Tag: Rain

When Engineers Attempt Roofs

The Kind of Engineer Who

“I shall put up some tarpaulin on the roof, and this will stem the water flow from the rains till we find someone to fix it.” the husband declared. 

We had a leaking roof.

You know – how in the novels they tell you that you must show what happened, not tell you? I’ll just tell you and you will see. I slipped on the water pooled by the bucket by my feet. The rains were in and out of the house. Literally. There was a steady drip that was meant to drip into the bucket, but had managed to splatter outside the bucket. When the man announced his intentions of putting up the tarpaulin on the roof, I was attempting to clean the mess on the floor, and slipped. I barely managed to take hold of the stairs, thus saving myself from breaking my own neck. I might possibly have also saved my teeth from shattering. I count them all as wins.

Marriage makes you robust. 

Now. We have many talents in the house, but fixing leaking roofs, plumbing, electrical wiring, aren’t even remotely in the vicinity of talents we boast about. In fact, we barely manage to put up an assortment of holiday lights every year. But still, the husband has this undeniable faith in his capabilities on all these fronts. With a smile, he embarks – a few dashes to the hardware store, a few YouTube videos, and a hearty dose of laughter infused with optimism, and you will find the man attempting to do everything. 

One of our neighbors is retired and likes tinkering. He asked us what the husband was doing on the roof with a mild look of concern on his face. “Is he an engineer?” 

“Err…Software Engineer.” I said. To which the husband piped up from the roof, “Though many years ago, I also studied Electronics and Communications Engineering!” 

The neighbor still looked concerned. “So, not a mechanical or civil engineer then!” he asked. Sometimes, society is too polite. What he meant to say is, “So you are the kind of engineer who calls a mechanic or electrician to actually fix things, right?” 

Several neighbors came through the course of the day with concerned looks on their faces. Some laced it with humor, others with alarm. It was an illuminating experience.

The Benevolent Roofer

The man in question, though was undeterred by public opinion – he sat there on the roof, polished off a whole thermos of steaming noodles like he was on a picnic, and waved to the people below. ‘Benevolent Roofer’ is the phrase that comes to mind. Folks on walks waved back. Dogs woofed. Cats meowed. Squirrels scampered. Butterflies flitted. 

He then went on to spend 3 painstaking hours placing tarpaulin on the leaking section in hopes to stem the steady leak from the rains. We clambered up and down the ladder giving him a tile or two at a time to place on the tarp. ‘They are heavy!’ he panted, and I sweetly refrained from mentioning that they were actually only as heavy as the weights in our living room – the weights he’d bought to do weight training 5 years ago. I picked the weights up everyday to clean under them, but he never did. 

The rains came that night. The tarpaulin held on the roof – meaning it did not fly away. But it somehow managed to find a way to pool more water into the weak spots. The next day, we found that where we had 1 leak before, now we had 3. 

But like the children said to me when I said it will all make for a hilarious blog post, “Amma! Now remember! He is allowed to say he made it worse, you are not!” 

Fascinating

We caved in with the leaking roof, and had a pair of competent roofers come and fix the roof. 

It was fascinating to watch them. It had taken the whole afternoon for the husband and his support crew to place the tarp on the roof. He called several friends who all gave varying levels of moral support, advice and company via cellphone throughout the day. The man had the look of an astronaut in touch with his NASA team in Houston the whole time. 

The roofers, on the other hand. They came. No fuss, no jibber-jabber: the pair of them removed all the offending tiles, replaced the leaking area and put new tiles on them in far less time. 

What’s worse? 

One stood in our garden and threw 7 tiles at a time, and they were all deftly caught by the man on the roof. 

It took us a few minutes to stop gaping at the scene. 

Never mind

That evening we stepped out. The sun was shining. The leaking roof had no husbands on it. The house inside had no buckets to catch the leak from the leaking roofs. The birds were chirping, the leaves were all showing off that they were as good as their east-coast-fall-color relatives. It was all marvelous.  

