When a frog in a puddle dies

I am lucky in that, I live pretty close to wide open spaces and
what can be justifiably called "wilds". Barely two kilometres
from my gate, I can get lost in a charmed expanse comprising of
disused and abandoned quarries, vineyards, orchards and mixed
farms and acres of trees and grasses growing wild.

This is where I cycle as much as I can, sometimes for a reason,
mostly for none. These expanses are the setting for a number
of poems in Moving On, and one that deals with my cynical take
on the false hopes regarding the monsoons last year -- Unslept.

So it passed that this year too I was cycling in the same wilds
when the monsoons arrived over the Deccan. Many would say a sure
sign that the Monsoons are here for good is when you see peacocks
dancing. In my case, I have seen more peacocks (and peahens) than I
could count this year, but queerly enough that is really is the
Monsoons, the original item, not some false alarm was kind of was
communicated to me by a slightly dopey (or highly sated)
looking frog, sometime in late June.

It must have been five or six days into the Monsoons, and I was
on the dirt track (that winds through the charmed expanse mentioned
above) for the second time. This dirt track is incidentally wide
enough for a truck to pass and I see a healthy puddle forming on
it where it passes through a thickly wooded section. And I see
Mr. Froggie too, fat and glassy eyed. I was totally at a loss
to decipher that look; I have seen really, really thirsty people
look like that after a very welcome round of beers. I guess
in Mr.Froggie's case it was a bit more than just beers -- maybe
he was enjoying the orgasmic bliss of a private spa pool or he
was dreaming of being kissed by a princess....

So that was June. From then till end of November -- till around
a week back, to be exact -- I haven't seen Mr. Froggie or bothered
much about the puddle, but crossed it again and again and seen
it bigger and deeper than it ever was last year.

Meanwhile, 5 months passed.

In these five months, I got wet more times than I can remember,
fell sick three times (a record of sorts for me) and even as I
write this, am recovering from a very severe and debilitating fever.

In these five months, I have once again realized that the
monsoons have a magically regenerative touch (and intoxicate
frogs and human beings alike) and there is no nook or cranny
of even a concrete city that the rains cannot reach. Its a
bit overwhelming to see the tops of dead and boringly staid
walls grow green with moss, and to see a profusion of butterflies
and bees, millions and millions of them, the former coming when
the monsoons are at their peak, the latter when the waters
start "standing". Its overwhelming to ride on Tank Bund and
see streamers of butterflies flutter-flying aimlessly, blithe
and unconcerned, flowers in flight. Its fun being on the Bullet
on the highways seeing a dragonfly headed for your face and
managing to dodge it at the last minute.

It's believed that the rains slacken after Ganesh Chaturthi.
But that didn't happen this time around. It's also believed
that September 30th is officially the last day of the Monsoons.
This year, I was soaked to the underwear on September 30th in
riding home through a shortcut through the bastis that flank
Hasmathpet Lake, but the same happened a week after.

Nobody (not the least, me) minds the rains, but
5 months of it is freakish, no?

But then, last Tuesday I got a sign that the Monsoons
are done and finished.

And it had to do with a sighting of Mr. Froggie.

I am on the cycle (you know where, don't you?) and I come
across THE puddle. Or rather, I come across a very well muscled
and (really swift) seven footer of a snake, ( flecked with gravel
red) shouldering its way into the grasses besides the dirt track.
With Mr. Froggie in its jaws. Its over before I can brake the
cycle and I see that the puddle is no more than 2 inches of water
and mostly wet gravel sludge.

That was one very big and fat looking snake too, evidently
intent on feeding full and hibernating.

And snakes hibernate in the winters, don't they?

Which means as of last Tuesday, the monsoons have ended and
its winter here now :-)

That ends a really bountiful monsoon, one that has left the
quarries full of water and a profusion of life still sprouting
from the rain-soaked Deccan.

RIP, Mr. Froggie!

A Bullet in the Rains

Among the many other things I don't manage to tell this blog
(in time) is the fact that this April my Bullet turned 8.
That is 8 years. By extension (I don't have a car, maybe
I don't really like being boxed in one, maybe I am
claustrophobic, or maybe I just don't need one) this means
that I have been riding through Hyderabad's monsoons
and enjoying getting drenched in them every year.

It's a cycle for me, you see, something that I await without really
knowing why, something that also brings out the neanderthal in me
(I like grinning up at the raining skies, I like riding through
the stinging curtains of water, I don't really mind the discomfort
or the pain of having to ride through waterlogged traffic that
moves slower than a prehistoric moraine) and I am not at all
ashamed to say that I love almost everything about the rains*.

Let me temporarily forget that last year when it rained and I got
back home (in the midst of a power cut), I had slipped on a far from
thin film of water that had "rained" in and fallen heavily onto my
behind. I am sure (rain lover or rain hater) you will excuse me for
cursing the rains (and the builder) loudly for three odd days
in that instance.

