Yes, I’ve been cribbing to anyone who would listen about how sick I am of Mumbai rains, of the muck, of the dampness, of never reaching anywhere completely dry.
And then it hit me yesterday, that I’ve never reached anywhere completely wet either.
Well, at least not since I was a little kid, and monsoons meant actual rains for hours in Delhi (and not just a fifteen minute spray which leaves you wondering about the origins, and hoping it wasn’t just a really huge bird…ok ok…bad exaggeration!).
So there I was yesterday, at a Havmor parlour with Yo-Bro, fighting a losing battle with melting ice cream and a broken cone…when suddenly it started pouring. And I mean absolutely pouring. With gusty winds from the sea nearby turning it into the most beautiful tormentor ever, ensuring that not even the shelter above us could possibly save us from getting devoured.
I looked at Yo Bro, and smiled what I hoped would be a sweet enough smile to not be considered insane.
And so we both stepped out from under the shelter, and decided to walk in the rain.
It was breathtakingly powerful. The wind and the rain literally knocked the breath out of my lungs for a mili-second.
It was excruciatingly beautiful. Feeling each drop of rain tracing a path down my skin, the clothes sticking to us, weighing down, pulling on every muscle, making me conscious of every breath I took.
It was mind-numbingly overwhelming. Feeling like a kid, dancing around in the rain. Feeling grown up, knowing exactly what I wanted to do. Not feeling anything. Thinking of words to put down on paper. Realising that the experience was indescribable.
It was cold. Very very cold.
It was bothersome, once the rain stopped.
It was tense, wondering if my phone would survive.
It was irritating, involuntarily getting drenched this morning again.