a badly tuned radio. In the background of age old images of Assam cyclones, of uprooted trees and flooded streets.

A moth, struggling against the wind, fluttered one last time and fell a foot away from me, dead. It was there for a full moment before the wind blew it away...

And then flooded the evanescent memories. Both old and new, the memories touched by the rain.Happy and sad. Dry and wet. Warm and cold. They stayed and reminded, before the wind blew them away one by one...

The flat owners came flooding in worrying about their clothes. Someone exclaimed that her precious black skirt has been blown away, someone swore aloud because his tata sky was one wire short.

And they broke the wet spell.