It is the monsoon season. People go to their schools, offices and shops, glancing up at the sky filled with dark and ominous looking clouds and wonder when the rains will come. The farmers say a prayer for their crops. There is a lack of water and it hasn’t rained at all since last year, the fields of crop are dying.
The air is still and expectant. Not a leaf moves, when suddenly a clap of thunder erupts from the heavens to welcome the first shower of the season. Gardens that were left neglected with their grass turning into shades of yellow absorb the rain until all is lush and green; empty ponds are now brimming to the surface, street-children are playing in their knickers.
It feels as though the world has become a peaceful place. People dust their umbrellas and rain coats, and walk to the sweet shops to buy hot pakora’s and other sweets to have with their evening tea.
In a part of the city, there is a traffic jam, cars at a stand still; bumper to bumper. Horns of a dozen cars sound at once, adding to the noise of the rain which is pouring down in torrents. An accident has happened up ahead. Police-men are diverting traffic away from the scene of the unfortunate car drowning in a sea of water. Luckily, they are no casualties.
After 3 hours of moving at a speed of 10 km/ hour, I finally leave behind the confusion and chaos and reach the streets i’m familiar with. On arriving, I find out that there is no electricity and is not expected for at least 12 more hours. I go into the kitchen, rummage around for some candles and a match. Dinner that night is eaten in darkness, mosquitoes dancing near the candle flame and burning to a crisp when they get too near.
And it is raining still.