Shower
The crows and kites are having a dance off over the waves. The fish are rising and the birds swoop down to hunt. They catch the thermal on the rise, gliding along unseen pathways carved by air currents. The Marine Drive dogs are curled up along the wall, lulled into a nap by the sudden rays of sunshine this afternoon. But look at the horizon, the clouds are already fighting back. The sun retreats. The cool afternoon has brought the crowds of people back. Girls in high heels, hair flying and make up on point, their boyfriends slouching along in high top basketball sneakers and low slung jeans. A large group of women, sitting on the wall, laughing and chattering. Two skinheads haranguing a Clean Up crew member in some European language. None of them understand each other and the Clean Up guy looks a bit dazed and confused. I think the tourists are complaining about the stink of the public toilet. But they might just as well be asking directions to the closest barber shop. Who knows? Certainly not the crows who only care about the picnics at several spots along the wall. They dive bomb the groups or hop nearby, trying to look humble and hungry. The food vendors are out and about. Chana zor garam, raw mango, bhel, makai butta – all the pleasures of the monsoon are on sale. The cops won’t be patrolling in this unpredictable weather so the vendors have a get out of jail pass today. A little group makes me smile. An older woman, motherly, nine yard saree and flowers in her hair, sits with legs stretched out along the wall. Lying with his head in her lap is a young man. A young woman lies with her head on his chest. The older woman strokes both their heads as they lie there, chattering to her.
The hill across the bay is suddenly hidden by clouds. It begins to rain there and we are all frozen, as if in a tableau. Everyone stares at the rain but no one makes a move to escape the inevitable. The clouds cover the distance between the far off hill and us faster than we can imagine. One moment we are watching the rain and the next, we are in it. It’s a sharp, hard shower that drenches us before we can scramble off the wall or unfurl an umbrella or duck under a fishpoison tree. It lasts for a few minutes and leaves us sheepishly catching a stranger’s eye and laughing at the sheer suddenness of it all. The motorists look on in amusement, dry and bored in their vehicles. Some youngsters hold their arms out in time honoured Hindi film style and abandon their umbrellas. For a brief moment, I do too. Then the rain disappears and the crowd slowly disperses in several directions. The wall is too wet to sit on. The dogs and crows don’t care though. The picnickers have abandoned their packages and the animals gather around, snarling and pecking, to make the most of an errant rain cloud’s mischief.