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.