“You know? I still liked that I tried to put the tarp on the roof!” he said looking far too pleased with himself. 

“I quite like having my husband firmly rooted on the earth instead of on rooftops.” I said diplomatically.

The husband went back to his code, and the roofers went to their van. 

All was well.

Anticipation, Joy and a Surprise!

Is it raining yet?

I could barely sit still. Excited. Like a puppy waiting for a run around the park. Every few minutes, I found myself peeking out at the skies, and wondering whether the predictions were true. You see? We had been promised rain. The skies however did not seem to realize that our weather apps had predicted a 95% chance of rain. I genuinely do not know how they do this, but many times if it is a 30% chance of rain, the clouds may bother rolling in to salute the weather gods, but don’t want to go through the trouble of pulling on their grey robes, and just flit away.

This time they did not even bother rolling in. 95% chance of rain. It has to come – dance, spring, skip to the window. Nothing yet.
Sunny skies. D,s,s. Nothing.
A little breeze. Nothing.

When people tell you to keep your child-like outlook in life, I don’t think they realize how much disappointment goes with that. “We’ll go for a walk!”
When?

“Ice-cream?”
“Later. Once I’m done with work.”
“Done? Still? Not yet?”

It really requires enormous amounts of resilience. I salute you children – I really do. So, I peered out, sipped tea, and peered out some more. Nothing. So, I decided that the best thing to do was to be apathetic. Act like I didn’t care. Because I don’t. I mean, if it rains, I am sure, I’ll come to know.

Just as I thought the meteorologists really had messed it up this time, the rains started. I didn’t notice the dramatic shifting of the skies. The thunderous clouds rolling in. Like an efficient theatrical crew, the whole thing happened in minutes.

Then, the show started. 

Oh! Was it good? It was amazing! I sat on my patio dancing away from the lashing rains, enjoying the sound of the water pouring down – beating against the broad leafed plants, and dripping down the pine needles. I watched the roses get drenched – rose petals with fat water droplets on them have to be one of my favorite things.

The son was equally thrilled to go to school that day. The biggest highlight was that his cross country runs would not be cancelled for something as trivial as rain, and he wanted to run in the pouring rain. I tried to make noises a responsible mother ought to make, but found myself excited for him. How can one not be excited about running in the rain with your friends?

I set off for a walk with an umbrella in hand, listening to the soothing sounds of the pouring rain, and getting a thorough drenching from all sides except the top where the umbrella tried its best. A friend of mine stopped her car to chide me, but refrained because I looked ‘far too happy to be scolded‘.

Plop! Plop! Plop! Surprise!

Later that evening, the son and I had both dried off and looked very pleased with ourselves with our little rainy day adventures. That was when I noticed. The roof in our house. The same one that leaked and had been repaired last year (but was never quite stress tested afterward) was not fixed. The pouring rains meant we had a puddle on the floor, and I found a little of my soaring spirit subsided somewhat.

But so what?

The first real rains of the season were well worth it! The sunset the day after was even better. So there! Happy rainy season fellow beings. May the Earth make a pluviophile of us all!

Rainy Day Reminiscences

Rainy Day Song

I had been for a school reunion a couple of months ago to the Nilgiri Hills. While waiting for another event to start, we found ourselves in a position of waiting. The traffic snarls to and from the school meant going back to our hotel rooms for a much needed rest was out of the question. Instead, this became an afternoon I can look back upon with fondness.

It was Raining. Yes – that was a capital R. Actually, it was Pouring. The kind of rains that made our child selves sing the silly rhyme:

It’s raining,

It’s pouring,

The old man is snoring.

He raised his head, and bumped his head, and couldn’t get up in the morning!

Hey Puddle Puddle!

