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Rain used to be a poem. When it simply went away whenever Li’l Johnny wanted to play. But as we grew up, we had other things to do, which did not necessarily qualify as playing.
Like, studying for instance. When we studied, rain used to be our savior. We all have hoped for the gates of heavens to open up and let the mighty rain precipitate and flood our schools on the day of any difficult exam we had. But rain usually never came.
It did come, however, when we planned for a day out. We might have had our plans for a picnic-ready but rain would come away and leave us dripping to the extent that even bathing would seem to be the driest activity around. We would have all our fruits and vegetables automatically cooked into an abominable soup, which when dumped in the dump yard might make the dump yard throw up, which, by the way, let me add as a side note, is not the most pleasant of the experiences that one might enjoy in his or her life.
Rain also is weird in terms of its intensity. Sometimes, it floods an ocean, while other times, it struggles to fill a puddle.
I remember, one of my friends having a weird experience once. She was reading the newspaper, which is a good habit and was also innocently believing the weather that was forecasted, which, however, is not an activity as good. She read that the day would be a majorly cloudy one and one might expect a few drops of rain. “A few drops ain’t worth a raincoat”, she said. She packed her books which she needed for her trip to someplace, I don’t quite recollect. She also packed in the laptop of hers but raincoat, she did not. And Oh, what a mistake had it been! Rain which was expected to descend drop by drop descended lake by lake and immersed every materialistic good in the vicinity. ‘Raincoat-less her’, was so drenched that had we teleported her to the Kalahari, she would have become an instant celebrity as the harbinger of fortune, the desert people’s term for water! Her books were now more dilapidated than Egyptian papyrus. Her laptop had committed suicide and her waterproof phone had gone haywire and started to call up all the elders in her contacts and send them profane texts. She was indeed in deep trouble.
In retrospect, I realize that this anecdote was the first one to help me appreciate the importance of disobeying weather forecasts selectively. Selectively, because of ‘his’ story.
His story, however, begins on a relatively sunny day.