Wet, wet, wet

There's something about the rains that awakens the poet in people. Something about the dewy freshness of the trees around you that makes the day worth looking forward to for millions. Something about the earthy aromas that tease your senses post a gentle drizzle that makes Bollywood actresses shimmy around in wet sarees lip-syncing to pseudo erotic numbers.

I, unfortunately, do not belong to this ocean of monsoon lovers. For me, tropical monsoons + big city chaos  + Indian infrastructure = 4.5 hours of commute time to and fro from work. Am I complaining?

Hell, no. As Ross Geller from F.R.I.E.N.D.S said in one episode about his long commute to and from work, "I've been given the gift of time!".

Mumbai suburban boat

This is the time that I use to ponder on why the beach front at Chowpatty had all it's lights blazing at 11:30 a.m. today or why rickshaw unions went on a flash strike to protest the effects of inflation on the 'common man'  leaving common women like me standing in a queue for over an hour to get  a rickshaw and head home. Sometimes these musings are nudged aside by the thoughtfullness with which the Mumbai P.W.D ensures they start work on flyovers, roads and bridges in May each year, hence adding to the exciting joyride that we all die for in the ensuing monsoon months.  

As raindrops keep falling on my head relentlessly, I make a mental note to kidnap Lord Indra and make him travel by suburban Mumbai trains in the rains for the next 28,765 years.