Coming back to the Bullet, I guess it is not as low maintenance as
me after all, or maybe it's the fact that I do use it, or it's the
fact that the quality of whatever goes into it as spare parts sucks
to high (rainy?) heaven. Anyway, I have changed the petrol
tank cover thrice and there is this memorable incident related
to the petrol tank cover, the Bullet (and me) and the rains that
is best related on a day like this (call me a fool later if you
want) when after getting wet the way I did yesterday, I would say
it does seem that the Monsoons have "set in" over the Deccan.
And hey, hey, hey, far earlier than last year, no?

So this was the incident then (three monsoons past, if my memory
serves me right). The petrol tank cover had gone kaput again -- was
not lockable -- and I was returning from a friend's place
having ignored his requests and remonstrances to stay back
and wait out the rain. And it was pouring away. As happens in
Hyderabad (and maybe in your city too, I wouldn't be claiming
exclusivity for this, patriot that I am) when it rains for more
than half an hour the roads look like a landscape scoured by
streams and rivulets in a hurry to go and drain into some
now non-existent friendly neighbourhood lake. So I was riding
blind not knowing if there's a speedbreaker, a pothole or
something far more dangerous ahead of me under all that water.
And then it happens, I go into some kind of depression, the
Bullet sinks fork deep in waters and by the time I am out of it,
the petrol tank cover goes flying off!

Ever tried finding something that has fallen into swirling
rain waters? Believe me, it's no easy task -- especially in
the evenings -- even if you are on your hands and knees.

But all the while I was searching for the petrol tank cover,
the Bullet was idling away, unmindful of the rain bouncing off
its chrome and lancing into its petrol tank -- for what must
have been at least 2 or 3 minutes. This incident / story had a
happy ending, I found the petrol tank cover and (I did say,
happy ending) as expected, the Bullet didn't die
on me.

So now you know. I love the rains and the Bullet does too.

And yesterday it had rained and rained and rained and
rained some more. From what I could see, no cats or dogs died,
but immaterial of that the gutters weren't much distinguishable
from the roads and the roads (thanks to the medians in between)
seemed to be stopping the waters and turning into one-way canals.
So it meant something like two hours of riding to get back home,
with some stretches (the ones on Necklace Road and near
Sanjeevaiah Park specifically ) making me feel that I am riding
on a lakebed. After all, that is what most of Necklace Road is,
isn't it?

But yes, I did have an amazing time, getting soaked to the
skin and never having to stop, even while the autos and (some) cars
around were belching smoke (inzin mein paani ghoos gaya Saab) and
getting stranded.

I guess (in my far from direct or orderly way), I am writing this
blogpost out of happiness at yesterday's experience and as tribute
to the trusted chrome-plated steed that I ride. And there seems to
have been no permanent collateral damage (apart from the cell phone
dying) to me either**!!

And oh, yeah. Speaking of the Bullet, it started at first kick
today morning again. Talk of the small joys of life.

* Scratch out riding through Punjagutta Circle, Ranigunj and Abids
Circle, even after 5 minutes of rain. Double scratch the very idea
of trying to get hold of an Auto after 30 minutes of rain. And don't
get me started on the quality (or lack) of anything close to civic /
city planning in Hyderabad when it rains.

** The "Cargo" trousers I had on yesterday should get dry by today.
My cellphone died on me and finally lit up today morning (and I had
to tell it the time for a change!!). My wallet (incidentally of
Camel leather and picked up at a roadside shop near the fort at
Jodhpur is almost dry and apart from slightly bleary eyes (paani
ghoos gaya) and a sore throat (I did seem to have drunk in some of
the rains) I am pretty much okay.

As Summer Ends

How cyclical the seasons are and how independent of our concepts of time (days, months, years) pains and sufferings too. We are 9 days into the June of a blazing, in many ways vitriolic, almost "out of Dante's inferno" summer. And yet, it seems respite (in keeping with it's own cyclical timing) is here. Science (or rather the newspapers and the TV Channels quoting the Met Office) tells us that the Monsoons are already here, that they will be average (but for a shortfall here or there) this year.

And though a part of me is guarding against getting excited or happy or relieved too early (after all, the last edition of the monsoons over the Deccan was so fickle-natured it left me "Unslept") this year it seems the rains will come on time.

Why do I say this? On what authority?

For one, it has blazed so much all this summer that it seems any more heat would be against the laws of nature (Global Warming be damned).

For another, it has been "clouds floating in a sea blue sky" kind of views for most of the last week or so, and those clouds seem to be packing up now and today was positively overcast.

For yet another, its been amazing cycling weather for the last two days (at least where I live, in between NH7 and SH1) and yes, I have been out cycling and even spotting a bit of wildlife here and there in the wilds around my place (this will need some explanation, maybe later). While on the cycle, for some reasons I get to either blank out my mind or focus it; in comparison, when on the Bullet, my being is in ferment with a continuous stream of thoughts, almost as madcap as Hyderabad's traffic.

And yes, for yet another, it rained a bit (and gusted a lot) yesterday evening. And no, I don't think it was summer rain. Though there has been quite a lot of it here. Because, yesterday evening it smelt different, there was a promise in the fragrance of the breeze. How do I explain that in English?

Saundhi, it was, the smell of rain on parched earth.

So, on the basis of the available evidence, I pronounce this the end of summer.

Amen.