It was Friday, and like any other Friday, I was happy. People who have seen me around will recall the 440 watt (or volt) smile that adorns my face on Fridays. The colorful clothes and the feel of the coming weekend fill the atmosphere with a joy that is shared by all (except the Saturday shift people).
So that it was, I was working at my usual pace when my taste buds demanded a treat. As always, I wandered to Sneha’s seat. (I usually find something there). She was all charged up, and to emphasize the same, was talking in a tone befitting the shift coordinator. Not understanding my motive, she quickly glanced through the capacity sheet and asked in a now normal tone, “Capacity chahiye?” I did not answer, and instead focused my energies on the apple in her Tiffin. She continued, “You have a comp- off on Monday, working Tuesday to Saturday next week.” I gave her an oink smile and wandered back.
Back at my seat, I looked at the watch. It was 3, one and a half hours to go. My work was almost through, maintaining a good pace, I will be able to leave by 5, I thought to myself. I was happy and looked out of the window; it had been raining incessantly since morning. My seat provides a good view of the city and trust me, it has never been more beautiful. I was reminded of Nainital, my home town.
At 9, I was seated in the bus to Nainital. I have never wasted any opportunity to run back home and a long weekend provided me with the same. I looked outside at the rain drops falling on the window and fell asleep.
The conductor’s tap on my shoulder woke me up. It was morning and we had reached Nainital. He told me that it had been raining heavily for the past three days and the roads were blocked at quite a few places. Luckily for us, the PWD dozers were at work and we had been able to reach on time.
I got off the bus and ran to the nearest shelter. The lake was barely twenty feet away but was invisible due to the heavy rains. Now, rains in the hills are very different from rains here. Firstly, they are heavy and incessant. Nainital is known for “Satjhads”- Rains that last a week at a stretch. The only time the locals get to move around is about an hour in the morning and one in the evening. For the remaining time, it rains as if there would be no land left to receive it the next time around!
Back to the scene, I had no umbrella and no raincoat- umbrellas anyways are useless in such heavy rains. I had two options- one to call up home and wait till the relief arrived, or two –to run home. I chose the latter. It helped that my house is just a 100 odd meters away from the lake, but by I time I completed that dash, (had I timed it, I would have definitely surpassed Usain Bolt) I was drenched to the core.
After a good lecture from my parents on- 1. Travelling at night in the monsoons; 2. Not informing home; and 3. Getting drenched, I was treated to a sumptuous meal. I could have taken a hundred more lectures for one more bite there, but that’s another story. Sometime during the day, despite my mom warning of dire consequences (which generally don’t go beyond telling dad about it), I ventured out. I had taken my raincoat and rain boots to be able to enjoy the rain without any fear of getting wet. The mall road was empty, devoid of people and looked a raw version of what it was during the peak summer season. The occasional car with blinkers on and wipers running at full speed, or a heavily clad man on his bike (He could easily give Undertaker a run for his money) were the only signs of habitation. The hotels adorning the hill side were in a slumber state. Tourists, few as they were, were peeping out of the hotel windows, and probably wondering if they rightly spent their hard earned cash. Waiters could be seen running in and out with hot steaming pakoras and tea. The steam was visible through the rains and sent a craving down my tummy.
The lake on the other side wore a shroud of thin smoke. The ripples formed by the rain were clashing with each other to produce strange patterns. The waves were crashing against the sides and the lake was a good ten feet high from its lowest level reached during the summers.
While the eyes were feasting on the above described beauty, the ears had a different tale to tell. The constant rains falling on my cap were producing a continuous sound, the nearest equivalent of which I have only heard in the recently concluded World Cup, the vuvuzela. Also, the swish sound produced by the rain coat with every step had somehow adjusted itself to the constant humming producing a melody that is hard to describe.
A walk down the mall road and I had started feeling cold. Came to my rescue the newly opened CCD, perched a couple of floors above the mall offering a fantastic view of the lake. The facility has two parts, the lake facing side is open and the inside is air-conditioned. I went in to find a couple of groups sitting inside chatting their way to glory. I wanted to go up to them and tell them that it would have been better for them to sit in the air- conditioned environs of their home in Delhi, rather than travel all the way up here to do the same. However, better sense prevailed and I quickly made my way outside and sat on the corner seat. A cup of black tea arrived soon after and I sat gazing at the lake taking sips of the steaming tea at slow, regular intervals. I could see the fog running towards me, the clouds flying in, and all I wanted to do was to take all of it, to remember when I’m next wading my car through the high seas of Gurgaon.
