Sun and Rain

The temperatures soared. If people going to Chennai from Mumbai thought that the latter’s heat was unbearable, they were in for the clichéd (yet undeniably true) rude shock. The mercury, in most cities of South India, stayed close to the bulb, in this season (April through July). As a result, the atmosphere at 3 p.m inside our compartment was sticky, and silent, to say the least. The oppressive heat had effectively muted most people. Whatever little conversation that took place was purely out of need. “Pass me the water” was the most common of them. Others like “Why don’t you stop the baby from crying” and “Just a few more hours. We are almost there” (mothers to their undiscerning children) could also be heard.

The teenager went to ‘refresh’ his face with water only to grimace at the more-than-warm water that flowed out of the tap-the kind whose steel foreskin had to be jerked up to bring about water. The thanda paani* that the vendor professed to sell was but warm water. He would only assure with a sly smile, on nurturing a discussion, that one cannot get colder water than what he has to sell.

Tempers frayed goaded by the heat. Parents were less patient with their troublesome kids, who were surprised at the thrashing they received for misdemeanors that usually did not attract more than a strict warning. This confused them further and hence the wailing decibels increased. It sure was a vicious circle and the heat was surely playing sadistic games.

A place near the window, or the door, only ensured that the heat wave draped around you like a blanket. One wondered about the children playing in the fields that floated past the train. In the middle of barren pieces of land, with no clothes or slippers on, they seemed quite at home in the heat. They derived pleasure in waving their hands at us.
Suddenly, a drop of water fell on me. I initially thought it was a passenger on the other side washing his hands carelessly out of the window and that the wind was blowing the droplets in my direction. But no. Stealthily, dark clouds had gathered around the skies and were conspiring against the sun successfully at that. More water drops! I was thrilled like a small child and could not resist thrusting my face as far as I could into the wind. The rain drops splattered across my face and I was soon forced to first close my eyes, and then withdraw my face as the shower gained in force. I smiled involuntarily and turned to the face the other passengers who had similar expressions. This instant rain had galvanized the mellow crowd into a frenzy. The frowns had skipped town and ear-to-ear grins became the norm. Children cavorted from one window to the other stretching out their hands and straining to sight a glimpse of that elusive rainbow which everyone else was savoring. For once their parents did not mind. But there were some who insisted on pulling down the shutters as the rain intensified.
The teen had grabbed hold of the two vertical yellow bars on either side of the entrance and was arching his body outward. Rain water streamed down his face and was dripping from his chin and his ear ends. Not only he, but everyone was deeply inhaling the rain doused earth. This was the most natural and exotic smell ever.
The wind was so forceful it broke the plantains in half and they swayed their numerous green arms uniformly to one side in deference. The rainbow cut a wide arc across the sky. I tried in vain, as usual, to distinguish all the seven colors. I sometimes think that rainbows are a scam and they do not contain seven colors as is popularly believed. Colors always blur into other colors and the reds and the oranges look so similar it is difficult to tell them apart.
While I was indulging in the pleasures caused by the rain, I had not noticed the lessening of it. Slowly but surely the windows were being drawn up- one-by-one. The sheet of rain became a film, which mizzled down and eventually only the random drop from the window or a nearby electricity pole and the chill weather remained to remind us of what had come- and already gone. The plantains regained their upright positions, proudly holding their heads against the degenerating wind, sneering at it with a misplaced sense of victory. The teen took his seat, drenched to the bone.
The sun peeped out with the shyness of a newly wed girl, then showed itself out with the audacity of her mother-in-law. Within minutes the clouds had melted away into oblivion by the rays of the sun.
Normalcy re-asserted itself in the Chennai-Mumbai Express. The game was up. The heat was on.


*Thandaa Paani: Cold Water

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