Friday, August 05, 2005

On a Water Break

"Water, Water everywhere, Nor any drop to drink" was always the plaintive wail of the indiscreet who let himself be ambushed by a State Gazetted holiday celebrating/mourning somebody, but definitely damning Bacchus. Now, he might have aired plaints of his parched palette in dialects never ever found in parchments. At other times of ill fortune, he also might have questioned the mystic standing of his Luck (no Lady this, quit owin' to the swearin'), referred to farm animals in passing (esp. the cute, little, pink type), as also to the One above, inter alia. All in the rush of things. Never intended as blasphemy. Until the said mallu realised how much he'd offended his Almighty, and as events unfolded, how severely His patience has been tested.

For one who hails from a land which entices tourists to turn up to watch it rain (all from nations where water does fall down from the clouds), the thought never occured to me that all the perceived ingratitutde & wanton griping would attract a particularly watery retort. In football lingo, a yellow for simulation.

So, while I wait for the travelling press-guy (nope, not the satellite dish, live-microphone, bozo trio; only guy with hot iron on wheels) to return my pale(d) orange bedsheet which shall henceforth be my garb matching my new found spirituality, let's reminisce...

For a July, this year seemed like more of the same out here in B'bay. Loads of dark clouds, but nothing to show for it. Until, the 26th. As a mere pawn at the hands of the pissed-One, I had to be at BKC on that day. To give you a topographical refresher, BKC consists of just around half dozen steel-glass buildings that pass for India's Shanghai, perfectly nestling on a vast area of land reclaimed from the sea. Picture dying mangroves & filthy creek, with legal skyscrapers and illegal hutments on either side. If I had to drown, this had to be the place.

It got better for me. For till noon of that fateful day, I was in the basement of one of these buildings minding my own business. Oblivious to the clouds that had long turned bad, with high winds to boot. Basement, for God's sake. Every viewing space from Ground to Seventh has heads bobbing in & out, making predictions, cancelling options, running for the door.... and all the while I am in the well-lit, well-enclosed basement killing time with the day's paper; knowledge being power. In the basement wondering why I carry that umbrella around so much; so uncool.

Aww, that was the turning point in the rush to the pits that was the next 24 hours.

Events unfolded, or rather went for a goddam toss, in no time. Starting with a rather innocuous sounding query from the janitor at 2.00pm as to why I wasn't headed home. Home?. What the..? Up the stairs to the Ground Floor where I joined 100 other spectators in gawking at what I could swear (at it, even today) was but a sheet of water pouring from somewhere up. Now BKC floods if you leave a tap running; this wasn't meant to flood, this deluge had a particularly homicidal approach that had me scurrying to... where?? Good chance trains are out. And buses that barely funnel into the narrow lanes opening into BKC would be just too crowded. So, let's hit the roads. Ok. Cool me retrieves bag, umbrella (!), and newspaper (for the ride home) and rushes into, The Devil's Water Park.

That was the last I saw of the sky. For the next half-hour I was pinned into my umbrella by a wind that had me pirouetting in knee-deep water, all the while fighting a losing battle against getting wet. The water, was everywhere. Climbing fast. So were the populance. Everywhere, and seemingly headed nowhere. And the water level maintained its steady climb. It had long risen from soaking my ankles to threatening my trouser pockets. Then it hit me. In the rush, I had left my mobile in my hip pocket. Brave young thing let out not a whimper before hanging up on me. I could see water inside the screen. The first casualty of the day was buried in the inner folds of my bag.

Travel from that point on was quite a blur. Bag held over my head, like a surrendering brigand, I trudged till the speed and volume of the fluid (with enough filth to give microbes a flu), simply put paid to my hopes of reaching home that day. I wonder if the water reached my brains, but it surely threatened my stubble before I found myself being hauled atop a bus, in the process allowing myself two rather unpleasant immersions in the swirling waters. My fellow travellers numbered around 50. So space was at a premium. You nod off, you fall off. That's 12 feet to the ground, or 2 feet to the current. Oh, yes. Lest I forget, the buckets from the heavens never emptied once. So with umbrellas open, and strangely getting wetter than if I hadn't bothered to, I spend the night on the roof of a red bus. My teeth chattering away in Morse. And myself contemplating the futility of Life, and the godforsaken Met dept. At first light, I moved out. Crawled home almost 4 hours later, wading through waters ranging from neck to elbow depth.

Did it all make me wiser? Surely. The rains are still on, but I've given up on carrying my umbrella. What's left to wet anyway? Moreover, the vedas claim that the ethereal is kinda teflon. Only the corporeal is uncoated e.g., my dead mobile was corpor, so Ericsson could ring in the Kronor; whereas my Faith is ether, hence the following:

Caught in the middle of the swirl the following morning, I wondered whether it was actually a good idea to leave my perch atop the bus. Out of somewhere a hand shot out. Calloused, grimy, decidedly of one who works in the innumerable nameless iron shops that line LBS. As I stood there wondering whether I had it in me to trust both my luck and a stranger, the only thing that tipped in his favor was his decidedly earnest confidence. Not what I'd in plenty, when faced with four feet of water running at forty miles an hour. He took my arm and plunged in, and I was sort of water-skied onto higher ground, where awaited still more hands and eager help. While I splashed onto land, he was headed for the next leap of faith.

From one migrant to another, thanks a lot.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

Wow, that was the most amusing account of the Mumbai deluge or what? Damned funny :))

And the ending....that was a nice salute to the Mumbaikars spirit. Really outdid yourself didnt you?

Anonymous said...

Aliyaa

Absolute Class! As Jim Carrey says it B-E-A-utiful !!!

Machaa, mebbe DNA/Midday will publish if u feel like sending it over

Anonymous said...

great narration,and loved the dry humor that was woven in:P

Anonymous said...

Hey Mallu....

Gr8 post maan..... Nice account... `n u 4got 2 mention da ordeal we went thru wn we finally got back home... no power.... no tv no net... so horrible....

BTW.... shud have mentioned in parts my account also.... Newayz,.... now i hafta write a post myself... :D

Jake said...

irony this. so much dry humour for so much wetness.
:))