It was unusually warm that night, very humid and the low voltage refused to let the fan run at a speed good enough to put the air in motion. I remember sleeping very fitfully. But I was looking forward to the morning. It came, but it was pouring then, and the rain-lover in me was ecstatic. I wanted to go to the courtyard and hop-skip-and-play with the big fat raindrops.
DAY 3
Getting ready for the trip back was easy. There was no rush. People were lazy and while we were supposed to have started by 8am, the rain had put out a stopper there. The route was not going to be easy. The narrow mud paths would be slippery and the visibility was bad. Yes! It was raining that hard. We sat in Guruji's study, talking in loud voices to be heard over the pitter-patter on the tin roof of the house. So reminiscent of Javed Akhtar's innocently amorous poetry from 1942-A Love Story... bajta hai jaltarang teen ki chhat pe jab motiyon jaisa jal barse. It was romantic. It was beautiful. And I am sure all of it was laced with a tiny tinge of a treasured but distant poignant memory, for me.
When the rain did stop at around 11am, we were all ready, stuffed to our throats with some fantastic breakfast. Prahlad and I helped dad redo the jigsaw puzzle in the car trunk. It was a mellow goodbye. Guruji's wife gave me some flowers from the temple, blessing me and saying that she had not imagined in her wildest dreams that a city bred girl like me would be able to manage so well and mix with everyone in the village. Although that was a nice compliment, I felt a little let-down wondering what it is about me that Guruji had perceived? I do make an impression sometimes. But I'd have expected someone who has talked to me numerous times to know me just that little bit better. I let it pass. Thanked her. took her blessings and settled into the familiar feeling of being packed into an already stuffed suitcase. We were all back in the car, and raring to get "home". Uncle and aunty had been away from their home for over two weeks now and were getting a little restless.
Dad managed the unpaved roads with his usual agility and in an hour's time, we were on NH5. I was again listening to songs while the elders yapped. We stopped a short way into Orissa border and had some coffee. We stopped at another dhaba for lunch (which was a bad idea). Mom even made dad and me get our own hand wash from among one of the many bags in the car because she did not trust the hygiene quotient of the soap at the sink in the dhaba. And then we stopped at a hotel in Bhadrak for a loo break and another coffee.
While were in the hotel, it started raining cats and dogs. We stood in the porch, trying to figure out a way to get to the car parked about 15 feet away without getting soaked. Mom was most concerned about it. She hates the rains. She also got aunty concerned by saying that the sarees she had purchased to gift to relatives at the wedding could get ruined by the rain water seeping into the trunk. Now it was dad's turn to get annoyed. There was no way water could seep into the car. And mom's finickiness annoyed all of us most of the time. Dad rushed to the car shielding himself with an umbrella borrowed from an attendant in the hotel, drove the car to the porch, and we realised with shock that the trunk of the car was actually open! We were worried that some of our luggage might have fallen off without our knowledge. And we were also afraid something might fall out now in the rain and make a mess of the whole already messy situation.
Dad couldn't hear us call out to him, so I ran to the car, and closed the trunk door. Getting drenched to the bone in those two minutes. And my mother found another reason to crib. "Why wasn't the boot closed?" "Why did you have to get wet in the rain?" "What if you catch a cold now in the AC?" It looked like the havan had worked for me but had made my mother more prone to losing her temper. Mom and dad know me as an insolent child. So I made use of that image and went back to my songs while she continued to nag me, not caring if I caught a cold. Actually, even dad had to ask mom to stop pinning me for every small reason. It was a silent ride for everyone else while I stared out of the window breaking the raindrops into a million little droplets and scattering around. James Blunt's 1973 couldn't have pulled me into it any more
on this that that was so blue.
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