It's been
bucketing down for the last 24 hours. The forecast says two more days of this.
There have been flash floods reported, and half the extended holiday period for
some people is now guaranteed to be spent indoors.
The weather is
making me nostalgic about my pre-teen years.
The smell of
freshly deep fried jackfruit papads.
The sound of rain
lashing on clay tile roof.
The mesmerising
patterns of water flowing off the roof onto the ground, leaving tiny conical
impressions on the soft red soil.
Card & board
games with my sister.
Curling up on a
bench with a rug & a hot cup of milk.
More often with a
grown-up kind of book that would take days to read at regular pace.
The nights would
be spent in the light of a flickering candle or a kerosene lamp, hearing stories
from our parents about their childhood.
Occasionally
having my grandparents would be over. Grandma would tell us tales about the house she grew
up in, which was the house we were living in at the time. Pets around the
house. A mini dairy farm. Wild animals roaming freely at the periphery of the
compound. A tiger or leopard occasionally making off with one of the
animals. Stories about lightning
strikes as we looked out at the not yet dead coconut tree in the front yard.
And stories about the tenants who lived in the now damaged huts.
Exploring the
rooms in the (what seemed like) enormous house, a portion of which were
strictly off-limits to us children.
Off-limits not
because of the treasures they contained (they did), but because of structural damage to the walls.
It was a magical
time because there was so much to do even when you were stuck indoors, without
a radio, or a TV or an internet connection.
Somehow, as we
grow older, that magic is lost.
The rains become
an inconvenience.
We get drenched. Roofs leak. Things get wet. Sometimes to the point of being unusable.
Transport
services are delayed.
We can't get to
our important / urgent meetings on time. Or without looking like we just got
out of the shower.
Clothes don’t dry as fast. And perfume can't / won't suppress the smell of damp clothes.
Some type of
screens provide a distraction. Rarely does the power go out.
Sometimes, we
are reminded that we aren't in control.
All those memories came flooding as I watched Mother Nature showering (or drowning) her children with unrequited liquid
love.