While we were waiting  for the rains to stop, we were watching the parents and students, past and present, mill around. It was then, that a child, not more than 10-11 years old, strolled past kicking a stone into a puddle as he went. The water from the puddle splashed onto his overlong pants, and this juvenile act brought a smile to my face. The little fellow was probably going to be miserable later with the water dripping into his socks. But then, what is a little misery when you got to see the satisfying plop of a stone land in a puddle? He had a blissfully happy moment and couldn’t hide it. His smile brightened, and the future footballer had a glimmer of hope  as he saw his future scoring a satisfying goal.  He had launched the stone smoothly with his polished shoes, and it had landed exactly where he intended it to.

I looked around and exchanged a look with my friends and siblings with whom I was whiling away the time, and we burst out laughing after the briefest of pauses. The luxury of being happily stuck, without having anywhere else you would rather be, was in itself a blessing. But this little juvenile act sealed the beauty of the moment. 

All things wet and beautiful!

It launched us on several fun conversation threads. Rain, and the love for it, pluviophilia (a lover of rain is called a pluviophile), may have originated for us in the Nilgiris, but it followed us around the globe. I smiled thinking of the children’s books we used to read most often: A Rainy Day Adventure, Spot goes Splash, and so many more rain related adventures. I thought of the simple games of riding through a puddle, and how it has morphed into a drive through a puddle in recent years. Always a splash with the kids. Because they expect maturity when presented with a puddle the size of a pond, an empty footpath, and a car? PFFT.

All of us had rainy day stories and memories, and the afternoon was spent most pleasurably.

The little fellow,  bless him, may never know the mirth and joy he brought to a bunch of middle aged folks that afternoon, but such is life. We never know the light we spread just by being happy. 

Knights of Rain

“Don’t you feel like a Knight of Rain?” I said. The words must have sounded somewhat garbled for the rains were lashing, the winds were whipping, and the trees were swaying somewhat alarmingly.

The husband shouted out a response lost to the elements. It sounded like ‘WHAT?!”

“I moved so I could use the wind’s direction to my advantage. “I said, don’t you feel like a Knight of the Rain?”

He lifted his umbrella momentarily to give me a withering look. A mistake. For the winds elegantly made an upside down lotus of the black umbrella he was holding, and he danced to right it again. I saw a neat few buckets of water making use of the interlude to rain its droplets all over him. 

I smiled. “Using our umbrellas as shields, we make our brave foray into the wild world frenzied up by the elements.”

I heard some grunting and tutting, but nothing more.

This year, the rains have been particularly sparse. Yesterday was only the second day of proper rainfall, and I’d yearned for it. Obviously not wanting to miss the fun, I dragged the husband along for a short stroll – in my defense it was not as bad when we started out. There were no warriors required then – merely prancers. Every little raindrop whispering its presence out to the world craving for its sound.

I’ve always loved the piece by YiruMa with the sound of the rain in the background.It feels like the magic was music was just waiting for that sound to make the transition from beautiful to sublime.

If They Could Do It, So Could We

🌲🌳🌴🎋 I peeked out from the umbrella at the branches of the pine trees and willow trees swaying and dancing in the rain, I felt the joy building up inside me – if they could do it, so could we! 

🦅🐿️🐦‍⬛🦢I heard the sound of the winds and the rains against our flimsy shields of cloth, and marveled at the wood ducks enjoying themselves in the waters. When the rains stopped, they took just shook themselves off, with a little dance, didn’t they? If they could do it, so could we!

🐳🐟🪼I felt the trickle of chill water droplets that managed to shimmy past my umbrella’s shield and my jacket’s hood to slide down my neck, and gurgled a bit. I peered out. Were we lost – where were we? If the lost fish could find their way to the streams, and the streams to the rivers, and the rivers to the mighty ocean, so could we!

Who needs raincoats when there are rain quotes?

When finally the pair of us stepped into the home, one euphoric, and the other helpless. “Wasn’t that the most marvelous walk in a long time?”  collided with “Only an idiot would step out in this weather.”. It was like watching hydrogen peroxide mix with yeast and water. The laughter shaking out of our systems with the rain droplets. 

