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Sunday, February 11, 2007
It’s raining outside.
A long time ago (that is to say, about two years ago) I had written Top 10 Ideas for Blogging, (which, frankly speaking, were nothing but nonsense). One of the “ideas” present there is to rewrite those essays that you used to write in school, such as ‘A Rainy Day’ or ‘How to Polish a Pair of Shoes’. As you can guess, I have decided to act upon that idea and the first line of this post is so creatively telling you that it’s raining outside. But, since the title of this post also includes the words ‘Sunday Market’, so it is actually going to be a mixture of ‘A Rainy Day’ and ‘A Visit to the Sunday Market’. (Again, as you can guess, latter is a version of that yet another classic essay titled ‘A Visit to a Museum/Hill Station/Village/Funfair/any other goddamn place that your teacher thought you should have visited’.)
Normally, ‘A Rainy Day’ is something like describing the scorching heat of summer first, and then the arrival of clouds with winds starting to blow and the rain pouring down for mankind, after which everybody would first prostrate before God in thanks of the much needed relief, and then go out and play kabaddi in the rain water. (Yes, I actually read this kabaddi playing sentence in one of those essay-writing books.) On the other hand, I remember just a single instance of a rainy day occurring in winter, and that too was not a full essay, but just a paragraph. It might be that rainy days in winter don’t have much to be written about, which I am suspecting really is the case, since I myself am blending A Visit to the Sunday Market with A Rainy Day. On the contrary, it might be that all of us, who have tried to write about rainy days, lack the creativity to describe the real feel of experiencing them in winter (which, I also strongly suspect, is the case).
Anyway, before I start suspecting my sanity too, I think I must move on.
So, it’s raining outside. Almost four hours ago, I was driving our car in this rain, with Abbu ji sitting in the passenger seat, and we were on our way to the Sunday Market. The Sunday Market, as expected, was not as crowded as it usually turns out to be — no stalls for clothes, cutlery, bakery items, or chicken. But normally, we only visit the Sunday Market for vegetables and fruits, and they were there, albeit fewer than usual. The rain was light, but continuous, resulting in all sorts of umbrellas held by their owners to protect them. Abbu ji had an umbrella too, and I had put on the hood of my sweatshirt.
I have never really given any thought to the colour of umbrellas until today. Almost all umbrellas have the same shape, with the difference lying in the way they can be collapsed (and there, again, are not much differences). So, then that I saw so many of them, I started to think about it. Black seems to be the most general colour. Then comes blue (Abbu ji had a dark blue one). Then the ones with rainbow-ish patterns. And then the floral ones. And yes, the checkered ones too. For me, more amusing than their colours was the fact that whether the umbrellas “suited” their owners. For example, there was this brawny man who was holding a little umbrella with a floral pattern. Amusing. Another lady’s rather large black umbrella was proving to be quite difficult to handle for her, specially when the wind blew ferociously. A cheerful middle aged man who stood beside us in front of one of the many fruit stalls, had an umbrella whose frame was so flexible that the wind inverted it, making it resemble a large bowl balanced on a stick. The thought made me chuckle, since balancing a bowl on a stick in such a windy condition would be quite a feat.
The stall owners were having their troubles with the wind too. Some had suspended a piece of plastic sheet to protect their goodies, and those sheets were making their feeble attempts to face the roaring wind, ultimately giving in, and then fluttering with a loud noise, probably protesting why their one corner was still attached to the bamboo used for suspending them. And, obviously, their protest wasn’t turning out to be very good for other people (like me, for instance) who, despite being bathed in the rain, were forced to face another splatter of rain water accumulated by those plastic sheets.
Driving around in the rain is something very eventful too, specially if other drivers suddenly realize that they are getting late and then start splashing water on other cars’ windscreens. And imagine the joy of such a thing if the defogger of your car is defunct as well. Definitely makes your day.
And now that I am writing these lines, it has suddenly dawned on me that the above nonsense is anything but an essay. Well, it might be an essay, but the one which doesn’t talk much about its title. And anyway, all my essays in school used to talk about their titles, so maybe this is a good change. Furthermore, I am getting sleepy, so maybe I should head towards my bed…
Nothing is more peaceful than a nap on a rainy day after a visit to the Sunday Market, eh?