I Told You So!

I Told You So!
3rd August 2005

Once again, we go back to the future, for a topical update. Blasts from the past resume next time.

After I wrote my last FITM (Monsoon Madness) and posted it on my blog, I was deluged by hateful comments. As friends (???) tossed up sarcastic comments like, "How could you hate the monsoon?" and "You’re mad!"

Well, shortly after, my fair city of Bombay was deluged too. By rainfall of the quantity that hasn’t been seen for 100 years or so.

Prompting me to write – with utmost gloating and gleefulness – this rejoinder to those comments.

Why I hate the monsoon – an addendum.

• It floods my city. Hugely. Shutting down commerce and other forms of life completely. Stranding thousands of people. Killing hundreds others.
• It crashes mobile phone networks. Making us wonder why we pay all those bills for a service we can’t use when we most need it.
• It strands Sis between Andheri and Jogeshwari stations. Panicking her almost as much as it panicked us at home. And forcing her to wade to a cousin’s place and stay there without power for nearly two days.
• It gets gloomy. And I’ve already mentioned what gloomy does to me.
• It reminds us (once again) that politicians are inept, corrupt and highly useless in a crisis. That our tax money is going down the drain (read, into their pockets.) That we’d be better off migrating to Jhoomritalaiya.
• It gives me a cold. And fever and the chills.
• Worse, it gives Slappy a cold. And a very bad fever and very bad chills. And makes me worried about her.
• Shortages. No milk, cheese, butter and bread. No medicines, no drinking water, no electricity. One would assume that this shortage extends to condoms as well, but this remains an assumption. FITM encourages frantic, hormone-maddened, angry lovers to launch a protest.
• Boredom. How much Monopoly can you play? (Quite a bit, actually.) Or PlayStation? (Same answer.) How much TV can you watch? (A hell of a lot, it turns out.) How many episodes of FITM can you write? (None, actually. Sorry.)
• Driving is even more difficult. Especially at night, when you have to pick up stranded women while trying to weave your way through 5000 people looking for a lift to New Bombay.
• And the last, but the most important reason for me to say, "I told you so!" The rain gets me wet.

Slappy and I have argued over this. We both agree that one good thing came out of this monsoon. She was stranded – with Minty – at my place. For two whole days and two whole nights! Goody, goody.

Before any naughty thoughts happen, let me assure you that I was a thorough gentleman. At least in front of my folks...who, by the way, really seem to like her. It’s not the ideal way to introduce her to my family, but hey...all’s well that ends well.

So, like I said, we argued. And came to the conclusion that we hate the rain...but wholeheartedly love at least one of its consequences.

Two days, two nights...completely blissful, completely amazing. I thought I’d save it for another story...but then I remembered that a gentleman never kisses and tells.

So, back to the rains.

And back to my detractors.

A pox on all ye unbelievers. Or worse, a monsoon on ye. Admit it. I was right. As always.
I really don’t hate to say this. In fact, I’m enjoying this.

"I told you so!"

Monsoon Madness

Monsoon Madness
29th June 2005
We interrupt the blast from the past for a special, topical update from the current season. We will go back in time from next post.


The monsoon’s here.

And since every columnist – from Mark Manuel to Shobha De to Busybee’s rehashes – is talking about the monsoon, it’s time for me to add my two bits.

Only, instead of talking about how much I love the monsoon, I’m going to talk about how much I hate it.

Yes. It’s true. I hate monsoons. The only columnist in the world who hates it enough to write a hate-filled piece about it.

Following are the reasons why I hate the monsoon (in proper logical, rational science textbook style):
The rain gets me wet.

• Days are dark and gloomy and depressing. I don’t want to work properly. All I want to do is laze around, reading books or comics, or playing Super Mario, drinking beer with music playing.
• The rain gets me wet.
• Gloomy and depressing-looking days have a tendency to make me gloomy and depressing.
• The rain gets me wet.
• It always rains when I’m out. Why can’t the rain be convenient enough and not rain when I’m in the firing line of the raindrops?
• The rain gets me wet.
• Colds. Really bad colds. Really bad infectious colds. Really bad infectious debilitating colds. Enough said.
• The rain gets me wet.
• Driving is impossible. Can’t see in front of me, the rear glass is too fogged up for me to see what’s behind me. The roads are slick, so I can’t even enjoy the drive. I have forgotten what fourth gear looks like, and what it feels like to cut lanes at high speed. Doc’s driving lessons are going down the drain.
• The rain gets me wet.
• It’s so gloomy and depressing that there’s not enough sunshine for me to wear my sexy new Fastrack sunglasses. Ask me about them sometime. Ask me to pose for you wearing them.
• The rain gets me wet.
• On the public service front, the monsoon is a breeding ground for disease. I hate disease. It means I need to call Doc for help, and we all know that I’m one of the four people Doc has sworn to kill during his medical career.
• The rain gets me wet.
• The emergence of so-called romantic notions of sipping roadside tea looking deeply into your sweetheart’s eyes. Yuck! Get a room!
• The rain gets me wet.
  

If this hasn’t deflated the sickeningly beautiful bubble of monsoon madness that those over-poetic wannabe journos have created, nothing will.

Except perhaps the sour look on my face.