Rainy day thoughts

P. Aparajitha

Rain in Hyderabad has a strange rhythm. The first drops fall softly on tin roofs, followed by the smell of wet earth, then the tea stalls swell with customers.

But the sigh of relief offering respite from the heat, within minutes, turns into survival.

Streetlights blink out, manholes cough up dirty water, cars become islands, children get stranded in schools, shopkeepers struggle with shutters to save their stock, office-goers wade through knee-deep floods with shoes in hand, and in one unlucky living room, the sofa floats gently toward the television.

It feels less like a city and more like a set from a dystopian film, except this one has no director to call ‘cut'.