The shower

The day hadn’t begun remarkably. All the joy and the positivity that comes along with a brand new day went hurtling out my seventh floor window when I swore loudly as soon as my bleary eyes registered the time on my cell phone screen. I was late. Again. I had to be somewhere important but I had overslept. Again. And so the first word out of my mouth on that brand new day was a curse. And yet I wonder why my day hadn’t begun remarkably. By the time I threw on some clothes and made my face look like it didn’t belong to a constantly oversleeping person, my self admonition had ended and I happened to glance outside the window through which joy and positivity had recently jumped and met their premature deaths.

Patches of threateningly rain-laden clouds were scattered all the way till the horizon but it seemed like they had temporarily let the sun peek from its hiding place. The daunting downpour of the previous night had washed the city thoroughly and it gleamed brightly in places where sunlight had nervously managed to reach.

A glance at my wall clock (that conveniently hung over the window) shattered the rosy description of the outside world and shifted me back to my oh-shit-I’m-late mode. I was about to curse loudly again when Mother called me for breakfast. Ugh! I was too late to even think of breakfast. As I entered the dining hall I saw Mother holding a plate with slices of bread smeared with butter and jam on it. “Eat fast. You’re already late,” she said, like I needed any reminding. I was about to rush of the house when she called again. I turned, only to find her shoving an umbrella into my unsuspecting hands. It looked old, dusty and barely used, rightly indicating my irrational aversion towards umbrellas. Naturally I opened my mouth to retaliate. She gave me one of her stern-mother looks that always made me back down and brought to my mind a picture of a puppy whimpering and retreating with its tail between its legs.

Tapping my foot impatiently on the ground and looking at my wrist watch occasionally like some Big Shot I scanned the sea of infuriatingly slow moving traffic and felt a feral urge to curse again. Oh stop it, dirt-mouth! As if that’s going to help, said a small but firm voice inside me I’d like to call conscience. Its sane, no-nonsense words were still resonating in my mind when I sighted an unoccupied rickshaw approaching me. Without even having the need to flag it down it slowed to a stop right in front of me. The driver was kind enough to only give me an amused smile when I blurted out a thank you for stopping for me and saving my day. As he drove me to my destination I reminded myself I had to visit the library later, a prospect that immediately squished my near hysteria. My lateness was pardoned (yet again!) which further relieved most of my ridiculous tension. By the time I set out to go to the library there was positively a spring in my step.

The grey clouds had gathered over the city again after it seemed fit to them that the sun had shone enough for the day. Consequently they began their promised onslaught as it began pouring heavily; the sound of falling rain reminding me of a large crowd bursting into a hearty laughter all at once. I smiled widely even as I grudgingly opened the old contraption of spring, steel, plastic and nylon (or whatever. No way am I mentioning the name again!). I really didn’t want to end up sopping wet in the library and drip all over the books. As I issued a few books and headed out I saw the rain had no plan of relenting. Humming a tune of no song in particular I walked gleefully on the sidewalk stepping purposefully on the flowing rivulets of rain water that gushed noisily as they ploughed into things on their way and drained into gutters. The black canopy over my head was serving the purpose of keeping the books that I carried fairly dry. Meanwhile I happily splashed my way through the puddles and streams completely wetting my clothes well up to the knees and almost all of my right side. The books were tucked inside my bag that hung for its dear dry life from my left shoulder. I looked around and it was like seeing through a clear silver-grey glass. The usual din of the city was drowned out by the orchestra of raindrops of every size pelting themselves on any exposed surface.

 The vibes I felt of the general disapproval, annoyance and impatience were reflected by the scene around me. Pedestrians huddled under their, well, devices they use for ‘protection’ against the rain, skipping and prancing over puddles and streams vainly, while some just hurried along wading through the water (although they had an expression on their faces that looked like they were being forcefully made to swallow something bitter!). Some people had taken shelter under trees or awnings of shops or anything that bore even a slight semblance of a roof. On the whole, everyone around me was doing everything they could to get away from the rain and its wetness while I promenaded on the sidewalk revelling in its freshness. I was so content in my little bubble of joy. By the time I reached home I was dripping and sopping wet from waist down and my sandals were making a squishy sound with every step I took. I giggled giddily like a five year old on a sugar rush and punched the door bell. Mother smiled despite herself as she took in the sight of my silly grin and my crazily flapping wet clothes. Still smiling she let me in and said, “You look quite like a very wet crow, dear.” I chuckled at her comment and opened my mouth to reply but instead gave out a sudden almighty sneeze. Mother burst out laughing and the day was remarkable again.