Monday, 25 May 2009

It's raining dogs, and cat

The rain makes me want to fly
Like a… pig under the cloudy sky.

(Pardon me, I was never poetic and this good weather hasn’t done anything good to my prosaic mind either.)

The rain has always brought romanticism to people. They all want to fling their arms and legs like performing some sort of a dervish bhangra, and drench themselves in the deluge. They don’t bother about their umbrellas or whether it’s doing some odd gymnastics. They just let go, waggling their hands from the umbrella if possible, to feel the pitter-patter. Amongst all these happy nature loving fellows I see this thin, shrunken being walking on the road, royally angry with the cheekiness of the umbrella to get upturned when it’s hammering on all sides. Not a sense of romanticism, this fellow. Has got all the potentials to be a dreary school principal in future, one who wears oversized dull grey skirts with excessively white and flat shoes. While some look at the sky to see the rain, she grumbles that it will wash off her contact lens and she’ll have to return home semi-blind. With a mere minus 3.75 myopic power she shouldn’t complain of being an owl in daytime but then that’s her way of amplifying situations, to finally engulf herself in self pity. She is someone I watch in delight. You can’t have a more comical spectacle on the road when it rains. She looks pathetically funny, all of less than forty kilograms, with her bones jutting out from all the odd places, and her lack of adequate adipose making her seemingly look like a newly shred shrunken and drenched chicken. I have seen her once fall down on the pavement as it was raining. I couldn’t hear but I can imagine she grumbled all the way back home. While little girls jump in glee in the puddles she worries more about the water that has got into her shoes and what infection it can spread. A girl can’t be more repulsive I must say. When all the girls in the road are drenched they make an adorable sight, but if you can see this fellow I am talking about, you’ll laugh out loud for she has an attitude of a sixty year old haggard, and spoils the scene altogether with her lousiness. She might pretend to like the rain for a while if she has company, but within minutes she’ll shed the charade and resume sulking, which she is really great at when it rains. Beware of such company, for they spoil the romance that surrounds you during monsoon. But if you are looking for a free circus with sulky tantrums thrown in, such a person is a delight.


Anonymous said...

That shrunken sulking girl is you right?

olive oyl said...

i didnt want to mention it right away lest my groom-catchment area shrinks. ;)

Anandi said...

Was this meant to be funny??

Even if it wasn't I think I saw some humor in it.

And I loved your reply to The Quotidian's comment!

olive oyl said...

this shouldn't be funny for me, as the girl i was talking about in the post is no one but me :(

sourya said...

seems i need to look out for pigs on the wing

olive oyl said...

yeah have fun :| i ventured out yesterday in the storm and got back sulking as the umbrella was upturned and i was almost being blown away. :|

Anonymous said...

A nice read my friend...
I also kind of cherish the two minute glory and pleasure of being drenched but after awhile when the wind blows and my teeth titters like anything and the mud and dirt enters my shoes...then I realise how much I hate it(it's always a pleasure to watch it from your balcony...but not when you are victimised by this ugly and squalid season)

olive oyl said...

i like the season and dont harbour any active hatred against it. :) at times even i like getting drenched :D

I am. said...

i have always loved pigs on wings
what does that make me?

olive oyl said...

that makes you a retard, similar to my condition.

Anonymous said...

@ olive--yes at those times when rain shower first hits the ground...

but the continued rainfall which sometimes happens for more than a week disgusts me like anything

Anonymous said...

yeah. eaten by futile pity :P

Lost within myself said...

it was a nice read. you indeed are heavily influenced. but all I can say, not everybody likes rain just as much as those little girls :-)
So you have company :-)

Tathagata Ghosh said...

liked ur blog...& ur holistic approach...

olive oyl said...

uho. thanks :P

Anonymous said...

You write very well :)

olive oyl said...

thank you anonymous, who be thee? :|

Anonymous said...

Tish is who I am. :)
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.

I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,

And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,--
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.

olive oyl said...

Alright Shelley reincarnated, you be the cloud, you be the maubaad for all i care. but it's interesting to have you here ;)

though i guess i know you :p

Anonymous said...

Amar identity disclosed? :o
oh crap!
kintu ami toh manjulika.amay toh keu marte dhorte paarbe na. hahahaha(evil grin). :)

olive oyl said...

haa tui toh neche berabi aar kyablamo kore jabi. bekar item :p

Anonymous said...

ami bekaar item na. :|
ami lokeder kheye ni. :|
tor shahosh dekhe besh odbhuth laaglo. :O
ebar toh ami toke changdola kore tule gonga te fele debo. tokhon kaacha kaacha maach kheye din kaatash. :|
Hahahahahahaha. :P

olive oyl said...

ah ganga. eto moyla jome je ami dube jabo na.
but i like ganga'r dhar.
khub romantic.
amake line marchish manjulika?

Anonymous said...

ebaba.Ami toke aabar line keno maarbo. :O
tui toh maansuh.
jokhon tui morey jaabi,noroke 'Manjulika's cottage' bole ek jaygay chhole aashis.Sekhane amara candlelight dinner khabo. (maanush er mangsho). :|
aar fair nd lovely cream ta aanish saathe.Ami dark nd ugly. :(