Rain of memories

When it rains, it surely evokes unexplainable emotions. Perhaps that is where the beauty of rain lies. I guess I realized it pretty early in life, as a five-year-old, while growing up in Arunachal Pradesh.

There when it pours, which often is the case, it pours really hard.

Last evening when it rained in Bangalore, accompanied by strong gusts of wind, after a hot sultry day, I could not stop myself. I quickly opened the door to my balcony and got soaked to the bone.

I felt a sense of relief. It was nothing short of divine empowerment. Again, hard to explain how those big droplets washed away days of weariness.

I didn’t dance like the neighbourhood kid, but quietly felt blessed, silently thanked the “unknown” forces. For, it rained when it mattered most.

But contrary to this sudden gush of emotion, there were times when I used to curse the rain, especially because of the cities where I stayed – all vulnerable to artificial flooding even after a few hours of mild downpour. That is when a curse would just slip out of my mouth.

“Oh! Don’t you realize the drains are clogged by poly bags strewn all over? Please rains, come some other time. Or else the water, few metres away from the verandah of my house will enter the sitting room,” I would cry, looking heavenwards.

Sometimes, rain (god) has been kind, but most often not, making our tough city life even tougher.

Notwithstanding the ugliness left behind, I also remember once I shrieked a curse to the sky for days of relentless rain in Arunachal Pradesh. However, flooding wasn’t my cause of worry since no rains can inundate the hills. It was the despondency that would descend upon every soul as the wet clothes refuse to dry in the unending companionship of rainfall. And most importantly mother wouldn’t let us go out to play.

After an incessant monologue of rain when the sun would peep from behind the hills illuminating the early morning sky, children used to be the happiest lot.

It’s true rain evokes several emotions, from innocent smiles to raising a disgusted eyebrow. Human emotions have many shades just like the colours of a rainbow left behind by a downpour.

Today, I am again looking upwards, not to shriek a curse to the sky but to search for traces of rain on the floating clouds of an early evening.

Now,Sania-Shoaib “Suhag Raat” coverage by media?

Forgive me, if I am trying to intrude into the bedroom of newly-wed Indian tennis star Sania Mirza and former Pakistani cricket captain Shoaib Malik, by using the “S” word. I have no such intentions.

But, trust me, Indian media would find it hard to resist the temptation.

Perhaps the so called “sabse tej” television channels have already started making preparations, by installing close circuit cameras into the prospective rooms, which are likely to bring the “love birds” closer.

You never know, for that exclusive footage to be screamed on your television sets, Indian media can cross any line of control (LOC). For, media there exists no LOC, neither any sort of self-censorship.

The Indian media has been “honestly” and super closely monitoring the so called cross-border love story, since the day Mirzas of Hyderabad made a public announcement of their daughter’s wedding to the cricketer.

Media first celebrated Sania-Shoaib alliance as a step forward to bring much needed peace between war-mongering nations, almost on the verge of a nuclear catastrophe.

As, if the wedlock is going to give birth to the baby called “Aman Ki Aasha”. Sorry, here there is no intention of pun on a huge media campaign started by two powerful media houses of India and neighbouring country Pakistan.

Anyway, after “Aman” it was the turn of Ayesha, the bomb from the closet of Shoaib, another Hyderabadi girl who claimed to have married the cricket star earlier.

But, the cricket star calls his ex-wife Apa (elder sister), for she is fat and ugly and have no oomph factor like Sania.

But, as the matter took several twists and turns, again here media played a keen role by acting as "messenger" between Ayesha’s family Siddiquis and Sania-Shoaib.

First the media takes the interview of Sania-Shoaib, then media goes to Siddiquis, the merry-go-round continues and so are the allegations and counter allegations, for almost a week.

Finally, some sort of sanity settled on Shoaib, he gave divorce to his “Apa” and, married Sania, within hours of his divorce to make her his second wife.

The media made a bee-line at Sania’s house in Jubilee Hills to cover the wedding day. Reported extensively on the red sari Sania wore on her d-day. So, are the diamonds and rubies bedecking Sania hogged the limelight.

The mouth-watering Hyderabadi fare enjoyed by 100 –odd guests at Taj Krishan, also made for hour-long episodes for TV channels. While giving minute details on the wedding, news anchor of a reputed English TV channel excused herself, by saying that there is no harm in following Sania and Shoaib closely, as by now the sports stars are accustomed to the intrusion of media in their personal lives.

Yes, very true, Madam Anchor!

Now, TV reporters are sweating themselves out under the 45 degree Celsius mercurial fire of sun in Hyderabad to cover the mehendi ceremony and reception party of Sania-Shoaib.

All the best reporters! Hope you survive the ordeal and hope the audience also survive the same old stale story.

To air views, or not to...the dilemma continues...

Of late, Pammy, my dear friend has been maintaining an uncanny silence. This is something unusual on her part. So, it’s kinda giving me headache of sort. For a person, who would not take seconds to verbally thrash governments, literally to the ground, for their infamous mis-governance, sports stars failing to bring laurels at international podiums, Bollywood relying on clichéd and hackyened ideas to churn out love stories after love stories, or for that matter, her boss’s “perversion” of digging his nose vigorously while giving a contemplating look in daily early hours office meetings.

As you meet an “often in a hurry” looking Pammy, and before you could manage to greet her, she is on her “marathon” of airing her views.

“Oh! God damn! When would Bangalore roads provide you space to move unhindered? Not in this lifetime. I had a good fight with the traffic constable at M.G. Road, I gave him my piece of mind. He’ll not dare harass anyone from now onwards,” Pammy would be interrupted, as I cleverly offer her a glass of water to bring some kind of semblance to my home, which for the time being has been slightly jolted by Pammy’s entry.

“Thanks dear! You know, I am tired with bull-shit all around us. Hope this ends,” says Pammy, handing back the glass to me.

But, of late, her visits are mostly quiet and she looks grave and sullen, as if under some great “moral” dilemma.

While I fry her favourite onion pakodas, she will watch quietly, smiling and munching one and two in between, and appreciating my culinary skills.

“What’s up? You seem to be upset? Very quiet, not in your chirpy best,” I asked her to know the reason behind almost “sealing” her mouth.

“Why? I am absolutely fine. Okay, you mean my silence? What to say, I am tired, tired of the state of affairs. In a way I am dumbstruck and in a way tired of people, who are always airing views, especially on idiot box. There seems to have come up a new breed of experts, who are ubiquitous on T.V. channels.”


“Let anything happen, be it a natural calamity or crash of the stock market, the expert tribe have expert comments on anything and everything. Every channel will have the same people. If at 9.00 pm news, the X expert is on one channel, he’ll be seen with all smiles at the rival channel’s studio within half an hour later. He’ll talk same, scream same and god knows what not.”

“If some are politicians without any portfolios or former cricketers-turned-commenters with a punjabi twang, others are great Indian journalists and few are page 3 people trying to make sense on why on earth inflation has crossed 17 percent mark in India?”

“I wonder their sense of intelligence and their sense of judgment and judgment of TV channels to bring these experts for every news show? I pity India and their experts. Seeing the state of the experts we could easily make out the state of the nation.”

I got Pammy’s point of view, she does not want to be in the rat race. For Pammy, is a common wo(man), who is rooted to the ground and knows the ground reality pretty well, and well, does not need to beat around the bush.

For a change would TV channels mind inviting commoners like Pammy to their shows.

Actually, her silence is killing me.