Driving Through an Unexpected Monsoon

I love how my city springs surprises on me. Like how it's raining today - a freak Feb shower that started suddenly, without warning (or premonition even). There I was, driving down the endless roundabouts of Lutyen's Delhi, ruminating on the possibilities of a fuel tank needle resting high on 'F', feeling a bit invincible even, letting myself drift on auto-pilot mode towards wherever my steering wheel took me. And there I was, sitting on a makeshift chair outside a car accessories' shop in Khan Market, sipping on nukkad chai from a plastic cup, waiting for my car to be clothed in its fancy new seat covers, staring at people going about their shopping in fashionable almost-summer clothes, revelling in the newfound relish for the sight of skin (unsheathed from the sweaters, finally). And before I could smell some kind of longing in the air, it was a clean 'cut!' to inky blue night, nippy temperature, drop-strings of rain falling in a heap from overhead awnings, onto the glistening pavements. And a big wraparound feeling of what rain always is for me: equal parts familiar joy and unnamed loss.

And what sweet, kind, unfamiliar rain it was. The kind Delhi is parched for, year-round. Not the usual tepid drizzle, nor a torrential downpour. Just sheets of soft, gentle rain, falling cleanly, almost with an odd, unusual kind of consideration for those it would drench. The water snaking gently on my car's windscreen, making scaly animation on the steering wheel when the streetlight shone from above - like someone lovingly shading me into an artistic texture. Windows rolled up, with rainy rivulets running diagonally across. Bheege bheege gaaney on full volume. Foot firmly on accelerator. Mind on standby mode. I zipped down mundane-roads-turned-glam; as if suddenly wearing a sexy black sequinned cocktail dress of splashy rain (no traffic even, rainy Monday notwithstanding!). Turning me into some kind of sudden poet, smiling away enchantedly; a part of me enthralled by the unending moods of my city, a part of me dreading the moment when it'll all become a memory for me to cajole, poke, probe and conjure, just so I can make it last a little bit longer.