Chick click: Umbrella spotting
Yes I know I spent all of June moaning about how the monsoon had lost its way and wound up on the east coast of America.india Updated: Aug 13, 2006 04:17 IST
Yes I know I spent all of June moaning about how the monsoon had lost its way and wound up on the east coast of America instead of the west coast of India (thus proving that it’s male since it clearly didn’t ask for directions). But now that I’ve almost drowned twice on my way to work, I’m way past the stage where I respond to enquiries about the climate with, a cheerful “a bit damp, thank you.” In fact, any query about the weather you address to me will only be answered with a snarl: “sodden, sod it.” The rain, you may have gathered, is really pissing me off.
I’m tired of singing Supertramp’s It’s raining again in a nasal whine every single moment of every single day. I’m beginning to feel like Himesh Reshammiya, dammit, do you know how embarrassing that is for someone who considers herself a rock chick?
I’m tired of the over-enthusiasm of the housekeeping staff at the office. As it is I suffer from incipient paranoia; being constantly followed by a man with a mop as I squelch my way to and from my desk is going to turn me into a hissing, spitting mass of suspicion for life.
But most of all, I’m tired of the ‘Is That Srinivasan Jain Under That Umbrella, Telling Us It’s Raining Again?’ game that my friends insist on playing whenever we go out. As it is I see this man under his umbrella on TV every morning before work. There is absolutely no reason why I should look for him under every umbrella on my way to the Sports Bar.
True, I have amused myself, while swimming to the office every day, by coming up a plan for socialites who insist that they do social work. I suggest that they fan out across the city in teams and mop up the worst of the floodwater with their blonde wigs. And after that, turn on their hairdryers and attack every last vestige of damp on the roads, in the air, in clothes etc. This will be very, very helpful.
But aside from that, I have had it with the monsoon. Enough is enough, I say. This rain has got to stop.
Like everyone else with an axe to grind, I could start an SMS campaign, I suppose, but given that I have a hate-hate relationship with my mobile phone (I’m against handbags that beep), I’ll log on to www.petitiononline.com instead, and create a petition for free. All I have to do is state my case (“Rain, rain, go away, come again another year”), and then spam everyone in my address book with it. I’m not certain if that’ll work though, since I don’t really know who to address the petition to. Should it be ‘O Malevolent Universe’? Or, ‘Mother Nature Mine’? I don’t know, and I suspect they won’t read it either, so I’ll just go to www.bitchoftheday.com, and vent my angst to the whole community of cribbers that hang out there (sample bitch of the day: “I hate everything”).
But since, as my mother keeps telling me, complaining won’t solve the problem, I’ve decided to get down to some really practical stuff.
Considering that the rain-created potholes I keep falling into as I swim to work are now big enough to harbour the Great White Shark, I shall build me a submarine as per the instructions on www.submarine.freehosting.net/index.html. All I’ll need is a 35-gallon barrel, a hose pipe, some pillow cases, and — let us not forget — an engineer-type person, and soon I’ll be zipping along the storm water drains at the speed of the tide.
What’s particularly good about this is the fact that, since I’ll be underwater, I’ll never have to play ‘Spot Srinivasan Jain And His Umbrella’ again. Unfortunately, though, the rest of you will have no such escape, but what to do! Into each life some rain must fall.