“I need a change of clothes before heading out now.” he grumbled but I caught a smile, as he shook his head and said, “A walk in the rain!”

Who needs raincoats when one is busy looking for rain quotes?

“Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.”

– Roger Miller

Nyctinasty Flowers’ Lessons

I could barely stay indoors. You see? The day had started off with a mild drizzle. After what felt like months of sunshine, a little bit of moisture felt amazing. I stood outside peering up at the clouds – in itself a rarity now given how parched things get during Californian summers in the Bay Area. Even with summer flowers blooming and vegetable gardens flourishing, I yearn for the simple pleasures of marvelous sunsets, clouds, a pattering of rain, some breeze.

That is perhaps one of the things I miss most about the Nilgiris – the western ghats in South India where the rain drops and eucalytpus provided the backdrop for magic and mysticism. The rains, the clouds, the winds – how in one day you can experience so many different climes and you have to be prepared for it all, and still go about your day.

Nature is Transformative

That evening I said, “Well – come on then! “  hustling everyone out to see the glorious sunset. The clouds had scattered during the course of the day, but there were enough of them still there –  enough to provide crepuscular glory with the rays of the setting sun. Some clouds looked like an artists reluctant brush stroke jostling right alongside the weightier ones. How every evening a different painting is rolled out to us continues to be a source of wonder.

img_3068

Art is transformative – so is nature.

It transforms ordinary days into extraordinary ones.

It assures you that normal is numinous.

Nyctinasty flowers

That evening, I took in the deer grazing near the river banks, the rising full-moon swollen, resplendent and beautiful against the setting sun orangish-red and bright. I don’t have to be a naturalist to know that the birds felt it, the deer felt it, the frisky fox felt it, the fish in the river felt it, the  flowers felt it. I stopped to admire everything – especially those that are classified as nyctinasty flowers :nyctinasty flowers like the evening primroses or gardenias  close up for the night. They show you the importance of closing and resting in order to bloom and spready one’s beauty for the next day.

If ever there is an appointment to keep, it is with nature in those moments in the golden hour when all the world is settling in for a quieter pace.

img_3069

Embracing Summer: From Scorcher to Serenity

Hot , Hotter,  Hotter Still …

One hot summer’s day, I tried turning on all the car’s air conditioning vents towards myself. It was no use. The sweltering heat was unrelenting. I sipped some water from the water-bottle I’d left in the car a couple of hours earlier, and it felt like very bland tea – warm, but still better than nothing. This is going to be the reality – I thought to myself miserably as I heard the climate doomsday sayers in my head. Every progressive summer heads towards hotter and hotter temperatures. 

Even the phone seemed to be prickly and finicky with the heat – sporadically dropping and picking up the CarPlay. That’s when I noticed the car’s options for nature sounds. I picked Rainy Day – yearnings for a wonderful rainy day even if the drops of water would evaporate the moment they hit the earth that parched day. 

I didn’t expect to feel much – but I was mistaken. We do not really give each of our senses its due in how it makes us feel. My ears pricked up at the sounds of the rain even as the car itself was dry as brush. Maybe it was the effect of the air conditioning kicking in, but everything felt suddenly cooler. I fumbled for my cooling glasses again – I could not wear them because they were too hot earlier, but that made a difference too. 

raindrops

It was miraculous, the transformation from parched to a feeling of summertime abundance. Life felt sweeter. 

SummerTime Sweetness

Watching the flowers sag on the trees, 

Even as the fruit trees are breaking off with the weight of their fruit,

The joy of filling your home with fresh fruits and vegetables from a summer bounty. 

Having friends to share all of this with 

Nurturing the garden 

Watching with amazement as butterflies and bees flit happily.

Indulging in summer activities

Reading great books, 

Having wonderful fellow readers to discuss them with.

The joy of grocery shopping that includes ice cream 🙂 

The abundance of books from the local library 

The night-time adventures with every protagonist and idea sharer

Those are the joys of summertime abundances.

summer-COLLAGE

If listening to rain sounds in the car when the weather outside is blistering can bring out all of the above, we are blessed indeed. What are your summertime sweetness feelings?

