Thursday, September 11, 2008

The fury of rain

I typed these words as I placed myself comfortably at a home-stay in Vaithiry, in Wayanad, where I had come an hour ago. We had started from home the previous day, wandered aimlessly and finally ended up on the balcony of a small house on the bank of Viathiry Lake.

As we reached the lake, everything was drenched as a chilly drizzle discouraged people to venture into the topless fibre boats lined up in the jetty. We just stood on the bank, staring at the thick fog that stood still above the water. The thick jungle growth around the water looked like a painting seen through a tinted glass.

Thankfully, I couldn’t see the lake from here because the trees had grown wild and hid it from what could have been a much costlier balcony. The air was peaceful if you don’t mind crickets that were bent on making that shrill and penetrating noise with monotonous insistence. Then rain lashed and wind blew wild and drowned even crickets. Now it sounded like waves of an ocean.

I needed to finish noting down a few lines before my daughter arrived, or else, she would be where my ‘lap’ top was, dictating terms with my literary pursuits. She was in the shower, forcefully pushed under water by my wife and it’s quite a long time since. She was expected there at any time, I feared.

Before I could not push my pen any further the worst that I feared happened. My daughter appeared, flying up the staircase, with a bathing towel in one hand and, ‘O my God’, my precious camera in the other. “Give it to me, you will drop it now”, I yelled. I bolted out of my seat and grabbed it before the worst could happen.

I had no doubt that the usual duel had taken place and my wife would soon follow. She could not run as fast as my daughter did because of a ‘chicken gunia’ knee. I always played the referee and my wife always downed by a big margin.

As my wife explained, my daughter wriggled out of her hand while she wiped wetness off her hair and ran upstairs with the camera, which according to my daughter’s version, was ‘far from truth’.

Rain gathered momentum, and the wind tilted it towards the balcony forcing me to retreat further backwards and all three of us sat in different chairs watching the merciless dance of wind and water. It rained with great fury, drowning every word that we tried to shout at each other and so the fight was over.

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