Washing Away Those Years

Aww. The Delhi monsoon. Yeah, I see it as a kid now, on experiencing two severe and seasoned monsoons in Bombay. But the cheerfulness of this cute child is as cherry-red as a new-born's blush. For the unfamiliar, the North Indian monsoon irregularly interrupts, as a bright child questioning it's mother, rather a defiant one troubling her, the horrific heat waves spreading their spans across the entire half of the country, comprising probably half a billion people, a million cultures and a billion cuisines*. Searing temperatures nearing fifty degrees Celsius are quenched, although momentarily, by the magnanimous supply of water. Though these impulsive and unpredictable puerile spurts are few and far between to say the least, you couldn't possibly count the bright smiles of the young-at-heart at India Gate or the number of "happy cupples" out on long drives on wide highways after a pre-monsoon shower. Probably, just as a result of getting some unexpected respite.

Hmm. So much for the initial information. Now for my story. At times, with 'external influences', certain youthful, (childish, rather) urges emanate from me. And I find it extremely difficult to purge them, as would anyone, I presume. One of these 'influences' is rain. Plentiful rain. And as I was planning my trip to somewhere nearby, I saw half the night horizon intermittently lit up by fiery strokes of lightning. Instantly, equally lit up were my eyes. The opportunity to let go of all worldly-elderly responsibilities, and bring to life my inner child, was just a measly impulsive reaction away. And so, with expectations from the sky above, however rare an occurrence that may be, I chucked the keys to the car, and I chose to walk a then lonely road. It is only now, while scribing my account, that I realize that I didn't contemplate at that instant what a pity it was that the roads I tread on had just the singular patron. Now I have. It is no less a pity now.

Any which way, all worldly or ethereal thoughts aside, I was finally greeted by a huge cloud burst and embraced by a blanket of water droplets. The sparkle in my observant eye noticed through minimal visibility a vast number of silly old fools running for cover, worrying about their health, and for heaven's own sake, cursing the rain. I paid little heed, as another opportunity came my lonely way. I saw the ice-cream parlour waiting to close, as if inviting the last customer, the best for last, of course. And I enjoyed my lovely butterscotch cone like I had never had one. Like I had never had one, huh. You can't possibly imagine the exhilarating current of air produced when you hold your cone close to your chin. Now that's something you ought to do before you die. The flowing air before, after and during the rain cools by convection and you feel a cold wave on your face. A cold jitter preceded my carefree smile. Time to make a dash for it, I said to myself; and I purposely ran toward my house, not intending to leave an inch of my clothing as an offering to the heavenly aqueducts. Which made me momentarily think. It has been proved that one gets more wet while running, as compared to walking. However, obviously, one reaches one's destination that much quicker. Now how much water have our clothes absorbed in either case, comparatively?

Aww, darn it! Let the bigger boys think about that. I made my way splashing on puddles, dirtying my jeans finally to my home; as I regained a dozen years in a matter of seconds. These years, of course, I hope to lose again, sooner rather than later.

* This statement inspired by a statement made by Vir Sanghvi, in his show, 'A Matter of Taste'. A post on food shows or shows for foodies is obviously pending.