When it rains...
Bombay is a competent and busy bustling 30. She glances briskly at the greying gloomy crowding streets and says - "Ignore it. Just take the local a few hours later today; get some more work done meanwhile. Here, have a hot onion pakora and a tiny glass of ginger tea while you click away at your keyboard and ignore the water dripping marginally cleaner streaks down your smogged up window. And then, once you're done, rush with all the other rushed busy people, past all the damp and water stained history, each of you hurrying to tiny apartments of your own so you can sit for a minute and efficiently plan tomorrow's work."
Madras is frazzled and filthy after a tiring day with too many kids. The jasmine in her hair is wilting and overpowered by the smells of wet and hard worked humanity. She tucks her sari half an inch higher and pokes her umbrella at a passerby out of random annoyance and short temper. She says petulantly - "You, with all your needing this and needing that... Do you think I have time for this? Does anyone stop and check that some rotting tree hasn't fallen on me? Does anyone notice that the beach is now cluttered with sharp and dirty debris? Even the sea is angry and lashes out if someone goes there. Why should I care then? I didn't volunteer. Nobody cares anyway. Just shut up and don't get in my way."
Bangalore has her shoes and socks off. She dips her toe in the swirling, browning water that rapidly fills ditches and roads alike. The ribbons that were neatly tied in her hair just this morning are undone and flap bedraggled behind her as she splashes through puddles; all responsibilities washed away. She sticks her tongue out to catch a huge drop of water and sings to herself - "Pretty pretty! See the leaves dance? And water gurgle? Let's look for rainbows! Let's build damns and pretend we can't hear when they call us inside... Work? NO! Drain all this happy splashy water away?? NO!! Let me race paper boats and get soaked and float in roadside rivers and stare at the wet leaves swirling toward that conveniently tiny drain hole. Let's make bets about whose street gets clogged and overflows first! Look at the pretty sparks from the shorting transformer! No power? Not my fault. Call someone else..."
