In the dusk of May, before the dusk of day, as the afternoon sun beats down upon the earth like vengeance and as hot humid winds feel like warm, viscous liquid currents upon one's skin, there is only one sight for sore eyes: the light dims, and winds intensify as black forms stretched above crawl noiselessly across the smooth sky on invisible legs and one sees it. On a bicycle, on a road, the eyes lose focus, for just a second to be able to see a drop of something fall from out of the sky and the body exhales as one a gigantic sigh of relief -- a summer rain. There are few things more virtuous found on earth than falling water on a summer day.

The drops now get more frequent. Spots form on the thighs of trousers while legs trudge away mustering all their strength to accelerate. There is a sudden burst of life on the streets. Everyone wants the rain. No one wants to get wet. Legs swish away, handlebars are rotated further back... the one word to describe the whole canvas of life -- acceleration... and struggle; struggle against nature itself, to achieve a sense of victory over its minions at work. Some nearby where they need to be, some just started out; distances of all sizes are to be covered. Those nearby thank their stars, those not think such things always happen to them and continue their journey feeling sorry for themselves, sometimes guiltily. Thousands of thoughts suddenly change speed and direction -- acceleration.

Defiance, however, is something best exploited in the heat of the moment. Sooner or later rationale catches up and realizes that it's time to find shelter and as human and machine huddle anywhere there is shelter; trees, building foyers, shops, eyes again look to the streets and find cars still swishing past, sometimes a little water thrown off the roads at the huddles, and again self pity rears its head, this time however, conscience not making as much of an attempt to stop it. It is obvious therefore that being in the midst of these huddles is not the best place to be at such a time.

I have often wondered and asked, what is the best place to be stuck in a rain. Many tend to say, home; so that they can snuggle into their blankets with L Subramaniam, Jagjit Singh, Alanis Morissette or even Tchaikovsky floating through their ears. Maybe. But not for me. I found that place. A tea stall. Not a big one mind you, one of those small places completely open on one side, corrugated tin or asbetos roof, maybe even with a couple of holes and rust, wooden benches and tables and a typical chaiwaala glass possibly with a special double chai and a radio concealed somewhere, old from wear and use, playing a slightly distorted old hindi film tune. Life doesn't
get more relaxed; beyond the daily pressures of standing up to society's scrutiny of being a well mannered, well spoken, decent human being, confirmed by an expletive every now then flying through the air, sometimes even from a group of well dressed respectable looking people. The only constraint on humans here is their own conscience... and seeing a place like this function re-affirms one's faith in humankind; that there is some virtue that can be salvaged from what seems to be a fast degenrating world, that people like the ones who sit before me now exist, and that moments like these exist when the petty troubles of daily life are put on hold to enjoy a cup of tea and smile a little. From acceleration ... to revisiting a dying faith in humanity. All during a summer rain....