“The world smells of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside” – Maud Hart Lovelace on Summer

Raindrops on Roses

The tasks of the day done, I plonked myself on the window ledge, hoping to catch a glimpse of the waning moon before heading to bed. The nights in a waning moon cycle seem to hold a twinge of disappointment – the moon rises later and later. It is like the beautiful moon  is teasing us to forget its luminous glow before it starts up again, gaining in hope and luminosity as the waxing cycle kicks off.

I peered out of the window into the dark driveway outside and let out a gasp. It had been raining, or drizzling, and I was completely unaware. Oh!

Earlier that evening, the son and I had gone out for a stroll, hopefully clutching our umbrellas, and peering at the clouds overhead, but nothing happened. By the time we headed back the clouds had started parting, and we didn’t think anymore of it.

But now, sitting on the wooden ledge, I felt a pang. I have mentioned californian summers before – bursting with wildflowers, brown hills, aside, they also tend to linger on. By the time October rolls around, there is a distinct shabbiness to the summer looks – the flowers have dried out or faded on their stems, the hills have gone from a golden hue to a dull brown. All in all, there is a yearning for cooler days. 

I sat and watched the quiet wet scene for a few minutes longer. It felt good to do nothing for a few moments after a long day of doing. Sometimes, I feel Mary Oliver’s three selves (The child, the doer and the dreamer) are constantly being overshadowed by the doer.

upstream

The child only peeks out occasionally, and when it does, it is always joyful, hopeful and wondrous. The promise of a new day, the beauty of a flower, the cool air after the rain and so on. The dreamer and the child self seem to get along quite well – one encouraging the other, teasing and prodding along the way. 

https://www.themarginalian.org/2016/10/12/mary-oliver-upstream-creativity-power-time/

This quiet contemplation at midnight was so refreshing, I had no desire to head to bed even though the adult self knew I must. The doer beckoned the next day.

The next morning as we stepped out into the fresh rain-covered morning, the son and I sniffed the cold air. We stopped to peer into a rose still wet from the rains of the previous day. A moment of peace nudged its way into the usually harried rush to school, and we looked up together smiling at the same time.

raindrops_on_roses

‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’

  • Mary Oliver

The Storms of Vincent

Regular readers know that I am a pluviophile (one who loves the rain). On my recent visit to India, I was out walking around the apartment complex our family lived in one night, and found myself caught in the most brilliant and relentless rain they’d had in months apparently. 

I was delighted. 

rain

I was on a late night phone call to the family back in the US, and I rushed to the building in the center taking refuge there and looking stupendously happy for someone who had no idea how to get back home in the rain, or if the door would be open for me when I did get back. None of that mattered just then. Living in the present and all that. I poked my tongue out to catch a few raindrops.

“Hello!” said a neighbor, and I gulped feeling foolish. She smiled and I smiled back sheepishly, hoping she hadn’t seen. 

“I don’t think this is going to stop just yet. I am just going to run for it. “ she said and gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and plopped off through the rain. 

I stood transfixed by the pouring sheets of rain. It would have definitely been classified as ‘a storm’ in California.  Lightning lit up the skies, and thunder rumbled. It was beautiful.

I don’t know how long I stood there gawking like that, but soon I realized that the downpour was not stopping any time soon, And it was close to midnight. Unless I wanted to spend the whole night outside, I would have to run through the rain. So I did. I splashed into the house – luckily the daughter was still awake, chatting with her friends on the phone and she opened the door. She gave me a disapproving cluck and said “Oh my gosh – let me get you a towel.”

