Gautami and The Rain

6:50 pm (1850 IST, 4S3-02 TCS, 24 km from Ground Zero): I poked at the keyboard and toyed with the mouse impatiently. 7 o clock sure came lightning fast in the mornings, especially when I was in school. That evening, it seemed to have lost its way after 6:40. I’d already told the project manager in the afternoon that I had an appointment at 8 o clock and had to leave at 7 sharp. He had lowered his head and nodded his assent so generously that it took me quite a while to realize he was sleeping. Heavy lunch, middle age and 3:00 pm. Anyhow, 1 hour, I had calculated, was more than enough to reach my destination. Even in Hyderabad’s lane-driving-is-for-the-blind traffic. 6:53 pm. There was a low rumble. True, I was hungry, but the noise was from outside. The generator kicking in to ensure I had AC for the remaining 7 minutes? Fat chance. The rumble rose steadily. Higher and higher. I whirled around to see my manager looking outside our 4th floor window at the source. He slowly turned towards me, grinned wide and asked me, “So, how will you go now?” I looked out. I understood then why he grinned. I grinned back at him, thinking, “you smug little !@&#”.
IT WAS RAINING.
On any other day, these 3 words would have made me run around in circles and chase my own tail. The Romans had been generous. 365 days in a year is a lot. Apparently Mother Nature didn’t agree. She had to say hello on the very day I was to meet Gautami. I picked up my bag, leapt down the stairs to the ground floor and… Oh alright! I slowly huffed and puffed down the stairs stopping at every floor to catch a much needed cotton-lungful of breath. Ting! “Lobby floor. The time is 6 57 pm. Have a nice day.” said the elevator-voice. My elevator companions (2 good-looking girls, I noticed) smiled at me and then at each other. That, believe me, was that day’s high note. Everything from there went downhill. There was a huge crowd jostling at the entrance. That noise from the tinted window hadn’t prepared me for what I saw. It was raining not just cats and dogs but the entire cast of Animal Farm.
7:00 pm (1900 IST, Lobby floor TCS, 23.8 km from Ground Zero): A rainy Friday doesn’t change much in 3 minutes. Jagged lightning. I turned skywards. Fine. You want to play. Let’s play. I tightened the shoulder straps of my bag. 3 2 1 and I stepped out. 4 seconds later, I was wet. At the gate, I spotted an auto with difficulty and got in. 3 people in the back and 2 on either side of the driver. Yes, Indians are highly accommodative. As the auto chugged along, the 3 girls in the back (I’m unaware of their looks) giggled as the inevitable raindrops made their way into the auto once in a while. I managed a smile. I liked the rain. A flashy rain-washed Toyota Innova went past us. Of course, splashing into a puddle. I hate Toyota. My T-Shirt and jeans greedily had their fill of mud flavored H2O. Sigh. Like I said, downhill all the way.
7:10 pm (1910 IST, Hi-Tech City Junction, 23 km from Ground Zero): A crossroad with amber blinking in all directions. For Hyderabadi traffic, the color amber has always meant slow down to 1st gear, look left, then right, wait until a pedestrian decides to cross the road and then.... run him over. Vehicles hurtling across roads to reach the nearest pubs (It’s Friday, remember?). Glistening rain-washed roads that rival Monaco's F1 track. And yours truly... trying to cross the road. Morbid entertainment for the Rain God? Whatever. I reached the other side with my heart doing at least a 300 bps. I ducked under the awning of HDFC ATM which was already home to 30 odd IT Oruncles, Wimpros and Deloitterers. I imagined hearing Gautami’s shrill voice and shuddered. At that instant, a Toyota Innova stopped and a voice said the magic words “Punjagutta?” Perhaps, several others sensed the magic too. But eventually, the rain and my constant rib kicking managed to dislodge the software softies from the Innova’s doors. Hah! And we were off. It was a new car with a