Have the big rain
When we lived in Thailand, our driver who was a giant of a man,; gentle when sober but who would return from the weekends with black eyes and reeking of alcohol, did not speak much English. Every time there was a downpour, he would trot out one of his best sentences: "have the big rain", a remark which has entered into our family phrase book.
Returning to India from a holiday in Europe during which we experienced the coldest July day recorded in Hungary since records began and the hottest day in London this summer, we are now in the full throes of the monsoon.
My first thought is how on earth did Jamie and I persuade ourselves that backpacking around India during the monsoon was a good thing to do. In the hot season, the sun was burning but the skies were blue and it cooled down a little in the evenings. Now, you break a sweat just putting your head around the door. The trip from the house to the car is a death trap as you skate your way over the flooded marble (no drain) which has suddenly turned into the Delhi equivalent of the Somerset House ice rink.
The brooding clouds grow in intensity and the oppressive humidity rises accordingly until at last, it is nearly dark and then someone upstairs lets out the plug and the water pours down . It cascades onto the rooves and through the rooves; flooding our study; flooding our staircase and flooding the upstairs living room. Every day there is a new patch of mold, a new pool of water. Every day, the laundry smells of damp because it is not quite dry. With each downpour, the internet disconnects and the oven and cooker start conducting current and giving their users nasty electric shocks. The water tanks are filling with debris and the water is coming out yellow we now have yellow towels, sheets and bedding.
What this means in practical terms is that the army of useless labourers is back. Yesterday, six men perched under the house overhang as the rain apparently prevented them from doing anything. Only the plumber appears to have been active. Somehow, he managed to turn the water supply off and forget to turn it on again so we were without water today. Other than the rain that is.
Have the Big Rain.
Returning to India from a holiday in Europe during which we experienced the coldest July day recorded in Hungary since records began and the hottest day in London this summer, we are now in the full throes of the monsoon.
My first thought is how on earth did Jamie and I persuade ourselves that backpacking around India during the monsoon was a good thing to do. In the hot season, the sun was burning but the skies were blue and it cooled down a little in the evenings. Now, you break a sweat just putting your head around the door. The trip from the house to the car is a death trap as you skate your way over the flooded marble (no drain) which has suddenly turned into the Delhi equivalent of the Somerset House ice rink.
The brooding clouds grow in intensity and the oppressive humidity rises accordingly until at last, it is nearly dark and then someone upstairs lets out the plug and the water pours down . It cascades onto the rooves and through the rooves; flooding our study; flooding our staircase and flooding the upstairs living room. Every day there is a new patch of mold, a new pool of water. Every day, the laundry smells of damp because it is not quite dry. With each downpour, the internet disconnects and the oven and cooker start conducting current and giving their users nasty electric shocks. The water tanks are filling with debris and the water is coming out yellow we now have yellow towels, sheets and bedding.
What this means in practical terms is that the army of useless labourers is back. Yesterday, six men perched under the house overhang as the rain apparently prevented them from doing anything. Only the plumber appears to have been active. Somehow, he managed to turn the water supply off and forget to turn it on again so we were without water today. Other than the rain that is.
Have the Big Rain.
posted by The Heywoods at 8:19 am
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