College starts tomorrow, and till then I have what I shall politely term as my last gulp of air, from the wonderfully rich atmosphere of having nothing to do.
I landed back on Singapore on New Years, to be greeted by that recurring phenomenon that characterises this place. Rain. Since then, it has rained again, and again, and well a few times after that as well.
A Colonial hangover still exists with Indians to this day, and it's one of the lesser known ones. It is a preoccupation with the discussion of the weather, in particular, the rainfall. I got thinking about the number of conversations, sound bites, and rants I must have had because of Rain, or the lack thereof. I am, in addition, a self proclaimed God Of Unseasonal Rainfall and thus it does seem that this ubiquitous(yes, I did really want to use that word) precipitation(and that one too) seems to have an undue influence on my life.
You grow up in Delhi, and you learn to both love and hate rain, depending on when and how it choses to come down. Come the summer, and every drop seems like manna from heaven. A freak thunderstorm that happens on a hot sunny day has the same effect on you as, say, one of those blinders of a knock the Virender Sehwag will come up with once in a blue moon. Much like the knock, it's over before you knew it began, and if you were in and busy you probably missed it. Then come the premonsoons, when Delhi Rainfall gets particularly sadistic. The air now is at 90% humidity, it's burning hot you're sweating like a pig and there's no chance of any of it drying off. Spatterings, light and gentle drops that resemble half a drizzle start; the gods give you hope. False hope. This is premonsoon, there is no dark grey cloud hanging over you, and all that shower achieved was making it slightly more humid and more uncomfortable for you. But this is a prelude, a cruel and sadistic prelude but one nonetheless.
Next come the delight of the monsoons, where you literally get out of your house and dance at the onset of rain. You get soaked, and enjoy every moment of it, for this is respite, this is the cool and wonderful breeze you have been waiting for. This is the storm you were meant to be in.
Then comes the dreaded Winter Rainfall, which thankfully did not grace it's prescence during my own back in Home Town. A bitter cold rain, that serves only to make the weather chillier than it already is. Curses abound on it's onset, an unwelcome guest more despised and loathed than Krishnamachari Srikanth.
Contrast all these emotions to the dullness of Singapore Rainfall. The predictability.
I look outside, it's cloudy, it's going to rain. It's inevitable. And it's turning me into a fatalist.
How can you disagree with the inevitability of all things when even the daily weather is predictable?