I never thought I would ever be cribbing about the weather in Bangalore. It’s always been cool, moist, pleasant, a hint of cloud, just enough to keep the harsh sun away. The massive green rain trees, embrace the city in their thick foliage and most people like me, who think they have come to Bangalore only to work, end up falling in love with it. We never leave, do we?
But the last few days have been terrible. Dry and hot, scorching if you should venture out in the noon, your skin needs constant moisturizing; your lips constantly dry and crack, leaving you fishing for your lip balm ever so often. You feel thirsty, and for someone pampered by Bangalore’s pleasant climate, it all seems weird and insufferable.
Rain, rain, rain is what we need, but then it will make the place worse, oh I don’t care, it will also cool down this city which seems to be on a simmer. We keep looking skywards ever so often, looking for the faintest hint of rain filled clouds, but none appear.
Has this got to do with global warming, all those cars and two wheelers swarming the city, all those huge rain trees being mercilessly felled and towed away overnight, those wide gaping holes that bring in the hot sunlight. Maybe those neo age dooms day predictors are not ‘rabid, anti development environmentalist’ after all. Maybe there is a hint of truth in what they say, are saying.
On a Thursday, it’s not the weekend yet and you’re kind of worn out by the first three days of the week already. The lousy dry, hot weather, the chapped lips and dry skin, all seem to collude and conspire to make your day hell. Thursday was dragging by ever so slowly, its early evening, I simply could not keep the lethargy at bay and I so wanted to huddle under my desk and snooze off to sleep. That’s when I got a bright idea, how about some coffee.
I keep coffee for special occasions, like when I have a blistering headache, have had a disturbed night and am nodding off at work, or simply to get rid of my lethargy. So I strode up to my office cafeteria on the third floor. “Prakash, half cup coffee” I yell. Prakash finds this request really amusing, as usual. “Half cup mam?” he usually responds, how joking, half pandering to a cantankerous request. To be fair to him, it is a rather stupid request. The coffee cups are actually those tiny white ceramic cups that have been especially designed for the coffee guzzlers of South India. To prevent them from dying of a caffeine overdose, have coffee but at a controlled pace, is the mantra. How the hell does one make half a cup of coffee in that tiny mug? But that’s a feat best left to Prakasha’s measurement skills. “Yes Prakash, half a cup”. Here is when Prakash’s sadist side really shows up, but then, this is just my perspective, all guys are bullies, but they would rather call it charm. So Prakash, drops in a dash of milk after the coffee decoction he keeps in a flask, “is that enough mam?, “a bit more Prakash”, “OK mam?”, “a little more … ok stop, I don’t think I can have all of that”, and Prakash shakes his head in amusement.
I take my cup and head out on to the terrace. “No ways am I planting my rear on any of those chairs”, I say to my colleague, “have been sitting at my desk all day, I need a breath of fresh air.” That’s when the cool breeze of 5.00 p.m , brushes up to me, tussles my hair, caresses my cheeks. The sun is down on the horizon; I look at the neighbor’s mango tree nearby, in full bloom, and packed with tiny mangoes just emerging from the flowers. I hope we are able to rob some when those mangoes become big. The pomegranate tree is also full of tiny fruit, the green around is soothing, the breeze is calming, the wide open expanse of space that spreads out in front of our third floor terrace. Ah, how it revives my drooping spirit!