As I watched the rain pour itself out, the little rivulets of water sliding down the building walls, and the flashes of lightning illuminating the cityscape every now and then, I found I could not sleep and picked up the Vincent and Theo book by my bedside, and flipped to the part where Vincent likes painting storms.

vincent_theo

Excerpt:

It’s been stormy and stormily beautiful to Vincent in Scheveningen lately, and into the squalls he goes. He is just starting to paint with oil and is not used to them yet, but he takes oil paints into the storm to paint the beach, the waves crashing one after the other, the wind blowing, the sea the color of dirty dishwater. He makes one of his first oil paintings, View of the Sea at Scheveningen, with a fishing boat and several figures on the beach. The wind is fierce, kicking up the sand. Sand sticks to the thick, wet paint.

Vincent loves capturing the turbulence of a storm. “There’s something infinite about painting”, he tells his brother. “I can’t quite explain – but especially for expressing a mood, it’s a joy.”

A few days later, on a quieter day, he sketches the beach. Sending the sketch to Theo, he describes a “Blond, soft effect and in the woods a more somber, serious mood. I’m glad that both of these exist in life.”

Wild and somber. Room for both. Room for all.

https://ontrafel.vangogh.nl/en/story/167/traces-of-a-nasty-little-storm

Please check out the View of the Sea painting and further details here

Screenshot 2023-09-25 at 2.35.11 PM

Vincent’s life was a stormy one too. He was not an easy person to live with and this caused many rows with his family, though he was intensely dedicated to all of them: his parents, siblings (especially Theo), uncles etc.

I looked out of the window again. We all live through the storms in our lives. But, the good thing is that no storm lasts forever. Not all living beings would have the luxury of drifting off to sleep like that, and that made me very grateful for a warm bed and dry clothes.

“There is peace even in the storm”

― Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh

raindrops

🐶🐾🐕 Spot Goes Splash! 🐶🐾🐕

“Don’t even think about it!” I said almost casually. I had the son in my peripheral vision as I took in the gorgeous sunset, played (s)word volley with the daughter, and screwed up my face at the husbands unnecessarily loud enjoyment at the latest the daughter had said. 

“Oh my gosh! Did you see that? She totally knew what he was going to do!” The daughter laughed half-admiring, half-worried.

“Like it’s a big surprise. Sprinklers going off and spraying cold water on the lawns, and your brother loping towards it as if without a conscious thought?! Right.” I drawled.

“I mean – look at him, I bet he’s still going to try.”, she said and I laughed. 

The subject in question, meanwhile, was wracked between playing the rebel and getting himself wet or making a joke and having a comfortable walk the rest of the way. It was a lovely summer evening – this close to the summer solstice, everything is a joy and the daughter agreeing on coming for a walk clinched the evening. So there we were.

“How’d you know he was going to try and run into the sprinklers?”, she pressed.

“Well – I raised you, remember? “ Then, looking at the husband, I shuddered a bit and said “Remember that New York trip? What was that book we’d read to her? Spotty loves the rain? Or Spot like to go Splashing? Spot Goes Splash! That’s the one.

spot

“A book about a little pup that loves to splash about in rain puddles. It rained for the entire duration we were in New York that visit and you were two years old! You thought you were too big to sit in a stroller, and we knew you were too heavy to carry around. Still – I had only 1 pair of shoes for you. Appa carried you on his shoulders almost the whole time to save us all the trouble. His shoulders have never been the same!” I said giving him a squeeze and a look that said, “My Hero!” 

spot_goes_splash

“Gosh! Now there are some parenting gaffes I’ll keep away from!” Said the daughter. She prides herself on being – well whatever teenagers who think they are better than their parents pride themselves on. 

The husband rolled his eyes and guffawed at this so loudly, that a pair of doves took flight squawking alarmingly. That got us all laughing, and he said, “Ha! Just for this – we’ll accompany you when you have your little ones and just stand around and laugh pointedly instead of helping.”

“I’ll write it all down so we remember to do that!” I said laughing helplessly as well.

Her brother, in the meanwhile, had opted for a compromise between running full-pelt into the water sprinklers and had splashed in the water puddles nearby instead and was trying to hide how uncomfortable wet sandals were. 

