The Jet Airways flight from Bangalore to Mumbai has landed five minutes before the arrival time printed on my ticket. The head of the cabin crew is most excited about this accomplishment, and makes sure we know. The grey-haired gentleman to my left comments, “Okay, this probably means that the luggage is going to get delayed. This early arrival thing is always a jinx.” I do not have much to offer by way of a response, so I smile politely.
The guy to my right is still busy with a book that he has been viewing/reading since the last two hours. It has pictures of male and female nudes, with minimal text, and the viewer/reader has been moving his fingers up and down the pages. It is an amusing sight, and mildly arousing too. I consider initiating a conversation but decide against it. The voyeuristic pleasure gets boring after a while.
As I am about to disembark, a cute flight attendant says, “Thank you for flying with us.” Well, I too am thankful. I always am when I get a seat close to the emergency exit because extra leg space is the best gift you can get mid-air. Okay, there could be other things but let’s not get there.
Peeping away at the racy pictures your fellow passenger is looking at - still more fun than in-flight entertainment
It's such a relief to not have a dictatorial art teacher decide whether the mountains on my page should be brown, purple or yellow
Walking out of the airport, I meet Mumbai in her full glory. The weather is gorgeous at this time of the year, especially if you have the luxury to stay indoors and relish a hot snack seated by the window. Getting drenched can be great fun too but not when you’re caught unawares on your way to a meeting.
I manage to get past the cab drivers, and find an auto rickshaw willing to take me home. It’s a bit of a long ride since the rain has worsened the traffic situation, so I find refuge in a song, and then another, and so on. I try to sing softly so that the driver does not get distracted. Sometimes, I wonder how much of this romance of the rain is thanks to Bollywood, and how much because of the weather.
The dreaminess vanishes when I walk up the stairs to reach my flat on the fourth floor. There is water all over. I have to be cautious at every step since I am in no mood for a fall. The entire building smells like it has been attacked by mould. I am a bit worried about my books. It’s one of those times when I wonder why I hoard so much. It might be a better idea to give away these books to friends and acquaintances, or donate them to a library, than watch them die slowly because of the dampness.
Old habits tend to persist for a bit, so I ended up buying one more book last week — ‘Secret Garden’ by Johanna Basford. This is not one that’s meant to be read though. It’s an adult colouring book. Oh come on, there’s nothing naughty about this. It is just a colouring book for adults, many of whom use it as a stress-buster. I, for one, love colours. And it’s such a relief to not have a dictatorial art teacher decide whether the mountains on my page should be brown, purple or yellow.
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based writer. That he shares his last name with a Prime Minister is purely a matter of coincidence. He tweets at @chintan_connect
