Incredible how every autorickshaw zipping in the rain had people stealing indulgent kisses through chattering teeth. Large trees stood over expensive cars, and hurriedly parked lunas, watching a frail woman straightening the urgently wrapped polythene bag on her husband’s balding head.
A leaf broke off from its home twig to ride the wind and found unabashed snorty laughter from a little boy as it hit his father splat! on his mustached face.
A girl in dripping wet jeans and t-shirt hugged her bag closer to her chest and carefully crossed the street, moving deliberately farther away from the hooting adolescent boys at the chai shop (which was still open and doing roaring business). Still, she tossed her soaked hair and sucked her tummy in, in case they were looking.
She passed the formally dressed man leading his very corporate looking female colleague to the very dry, spic-and-span restaurant on the other side of the road. The security guard quickly dumped his chai cup, paid the chaiwala and brought the hotel umbrella towards the prospective guests.
They all watched the crazy, barefooted, scrawny boys scramble out of their blue tent on the footpath, take off their hand-me-down shirts, swing them in the air and run into the puddles with loud screams.
“Rine, rine, go aaaye!! Gumaage aaanaaye!!” they yelled tunelessly.
Why the world didn’t screech to a stunned stop is beyond me.
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