21.5.08

July

The line of tall gulmohurs leaning against the second floor window, coming alive in an almost Gothic manner. Brooding giants, whirling in the frenzy of the unleashed wind, sucking in the steel darkness brought down by the squatting clouds. Dominating the view, demanding to be viewed, luring us into watching as they shamelessly revelled in the shower, scrubbing off the heat and grime of the whole year.

And we watched too, at first in slack-jawed shock, marvelling at how they remained standing under that torrent, and later, squirming in simple delight at their unrestrained joy. And then squealing as they tried to rope us into playing too, drenching us through the window slits through which we stared, wishing we could escape from the suddenly too-bright class into the wild gloom outside.

Some dreaming of running barefeet, squelching through a ground turned wet brown from a dry red. Some mournfully contemplating the soon-to-be-sullied white, white clothes. Others cleverly secreting away bits of chalk, for later scrubbing across tired, muddy trainers. Boys marking which girls were weather-unproofed, or carried only umbrellas, in order to later furtively detail the aftermath of their inevitable drenching. Girls making quick pacts with those more well-prepared, or lucky, determined not to be quite as entertaining as male fantasies were sure to hope they would be. Some unconsciously drooling in anticipation of the deliciousness of hot things to bite into, noticing how the ripples in the frying oil mimic those of the puddles beneath, and then barely waiting for the booty to be removed before stuffing it all down, scalded tongues be damned.

And through it all, everyone ignoring the hapless teacher, trying unsuccessfully to maintain some semblance of dignity and duty, trying to ignore a rhythm seductively suggesting a return to simpler days, when small pleasures still had the power to make the misery of life bearable.

7 comments:

NightWatchmen said...

Very appropriate post to read after sipping Mint Hot Chocolate and then driving through the inevitable traffic jam caused due to the rains.

And interestingly enough this post had not yet been updated on our Google reader, we just checked the blog on some vague hunch (coming to that aren't all hunches of a vague nature).

P.S : May we say that Gothical is not exactly a word and probably Gothic would have been just fine.

km said...

Ah, the "weather-unproofing" was a major attraction :)

//Now I feel like watching that killer monsoon sequence from "Pather Panchali"

Pri said...

the rain somehow made everything better no? you couldn't take anything going on inside the classroom seriously when it was raining outside.

in bangalore it always rained late in the afternoon, usually during the last period of the day and so ever since it has represented going home time for me. even at work now if it starts to rain i feel the need to pack up and go home.

lekhni said...

Ah, monsoon rain! That's real rain... though I have always preferred to watch rain from inside a window, than to be out :)

Space Bar said...

Why isn't it raining? Why isn't it raining?

(but it's gorgeous cloudy and I am NOT going to read any more blogs.)

??! said...

nightwatchmen:
One prefers Orange hot chocolate, but hey, as long as it's got the choco-stuff.

G-Reader does take time to update. I've noticed that on other blogs too.

And you're right about Gothic. Changed. Thanks.

km:
tsk, tsk. Baaaad old man.

pri:
Oh afternoon rain was the bestest. Except for when it rained all night while you were snug in bed, and when you got up, everything was flooded and school was cancelled. That was the bestest.

lekhni:
But the joy is in going out voluntarily, knowing that when you'll come back, there'll be a warm, dry towel and hot food waiting for you. Sooo much better than getting caught out in a shower.

space:
Why do you even try? You know you cannot resist. Do not fight, little paduan. Give in to the blogside.

varali said...

Chalk on muddy trainers! I had forgotten all about that. But PT ma'am was keen-eyed and could tell the difference between Cherry white and chalk. So you got pulled out of the line marching from assembly to class, and either spent the next 30 mins kneeling down on the concrete or running 3 rounds around the ground, further browning the canvas.

I don't understand anyone who thinks childhood was fun.