Archive for May, 2013

The south west monsoon, the much-awaited ‘manna’ from the heavens is expected to hit the Indian peninsula some time in the first week of June this year.

Or so the weather man says!

Now weatherman in this part of the world is usually very good at “predicting” what the weather was yesterday, and that too with clock-like accuracy! However when it comes to tomorrow’s fare, he is embarrased and looks the other way because he usually fails miserably in his prections . In fact he has generally very little faith in his own prediction… so much so , the guy starts off for his office in the morning with out even a toy umbrella!

Time was when, as a small boy, I used wait eagerly for the arrival of the monsoon rains plumb on the 1st of June, year after year! The schools used to re-open after the summer vacation on June 1st in those days and the down pour would come calling on the dot, full of deresion and just to hound us kids.

I like rains, per se , especially the sound of rain drops drumming on the roofs and the water caressing the leaves in the trees around our house! I also love the ball-shattering noise of the thunder that would break out unexpectedly as though some joker had stuck a red hot iron up its ass without notice ! The bull frogs are overjoyed at the opportunity of getting their annual quota of sex! They make merry and sing long and drawn out lullabies through out the night which would make even an elephant go into “sleep mode”……..

I love to hear all that , as long as I remained indoors. Now schools being schools, there is no getting away with absenteeism especially on the first day because that was when your fate will made known! That is to say, whether you go up to your next higher class or dig in where you are sitting to ensure that the new comers from the lower class don’t usurp your seat! ( making the best of a bad bargain!) So, out I must go to attend the classes, into the lashing rains, juggling a bundle of text books, a half-broken umbrella with some of its ribs askew – which my dad should have replaced years ago-, and a tiffin box … all without a carry bag because in those days the school bags were unknown!

By the time I reach my school and find my way to my new class ( I always got the promotion without fail every year which surprised me as much as it surprised my daddy’o! ), I would be drenched to the skin … and late! So I have to stand outside the class room for the rest of that period in those wet and sticky clothes as a punishment for reporting late.

The rains would stop around noon time to allow the kids to return home for lunch ! But that is just an eye wash because the monsoon god and the weatherman are both out to get us for sure! So as soon as we step out of the school’s compound into the road the rains will start an encore with renewed vigour . And they invariably will last till I reach home.

After lunch I would spend a few minutes horsing around with the siblings in the drizzle , including running through puddles of water and splashing it all over mother’s freshly washed linen ( and in the process getting clubbed on the head ) And it is time now to walk back to the school but the rains would be lurking patiently around the corner with a club hidden behind its back ! It clobbers me once again all over my fresh shirt, taking some sort of sadistic pleasure while doing it!! It will then accompany me to the school like Mary’s lamb and by the time I reach my class I am once again bone-drenched.

It is 4pm.. the school peon rings the bell which is fashioned out of a piece of steel rail someone had pinched from the nearby railway yard aeons ago and the schooling time is over. We all burst out of our classes like shrieking banshees ,  carrying a close resemblance to a cluster of  of bats going out for their nightly forage! We head for the gates, only to be engulfed once again by some more heavy showers which turn up as on cue from god knows where and exactly on time.

By the time I reach home, I am …er…well, you guessed it right, drenched to the skin!

But what with global warming , deforestation , pollution, ozone holes, and a number of other climatic ills, my monsoon no longer ambles in around june 1st every year. Having said that reports trickle in regularly about sighting it wandering rather listlessly in the distant land of timbuktoo, with belly bereft of any rain water… But I wait patiently for my truant friend, the south west monsoon to show up , because without it this time my grand kids can’t go to their school in June !



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Foreign jaunts are usually meant for ministers politicians and money bags…For most of the rest of us ‘ordinaries’ what is destined are only jaunts in dreams…

I had one recently, just after retiring for the night…

I dreamed that I had taken a trip to a foreign country…

When the aircraft landed on the tarmac with a thud the earth shook a bit , may be because the pilot bugger was a trainee or a retired pile driver 😦 These folks use us dream travelers for “target practice” !