new driver. As we waded across lakes, ponds and even a waterfall that had formed on the road, I looked out of the window. Motherly Maruti WagonRs, fatherly Ford Fiestas, hen-pecked Hyundai Accents, and even a Madame Mercedes. All of them were gurgling water... The rain God had reached up to their necks. But, the sun-tanned Tata Safari, high-heeled Honda CR-V leapt from puddle to pond in a graceful ballet leaving the pedestrians wet with emotion. Literally. Quite a number of these pedestrians had been demoted from 2 wheels to 2 feet after waving good-byes to their sinking Splendors. I managed to change the SIM card from my new yet-to-be-proven Nokia N95 into my old dropped-into-a-water-bucket-twice Nokia 2600 while smirking at people whom my Innova purified with sacred splashes of gravel flavored H2O. I love Toyota.
7:45 pm (1950 IST, Punjagutta Junction, 15 km from Ground Zero): 2 flyovers crisscrossed overhead. Last year’s monsoon had flattened one of them. Against all odds, the beaver-like Roads & Buildings dept had it rebuilt in time for this monsoon. I got out of the cab and walked under the flyover, shielded from Mother Nature. Kishore Biyani’s Hyderabad Central came into view. Surely, his school English teacher had dozed off after “Make hay”. I crossed the road and frantically looked for a means of transport. The sight that greeted my -3.something powered vision made me feel like an intruder into the Amazon Rainforest. There were numerous watering holes (courtesy: Sewerage Dept of Hyd) swallowing slippers, shoes, pieces of thermocol, plastic covers and occasionally human feet. There was an unending line of animals (as big as Metroliners and as small as bicycled-kids) on a ghostly safari through the incessant downpour. Sigh. They honked, roared, screamed, swore but didn’t move. My 30M water-resistant Titan glared an angry 7:55 at me. There was only 1 option left. Forrest Gump. I ran. Everything was a blur. For everyone else too, I was blur. A green-t-shirted, dark-green-jeaned, flashy-blue-white-shoed blur. People waited on the pavements, under shop awnings till the Mother had mercy. Hah! Not today. I ran amidst those mechanical animals, those wet-skinned curses, the watering holes… and kept running. The road divider was like a dyke. Waves crashed over the top from the left lane to the right. Suddenly, I found an empty auto! Wait... Don't say 'God sent' yet.
Rahul: Secunderabad aate?
Autowallah: Idhar gaadi ka hilna hi mushkil ho raa… secunderabad kya hawa mein jaate?
Rahul: Aate ki nai bolo miyan. Fizul ke baata nakko.
Autowallah: Acchi baat hai, baitho.
Rahul: Kitna lete? Meter pe 60 hota nai?
Autowallah: huhuhahahahaaa…. (Read: Robbery under progress)
Rahul: Hmm… Accha meter ka 1.5 times detun… chalte?
Autowallah: Teen sau(300) letun.... chalte?.
%#%$%#^%$#^#*!

I continued to run. The Nokia 2600 rang suddenly.
Sis: Hello?
Rahul (huff-puffing): Ya.. bolo…
Sis (angrily): How long will you take? (threateningly) If I don’t reach Gautami…
Rahul (splashing 5 litres of water onto an old lady nearby): No… (huffing) I’ll reach soon… I’m 5 minutes away.
Sis (still angry): Come fast no..! Can’t you take an auto or something?
A pause. (Rahul’s rare, momentary loss of words.)
Sis: Hello? Still there? Move…!
Rahul: Ya ya....

8:10 pm (2010 IST, Anandnagar Colony, 10 km from Ground Zero): I reached home, directly got into the waiting auto(that my resourceful sister managed to secure) and covered the remaining distance in peace….. or as much of it that my sister let me have during that 50 minute ride. Anyhow, Gautami hadn’t left. In fact, for the first time in its history, the bloody Gautami Express(railway anouncement pause) from Secunderabad (pause) to Kakinada (pause) scheduled to depart at(pause) 9(pause)15 left 20 minutes late.

Smart Alec once said “When Murphy and Mother Nature are tag team partners, send your Lady Luck into the ring.” Unfortunately my Lady Luck was sipping tea and sharing a joke with Alec. The theme was surely Yours Truly.