The weather man up there is a sadist

The clouds rolled in from the west; from the east; from a hundred different directions – dark and vicious. And when they collided with one another, a great rumbling happened. Why does the great rumbling happen when two fluffy blobs of cotton clouds collide, I ruminated? Wind swept scraps of paper and sent them twirling into the sky like confetti. Tree branches swayed like possessed dancers. And then it rained. Big, fat drops pounding into the dry earth, whipping up that sweet smell of wet sand. I peered out of the window. The kids playing cricket had disbanded their stone slab wicket and run for cover. The banana seller was frantically pulling a blue polythene cover over his cart. The boys from the dhobi ghat scampered making vain attempts at saving their just dried clothes from the clothesline. It was sudden. One drop followed another in a rapid free fall. In a few minutes, the flat in front of me had turned colour. Damp dark patches conquering the wall space in a hurry. Small puddles formed on the ground. And then they merged in magnetic alacrity with other small puddles; becoming bigger pools of water. Mother was asleep; after endless hours in the kitchen. I seized the opportunity to tiptoe to the kitchen for hidden treasures. Why does she always keep the green box with the goodies in it on the top shelf, I wonder?

I tiptoed many more times. Treading the tightrope that separated calculated risk from sure shot hara-kiri. And through all the misadventures, it had continued raining. The storm drains in the distance were overflowing. Muddy water was gushing down like in Noah’s times. The rain showed a few promising signs of petering down giving the neighborhood brats an opportunity to vet their maritime skills. Paper boats were gliding downstream one after the other like in the Pirates of the Caribbean. Everything was beginning to look washed and new. Father would be back from work at five. And just when it seemed like a well timed shower, at ten minutes to five it started all over again. Why can it not wait a bit, I cringed and wondered. Why can it not stop for a while, just so that father can walk back home from the bus stop. So that I don’t have to go, one umbrella aloft, another one in hand, because father had not bothered taking one to office again. And this, despite his perpetual paranoia for impending thunderstorms. But it is all mere wishful thinking. The rain kept penciling down in sheer dissent.

‘Just take the umbrella and go will you’, mother shouted out from the kitchen. ‘It’s time for your father to be back’.

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And I am pretty convinced the weatherman up there, controlling the shower knob has a skewed sense of humour. Who does not like the idea of me tucked up cozy with handfuls of thieved butter biscuits. And so I go through the cold and unwelcome ordeal. Jumping over puddles; making vain attempts at keeping myself dry as every passing automobile plays splash-splash. But when I get back, trouser bottom irritatingly wet and all, it’s all over. The knobs have been turned off. Can’t help but bloody ask – Why does it have to rain at 5 o clock only?

Enemy on the wall

Cousin came running out of the room like he had seen the devil itself. ‘It’s there’, he stuttered; looking as flushed as he generally looks at times like these. I instantly pulled up my dangling legs like a recoiled spring. In the middle of the cot with none of your body parts touching floor or wall, you felt slightly better; safer. Cousin had jumped into the cot as well. It was our safety bunker; far from the dangers lurking on distant walls. The cartoon playing on TV had suddenly turned uninteresting as cousin constantly peered at the bathroom in a ‘we are not safe yet’ manner. It was unsettling. ‘That is a big bastard’, he tells me at last. ‘Must have entered through the mesh door. It’s big and mean and spotted. I was just about to pick the mug and it was there; right on the wall next to me. I was lucky. Or else…’, he stopped mid sentence. I hated it when he stopped mid sentence.

I shivered at the very thought.

Like I shivered when summer vacations came and we visited mom’s relatives in sunny Alleppey. Not that it was a bad place. Nor was it that the folks there were mean. On the contrary, the tranquil rustic charm fascinated little me; used as I was to the prison like confinement of city dwelling. Running to fetch the honey sweet mangoes that fell every now and then with a leafy thud; hurling endless pebbles into the pond with a grim resolve to get that one extra bounce; eating omlettes made from fresh duck eggs , which aunts always claimed were so difficult to get these days. It was all nice and happy; as long as it was bright and sunny and daylight. The horrors started after sundown. I tried staying out for as long as possible. But at nightfall, you had to go back home. Even the hens and the ducks were chased back into their coops. Little me was no exception. I would sit there gingerly, staring at the ceiling. There they were; crawling about in great reptilian splendor. The bloody lizards. Menacing as they looked. Lurking around for the buzzing insects to make that one false maneuver. I would close my eyes every time they lunged for their prey. For fear that they would fall. Somewhere near me, on me, god knows where.

I count once more. Twenty three; twenty four. And the mat is rolled and the bed sheets are spread. There is one behind the tube light. Twenty six. I lie down quickly and cover myself with a blanket. The light is switched off but I know they are still there. Around me. Every where. In the dark, I can still see one lurking reptilian bastard on the ceiling right overhead. Prayer. Closed eyes and a shaky hope that the bloody reptilian grip is firm and trust worthy. And somewhere in time sleep happens and then dawn and then sunlight.

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‘Ok, now stop it you two’, mom scowled, eyebrows raised.

‘Please chase it out’, I plead. And when she realizes that there is no other way to get the two of us on terra firma again she takes out the WMD. But lizards are not meant to be killed it seems. So the broom is deployed to harmlessly chase them away. Cousin courageous ventures out to monitor proceedings. I wait. He would come back, smiling. ‘Chased the bastard out. Should have killed him. If it comes back again I tell you….’

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‘Have you gone to the bathroom yet? It’s time to sleep.’ mom shouts out after dinner.
‘I’ve gone already’, I lie. Why get out of the bed? Why take a chance?