Saturday, July 10, 2010

Bohemian Showers

A perfect depression. And then the rains. When was the last time I inhaled the intoxicating smell of a plastic raincoat and wore the yellow Duckback with the black piping and the funny seed-like buttons? When was the last time I huddled along with the rest of the travellers inside the Metro station, inches away from the dripping roof? A thousand feelings engulfed me in a deluge that I succumbed to. I didn't want to record what I felt, because to capture their dynamism would make me claustrophobic.
I never knew that there could be so many colours of mud. An ant crawling on my patchwork jhola. A peacock calling its mate contentedly. A man sitting in front of a computer, peeping out of a broken windowpane just below the Delhi University logo of "Nishtha, Dhritih, Satyam". The Central Reference Library.
A lonely dog tries to sleep beside an open door as people around me squabble and chime.
"Toone andar list dekhi hai?"
"Dehaat mein ek kahawat hai, kurkur aur murmur eksaath nahi hota. Samjhe bhaiya?"
Random, of course.
The wet wood of a van-rickshaw parked next to the bicycles drips into a puddle below. And as I sit there and wait for my fellow members of a Campus theatre workshop, I wonder whether we really can be original enough to stop imitating Nature. For the Sun is a symbol of all that glitters and dazzles, creator of mirages and master of puppets. But the rains wash away all that isn't pure, all the colours of the mask that we hide behind.
Are the rains silent? I'm not sure. Faded jeans don't speak to me. Nor do the ear-rings worn by wet, wannabe dudes. As I fetch myself a hot cup of tea from the Spic Macay canteen, I cannot be sure whether the water dripping into it is my sweat or a leaking roof. I walk carefully as dogpoop floats precariously close to my feet. It isn't all constant vigilance. I splashed about in gay abandon on the way to the campus, all the way from the Vishwavidyalaya Metro station, down Chhatra Marg. Relished every sudden eddy that a speeding car hurled at me. And this was a joy that lit me up and made me visible.
"Didi aapko bohot maza aa raha hai na?", a kid exclaimed.
Yes, it would have been a perfect grown-up day if I had let it go. But I believe I can't deny that my black trackpants are wet through, my feet are washed in dirt and slime and a seemingly subtle T shirt from Kamla Nagar is finally making sense. Tri Single. "Try" Single.

1 comment:

  1. single malt, single tear drop, single mother. tried to put them together, out popped a scalene triangle in this weather.