A day in Monsoon

A drop of water on my face was a rude wake up call of the monsoon this morning. I lied there still for five minutes trying to get out of my sleep and to get a hold of reality. Finally I saw water droplets on the ceiling. It had rained all night. The substandard structure of this building managed to keep the rain out for the entire night but by the time the morning came, it gave up and accepted defeat.

Some people are of the view that a building made by RNA 15 years ago is almost as good as the skeleton of a T-Rex or Wooly Mammoth but I guess those people are uselessly trying to malign the reputation of RNA builders. In my opinion RNA is as good as or as bad as the rest of the builders. By making the building of this quality, they are actually helping in creating employment opportunities for the construction workers doing the repair on such buildings and doing their bit in equal distribution of wealth.

Anyway let's get back to the rain, outside the home and inside it. The ceiling is throughout the house-bedroom, drawing room, kitchen, toilet and the passage. After making the arrangements to contain the dropping water by putting buckets and rags of cloth, I decided to get on with the routine of the day when the milkman came. Today there was 25% extra milk but the price was same. “I only charge for the water I add, the monsoon water is free.”

Giving the government a run for money
After taking a shower I decided to go the office of our society. Little did I knew that the going there would be like going to a government office. I was looking at the wall and ceiling from where the plaster had fallen off to reveal the concrete and iron structure when the manager asked me what I wanted. I told him about what my problem was and he promised to send someone to take a look and that is exactly what the people who came did. They came like the minister go to survey a flood or draught affected area in their helicopters. They came and looked at all the leeks and left without doing anything.

A rain suit
I was getting late for work so I got ready, put on my raincoat and left for work. The raincoats are quite effective as they keep out the rain but also keep out the air. Actually when I think about it, they keep the air out but the rain seeps in through the stitches as it seeps in our house. I'm not sure a why a rain suit is called a rain suit. Is it because it's supposed to keep the rain out or is it because it gets you soaked in sweat even when it's not raining to give you the feeling of rain.

A game of potholes
I was on my way to work, playing the game of avoiding the holes. When I came to Bombay, I was playing level 1 of this game as the pot holes were few and far between but as the time passed, I have moved to the level 7. This means that now there are more pot holes than road. By the end of monsoon, I will be moving to level 10, the highest level where you won't able to know where the road used to be and all the potholes will be covered in water so you will have to guess where it is and how deep is it.

Any way after playing for 10 minutes, I realized that I'm soaked till my undies so I decided to take a U-turn and headed back home. At home I took off my rain suit to see that I'm soaked in rain and sweat. I cursed the rain and rain suit and changed into dry clothes, had a cup of tea. I decided to attempt the journey to the office once again. This time I decided to take a rickshaw.

Socialism
I guess that the rickshaw drivers in Bombay are from Bengal and they are spreading socialism. You may be a fruit vendor, a construction worker or a CEO; they will treat you with the same disrespect. “Marol” I will ask them and they will just shahe the head without even looking at me. I think they feel I am a dirty capitalist so they are extra rude to me. None of them will agree to take me to the office, maybe that or because the Andheri-Kurla road has transformed to Andheri-kurka River.

While I am looking for a rickshaw, the bus and truck drivers are playing the game of potholes. Their game is a little different than the one I play. I have to avoid the potholes but they have to run the bus through as many potholes as possible and the points they get depend on how many people they splash and how many of the passengers break their hip joints and spine. A bonus point for the driver if he cracks the skull of a passenger if he jumps high enough by the impact of the potholes and hit his head on the roof of the bus.

One BEST driver did quite well and I am wet again, only this time the water is a little dirty. I have walked about a kilometer and have finally found a rickshaw driver who's either too brave or ignorant about the state of Andheri Kurla road and has agreed to take me there. This driver is going to take me to my office and repent it for the rest of the day.

“You don't cross your legs in a Rickshaw”In the rickshaw I position myself correctly. There is an art in sitting the rickshaw. You have to sit right in the middle and jam your feet on either corners and push against it so that you can transfer some of your weight on your back. This has many benefits-it prevents your arse from falling asleep after sitting on it for a very long time, it minimizes the impact of potholes and it ensures that your are not flung out of the rickshaw when you get in a big pothole. A rickshaw ride is a good exercise and I have managed to lose 5kgs in only one month.

On and on, the river flows
After some mild traffic jams I reach the mother of all traffic jams. The rickshaw is going at a speed of a turtle. After about 30 minutes and one kilometer, I reach the “sangam”. This is where the rainwater merges with the sewage water to create a bulging river in the middle of Bombay. Every time I see it I say to myself “God! I should have carried my camera with me. "I know water flowing on the road is not such a big thing for the people in the Bombay but if I take these pictures with me to Delhi, people there are going to be as amused by it as the Americans are when they see the pictures of cows roaming on the roads.”

I get off the rickshaw as I have reached my office. Just a few steps further is a fountain, it is a sewer from where the water is gushing out and next to it is the betting booths where people are speculating how many people are going to drive into that sewer while sipping the rain diluted cutting.

In the office people are discussing what has happened throughout the city because of the rains “People coming to Borivali and Goregaon have gone back because there is a big traffic jam.” “The trains to north India have been canceled”. “Bombay Rajdhani is late by 28 hours.” “There are boats on the Grant road.” “There was knee deep water outside my house.” While listening to all this I am wondering if I will be able to go to Delhi next weekend as I have planned.

I call up Mira and she tells me that a couple of more people have come to inspect the house and the leakage. This time she gave a piece of her mind to one of them.

In the night, I take up a rickshaw back home. The traffic is not as bad as it was in the morning because most of the offices were closed in the late afternoon today. Back at home we empty the buckets placed under the leaks and realign them with the leaks again for the night.

We go to bed but tonight it is a little different. Instead of our normal covers, we are using the plastic sheets.

Goodnight.