It was as I always imagine it. The minute I stepped out from the building into the open area, it started to drizzle. 'Quick, run' I said to her, following it up with 'Don't run, its wet.' We were only covering some five meters to (what I then thought was) the safe confines of the car, but you would have thought from the urgency in my voice in yelling those conflicting directions that (a) she would melt if a rain-drop so much as touched her or (b) it was raining, not rain as in water, but hot molten lava. And of course the car-washing dudes had gone crazy with the water and phenyl and soap and whatever else it is they do in that early morning ritual of theirs so that the whole place smelled like a wet hospital with a leaky roof.
Anyways, she ignored both my instructions and waltzed over to the car not interrupting her questions about the sparrow and all the while the kingfisher key-chain light going on and off and making a low, growly sound from its throat. We got in without incident, I dug around for my jacket in my laptop bag filled to the brim with lunch and papers and purses, and in the key went into the ignition. Had to move her to the other side too because small hands had lowered the back window a notch and the fervent cleaning of car had made the seat fully soggy wet on one side.
We had hardly gotten out of the gate when it started pouring nicely and truly. This is good, because the past few days have been immensely hot and muggy and generally way too sweaty for my liking. This was also good because by now we were both safely inside jackets and car and all that scrabbling around with my butt sticking out of the back door was thereby justified. In my head that is.
At the first hint of rain the traffic had gone crazy of course. I cleverly took my safe back route, avoiding the known bottle necks with only one scary incident involving a honking and speeding Tata Sumo. I was convinced, for that one second, that he was trying to pulverise me, but careful thinking later told me that he just wanted to make that right turn (while I was going straight), at 50 kph, because the bomb would explode if he reduced his speed. Plus there were girls in the car he wanted to impress and a small Zen in his path was just so un-hip. Anyway after that I was in good shape, did a few deft moves to get to the left lane immediately after turning right onto the main road, and that was that, the commute almost done.
I was just going to turn in left at the office gate when I saw this, a pristinely white Tata Indica. Plowing along. Just in front of me. Yellow plates. New car. A heroic motorcycle, red in colour. Brown slush as far as the eye could see (on the main road, where else?). Heroic motorcycle overtakes me (its fine, I don't mind, this is no race, I am no racer), cuts in knife-like between Indica and my car. Rider leans left in his seat, preparatory to veering bike left, deposits two liters of slush on left rear fender of white Indica, and roars away into the great brown unknown. Wild.
A good reason to leave home on rainy days.
PS: Hallmark events in my life yesterday - forgot to pick up child at the school; then set an unofficial record for the 100 m sprint to get there. losing my mind alright.