It rained hard last night. Very. And when I woke up I woke up with a heavy head. And the strong morning tea didn’t cancel that. Rains have never been an object of admiration for me. I have never been able to quite understand the so-oft-described romanticism involved in it. For me rain is trouble. The city in which I live seems to share my feelings. Rains here are like the mother-in-laws who when return after you were succumbing to domestic violence (and thought that now maybe you’re enemy will be otherwise engaged while you may savour some peace), are welcomed with open arms but after few days have passed, you know that you’ve had enough of this shit and living with them thenceforth is impossible. I know this is the saddest and remotest analogy ever, but well, it’ll have to do.
But then, I guess, I am not to judge. The neighbourhood I live in is seldom water-clogged. And all my troubles end if I decide to sit back home and relax. I can even look out my window and take in the smell of wet earth beneath and feel blessed. But life and luck don’t treat everybody the same. I have a relation who has a relation who is well beyond his prime and is roughing it against the weather. The rainwater has invaded his bedroom and he is having to negotiate green little slimy snakes with a walking stick.
All this is fun to here now. But future for me may not remain so bright after all. I just had a ruckus with my promoter about whether or not he should do something about all the water that is clogging in front of my apartment. “You’re on the 3rd floor sir. And you shan’t have anything to do with water there. The rest is not included in the contract.” –blunt and sharp was his reply.
It is night and the rains have started again.
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