And so it rains...
It never rains, but it pours.
And pours and pours and never stops.
Black clouds gather in a gale, a capricious beeze whips up, and with worried looks being shot at the horizon, people start scurrying for cover. The sun hides its shining face and slowly as the breeze intensifies into a storm, the tiny sharp needles of rain begin to fall and soon the mud becomes damp and the water level rises slowly and slowly till it seeps into people's basements, floods the parks and make the roads unusable.
Traffic belches black smoke outwards, a hundred horns go pom, pom, pom. Windshield wipers swipe, left right, left right and lonely scooterists wheel their vehicles in calf-high water.
The rain intensifies. The sharp smell of mud rises in the air as myriad insects fight their way to the fluorescent lights in people's homes. But the lights are out, there is no power, and people stare, bored, at each other, waiting for the rain to stop.
But it doesn't. The water falls, and falls, and falls. And the roads lie, torn and destroyed underneath the onslaught. Bangalore, under the masquerade of big city-ness, is no Mumbai after all.
And pours and pours and never stops.
Black clouds gather in a gale, a capricious beeze whips up, and with worried looks being shot at the horizon, people start scurrying for cover. The sun hides its shining face and slowly as the breeze intensifies into a storm, the tiny sharp needles of rain begin to fall and soon the mud becomes damp and the water level rises slowly and slowly till it seeps into people's basements, floods the parks and make the roads unusable.
Traffic belches black smoke outwards, a hundred horns go pom, pom, pom. Windshield wipers swipe, left right, left right and lonely scooterists wheel their vehicles in calf-high water.
The rain intensifies. The sharp smell of mud rises in the air as myriad insects fight their way to the fluorescent lights in people's homes. But the lights are out, there is no power, and people stare, bored, at each other, waiting for the rain to stop.
But it doesn't. The water falls, and falls, and falls. And the roads lie, torn and destroyed underneath the onslaught. Bangalore, under the masquerade of big city-ness, is no Mumbai after all.