This morning I woke up to a distinctly cooler breeze, one that had me reaching out to turn off the fan. Strange as it may sound, the weather suddenly turned, and I didn’t want the air buzzing needlessly over my head.

The clouds outside were unusual for this time of year, though we do have what we like to call pre-monsoon showers. But considering that everything is uncommon these days, it isn’t really a surprise.

After days of news anchors shouting out different scenarios to vindicate Pahalgam, finally, we woke up to the news that India had struck back.

In the early hours of the 7th of May, 9 sites in Pakistan were bombed, and like most Indians, I was elated. At last, we had broken free of the shackles of ‘Peace, Love & Tolerance’ that prevented us from taking an eye for an eye and turning the other cheek. We proved through Operation Sindoor that we could actually deliver a hard punch.

Immediately, we Indians sprang into action: cabinet meetings that were going on continued to go on, News channels continued interviewing defence analysts and former diplomats, WhatsApp messages urging us to be responsible citizens and not pass on any information that may be used to help the ‘enemy’ flew from phone to phone and we hunkered down for a mock drill for civil defence.

It has been a long while since we were faced with such a situation. In fact, a whole generation has gone by watching wars fought in far-off lands on television news.

I told Ms. Papaya that when we were little, we were taught how to crawl under our desks with an eraser clenched between our teeth, cotton wool stuffed in our ears and brace ourselves for an attack when the air-raid sirens rang out.

Later on in 1971, I remember helping my parents paper up the windows in preparation for a nighttime attack. Those were the days when my family lived in the military area, and only a few non-combatant men were around, the rest having reported for duty. This made us children even more aware of our ‘responsibility’, and we made elaborate plans on how we would face the enemy should we come face to face with them.

How exciting it all seemed.

Yesterday, we didn’t hear the sirens ring. We heard the rumble of thunder instead. And Wow Dinga and Little Po ran to the window to look for the bombs they thought were raining down on them.

What will today’s clouds bring?

or petrichor?

I do not like this word
It is pretentious
It is clever
It is fake
I like the smell of rain instead.
The first drops as they fall
I like the smell that breezes past my skin
Gently pressing in 
It makes my bones chill
It fills up my room with freshness
A faint coolness 
The smell of rain
The first rain 
That stills the thirst of the parched earth,
Waiting, longing, welcoming
The drops of water.
Petrichor.

International donkey day

In a lighter vein, I would like to share an incident of why donkeys hold a special place in my heart.

Our Mumbai traffic which was once the pride of the Nation, has now sadly deteriorated to the level of the rest of the country. Traffic Rules are meant for fools who are in no hurry to get anywhere and are, more importantly, a valuable source of revenue for the government, which can always slap a hefty fine when violated.

But I am neither a fool nor a violator of rules, so it annoys me when I see a blatant flouting of traffic rules. Since I don’t believe in blowing horns or flashing lights to show my irritation, I generally pull down the window and yell out my favourite expletive ” Saale Gaddhe” meaning ‘You foolish Donkey’.

These words roll off my tongue so easily that I clean forgot that Mr. Big Ears, also known as Wow Dinga was lapping it up like a puppy dog and completely forgetting about him in his car seat, yelled out loudly to a taxi driver coming up the wrong way.

The next time he was in the car with his dad, an irritating taxi came the wrong way and Wow Dinga promptly rolled down the window and yelled out ” Saale Gaddhe”

My apologies, dear donkey, for using your name to keep my road rage in control.

Ciao,