The ‘thud’ may have been a small one for the country, but a much bigger one for its neighbour! Apparently the plane’s ‘thud wave’ traveled like a “terrestrial Tsunami” , getting amplified as it dashed single-minded towards the neighbouring country and grew into a god-awful Earthquake with a magnitude of 7.4 on the Ritcher scale when it hit its target!

That is my theory , of course! It is yet to be proved! However, as a matter of fact there indeed was an earthquake or rather two in the neighbouring country around that time which gives some degree of credence to my theory…, if you discount the fact that the earthquakes hit a few days after my ‘arrival!

( We bloggers are a privileged lot with some leeway given for improvisations and are allowed to practice a bit of fact-twisting, now and then y’know! )

Days later, while being driven from home to a friend’s place I came across an interesting ‘pastime’ of some of the locals . This involved burning what looked like black round rings from a distance, which later turned out to be car tyres! As if to lend a helping hand to the choking smoke that accompanied these rituals the local peace keepers lobbed a few well-aimed tear gas shells into the inferno ! These were warmly welcomed by the burning tyres with open arms and the two had a swell time doing a tango together! I enjoyed those fireworks , albeit with a bit of my heart in my mouth!

Subsequently , I had my own share of many of such incidents while being driven through the neighbourhood ! Observing these incidents , it occurred to me that perhaps the business of selling tyres for feeding such fireworks could be a more lucrative proposition around here , better than selling the cars themselves. And who knows, at some point in time as the past-time gains popularity the up-beat dealers might even remove all the new tyres from the vehicles as and when they are delivered from the factory . They can then sell them to the incendiary experts at a good price , after throwing away all remaining waste material such as the engine, body, wheel rims interior furnishings et al….


I was also entertained by some other forms of breath taking displays of fireworks which always came after the ‘tyre sequence’, much the same way little babies follow a marriage ! I did some research on this and came up with some awesome findings… I found out that these entertainments are provided by the use of a special device which is produced using a patented and a jealously guarded technology credited to a smart-ass guy called Molotov. These devices go under the trade name of ‘Molotov Cocktails’. Having said that, if you happen to go into any beverage shop in the market looking for these devices you are bound to get disappointed… and that is NOT because the local laws frown upon drinking in public! …!

I did some further research and delved deep into the origin of this WDM ( weapon for mass destruction ) and came up with some interesting findings…..

Comrade Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov was a Soviet politician and diplomat, an Old Bolshevik guy . He was a leading figure in the Soviet government from the 1920s, when he rose to power as a protégé of Joseph Stalin , to 1957. As with all these sudden rises of ‘proteges ‘, the poor chap was suddenly booted out from the Presidium (Politburo) of the Central Committee by Comrade Nikita (‘patch-on-the-head’) Khrushchev !

What now follows is pure conjecture…”putting two-and-two -together” kind of thing, y’know;)

Reasoning shrewdly ( and that is yet another of my special talents ) I realised that after getting the elephantine boot from Comrade Khrushchev’s well-shod foot in the small of the back , our wretched Comrade must have got thoroughly demoralised and ‘dispirited’ ! And what did he do?

Well he went and brewed up a spirit-lifting strong drink …and Vodka be blowed! But unfortunately , maybe by miscalculation, the man used a wrong kind of ingredient, called ‘petrol’ in the making of his recipe ! Now liquids like petrol ( as every terrorist child knows ), show a strong tendency to blow up in one’s face when ignited in closed spaces …

The end game? Our friend Comrade Molotov had his come-uppance and got himself “martyred” .

Well folks, thus was born the now famous’ Molotov Cocktail! ( I have sent this theory off for patent approval, response awaited:( !)

Why all this blah-blah now, you may ask and you well may! On the above mentioned occasion I had a grand stand view of two of these wonder portions winging their way over my head into the unknown almost brushing my car’s bonnet and my offended ego! I was not privy to what they did in the end! However, I heard a loud bang- rather two- and from the look of things, the quiet neighbourhood must have got its beautiful ass singed!

It was then , that I was rudely shaken and brought back to reality by some one shouting..

I say , dammit, you just fell off the bed, man ! ”

And when I opened my eyes I saw there never could have been a truer statement of facts! I was sitting on the floor, with my better-half staring down at me , her eyes full of concern!

Well, so much for my “dream jaunts”…:(

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