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You've got rain

Ever had one of those days with azure skies and light breeze where the air is so delicious that you want to take it all in, and the cheerful people strolling on the road wave to you ? Well then, you certainly aren't in Delhi.

(I had no intention of writing this. I read this 'rain' blog on Poornima's and well...I had to trash / complement it.)

It rained a few days back. This isn't about that. It is about this...

Rains look good from a distance. I like the concept of wet-ness and I love wet t-shirts, but I don't want anything to do with it. The surreal impressions of rain, eschewing umbrellas and hairbands, rebelling against the norm, being normal and dry...Sure, the greatest writers and filmakers have caputured felicitous moments and these have percolated through our subconscious too. But are they the moments we know...or just factitious memories ?

The rain is an escape. It is the garibon-ka-saathi politican, the ice-cream vendor, the alms for the beggar, the slayer of heat and its sidekicks. It is the hard-cash we impatiently wait for at the ATMs, the vrrrom.. sound of the vehicle on a cold morning, the weekend after almost a week of labour.

Rain is a phenomenon we all experience. It isn't an everyday experience, like traffic lights, the sunrise or poverty, that become so hackneyed that our emotions have turned stale. Albeit rains occur every year (well, almost), the 9 month gestation period gifts it a refreshing countenance. It is the epitome of equality. It requires no money, no car ownership, no Hutch connection. I have as much freedom to love, hate, comment, enjoy, observe and write about it as any other being on earth. But of course I don't. I have better things to do.

The rain looks pretty while the obese earth pulls it towards its surface. The auditory senses are delighted when the droplets patter on the planes of concrete and tar, or when they merge with their other little friends and go plop! Alas! Man afflicted with the infamopus 3 second attention span doesn't want them around anymore. The poured rain is no longer the cynosure. It is the ex-girlfriend, the vanilla of ice-creams. It is the MMS boy and girl, the guests after dinner..

"Sure we had a good time. Now if you don't mind, could you please go through that hole...Yes right there..the left exit. Watch out for that gulley trap...Quite tricky you know! It isn't that long a journey. You won't even notice the smell. See you soon.."

As I said before,like unpotty trained kids and panju houses, I am happy watching the rain from a distance. A home (with or garma-garam tea) is the perfect place for the rain hedonist. Out there, it isn't a picture. It is war. On the road, the line between the haves and have-nots grows into a deep groove (or a bump, as you like it).The slush on the ground is a good contender for Mr.Equality too. It is either the worker on the cycle or me who gets the splash. I hate wetting him, but hey! at least I am safe..splosh!

As the clouds gather a few kilometres above my head, a rationalo-meter inside my brain warns me of impending danger. It isn't "Aishwarya Rai in Taal" that occupies my head. Nor is it the pakodas at home. My previously defunct survival instincts urge me find a shelter. The desire to reach my office has never been this intense. An instant belief in God materializes, as I pray that the rain doesn't pour down for the next few minutes. It doesn't. The reach the firm almost dry. Already late, I settle into my chair and pretend to work. Ahh... four walls and a roof-slab. What else do you need in life ?

God bless Architecture.


  1. Amen brother...rain is as wanted as a pimple on your wedding day ;)speaking of which...are u coming to mine ???

  2. who can feel it better than me still in kgp.. !! oooooooooo i m all wet!

    n finally.. god bless architecture...!


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