I turn my face to the sky. Gentle drops brush my skin. Lightening cuts to the ground, a temper tantrum. Rain: intent, pelting, insistent, driven falls like a sheet of steel. I draw the raincoat closer, all resistance futile, drenched in no time.
Another rain: bai’s shanty, mostly mud, tin and stone, has caved in. She runs around trying to find the money, knowing that she hasn’t what it’d take to build strong, 1.5 lacs. She knows and I know what she’s putting together is flimsy, temporary, just about there, but it’ll have to do. Like a lot of things, patchwork.
The city is a mess. Already. BMC, MMRDA officials should be made to stand on the expressway in a downpour, swirling water rising waist high. A first witness check on the so-called disaster management. My first and last crib on this issue.