It was the night Lord Krishna was born. By tradition and belief, it was said that night had to rain. In the legends, it rained so hard that it almost flooded.
That was in Mathura.
In Bengaluru, it also rained. It also flooded. The only difference was that no babies were born in the Parappana Agrahara jail. Or so I hope.
Since Monday, it has been raining almost everyday. It rained all through the night on Monday, leaving Tuesday morning, Independence day, a very bleak and gloomy and cloudy day. It rained so hard that night, that half of Bengaluru was submerged. Water flooded in houses; roads disappeared and commuters stood knee-deep in scum and rain water. The weather got really cool; one might argue that it is tending towards cold, but the people haven’t shut up about how the water has flooded into their homes and destroyed it all.
And where were their houses? Lake beds and storm water drains. So who’s really at fault here?
The weather has gotten so nice that you can’t get out of the house with a scarf and a light sweater if you’re walking. I took the Metro train to the GPO on Saturday afternoon, and the clouds over my area looked so amazing.
Bengaluru people are a funny lot. They are as unpredictable as the weather in the city, and the people change from road to road, area to area, just like the weather. If it’s raining, part of the city is enjoying, sitting inside their homes and sipping hot coffees and eating hot hot bajjis; another part of the road is cussing the rains gods in a variety of slangs from various languages across the country. If you’re at the office, you’ll look worriedly out the glass wall and think that you’re going to get home no earlier than 9 in the night.
Picture credits to my best friend Divya!
I really had fun writing this rant.