The summer solstice made for an elongated sunset and we took the time trying to see how a thread from the past could stretch into the present and be used in beautiful circle of life years later.

Spot Goes Splash!

The Fullness of a Bare Winter Scene

The past few weeks in California have been a pluviophile’s heaven. The atmospheric rivers bringing moisture to a state hardened by drought is very welcome.

I spent hours listening to the music of the rain, enjoying the gurgle of the water-butts, and the suction-like sound of the rain waters receding into the drains. We made paper boats and watched them gently sway along with the waters, we released driftwood stuck near drains, we empathized with fauna and realized what fragile creatures we are. These are the images of a happy childhood, and they warmed my soul as I shared these pleasures with the son.

rainriver

Out on a walk in the pouring rain one day, I felt at peace with the Earth around me. There were scarcely any humans about, and this in itself was refreshing. Without the banter of words, the language of Earth was so soothing. 

The river near our home has a name that invites teasing given the amount of water that usually flows in there. It is called the Niles river.

When one nears its banks, there is a sign warning folks against swimming, diving and fishing in the river. Only for almost the entire time we have been acquainted with the river, it has hardly boasted a flow enough to sustain more than a few paddling ducks and geese. Mostly the deer graze inside the riverbed, and its bed is home to many creatures: foxes, raccoons, deer, cats, water rats, squirrels and of course a whole multitude of birds: geese, avocets, gulls, grebes, ducks, herons, egrets. The trees nearby are home to California bluejays, thrushes, blackbirds, woodpeckers, hawks, owls and turkey vultures. 

I love our gentle stream that calls itself a river. But the past few weeks thanks to an uncharacteristic atmospheric river that bears moisture into the dry state of California, it had swollen into a respectable river and I found myself standing and gazing longingly at the waters moving towards the bay. The ducks seem to be enjoying themselves getting in with the drifts and floating along swiftly and then flying back several feet just to be able to do it all over again.

The deer seemed to be having a tougher time of it all. They are the ones who enjoyed the river-bed the most, and the swollen waters meant that their natural feeding grounds were no longer available for them. That afternoon in the pouring rain, the deer were on the trail since the riverbed they usually take refuge in was filled with water, and my heart went out to them. Luckily for them, the trail that is usually filed with humans was near empty. Like the children say, not everyone is kook-enough to walk in this storm. Slowly, but purposefully, I gave them the space on the trail so they may go towards a patch of greens nearby. The pouring rains did not seem to bother the creatures as much as it bothered us humans. 

deer_in_rain

All this musing brought back into sharp focus what nitpicking creatures we are. We are scared to step out without umbrellas, raincoats, shoes and socks. We need our body temperatures just within this particular narrow range (97 F (36.1 C) and 99 F (37.2 C) ). We need our food prepared just so, and our lives orchestrated just so, and in spite of it all, have managed to create lives that are just so-so. (It has been so long since I used this term) 

The trees around us with their bare branches (abscission as shedding leaves is known) still remind us that the wintering season is not over. This is still the time to rejuvenate ourselves and trim down our commitments so we may sprout forth in glory during spring. But human beings seem to march to a different rhythm – a rhythm driven by financial earnings reports, calendars, the vague baying drum of stock market indices that demand more, a sadistic and almost schadenfeudic clamoring for layoffs, incessant profits etc. 

A month into the new year, the world has marched on from one grim news to another.

My mind harked back to the statue in Athens. The busy man statue in Athens, created by artist Costas Varotsos , it is a fitting statue for our times.

Screen Shot 2023-01-28 at 10.48.51 AM

Our lives have become more like the running man depicted in Athens. Despite all the world philosophers practically giving the secret to happy living away for free (Buddha, Plato, Socrates) , we manage to avoid the difficult work of being at peace with ourselves and choose the easy world of busy work(including yours truly).

A rain droplet trickled on to my nose. I came back to the fullness of a bare winter surrounding me and I took in a deep gasp of air to savor these moments. 

deer_trail