Kishore Singh: Glad it rained on Republic Day

I’m glad it rained on Republic Day because it meant I could tell the boss, who dislikes to think his colleagues could be snoozing when they should be more gainfully employed schmoozing in the service of the company, that it was unfit weather for our site visit; that our planned meeting with department heads was unlikely to have a quorum given the vile condition of the roads; and that the damp might mean somebody catching a chill and spreading the virus, thereby doing more harm than good. He wasn’t pleased, but at least it meant I got to stay at home instead. 

I’m glad it rained on Republic Day because it meant I could take a break from my wife’s list of chores that included carrying a bag and scimitars while walking with her through the neighbourhood to admire (pinch, actually) plants for her nursery; airing out quilts on the terrace; giving the windows a wash; or opening up cartons of stuff we haven’t seen for ages and wouldn’t miss for not knowing what they contained. Instead, she went off with our daughter to see Raees and came back with a headache and a temper because she didn’t approve of the film’s violence, and insisted on calling up her friends to tell them not to waste their time on it, leaving me to my own resources for most of the day.

I’m glad it rained on Republic Day but not on the parade — the downpour actually began after the National Anthem had been sung — because it is virtually tradition. Remember Barack Obama braving the rain while watching the parade a few years ago, probably wishing he was home and dry? (I can’t imagine Donald Trump being as sangfroid; besides, he’d worry about what the rain might do to his hair.) I’m not one for queuing up at Rajpath to wave the Tricolour, though I do hang one out to flutter from the balcony, but wouldn’t want the poor blighters who do turn up to get wet.

I’m glad it rained on Republic Day because I could ask the cook to fry up a batch of pakoras seeing how it was the right weather; refrain from a bath (what? it isn’t unpatriotic) though I did brush my teeth from habit (I think); hang out in my night-time tracks; mute the phone; mix up a wicked Bloody Mary concoction should friends drop in; consume the Bloody Mary concoction for fear it might go stale, but mix another batch just in case et cetera; catch a nap; not worry about sending out an office report because, hey, who was to know the deluge didn’t cause a power outage?

I’m glad it rained on Republic Day because it meant that I could not be forced out on a walk (my son deviously measures the distance I’m made to unwillingly trudge, slipping some kind of contraption around my wrist); I didn’t have to walk the dog either (though there’ll be hell to pay when my daughter finds out where he took a pee); it meant no TV watching because every time it rains, Tata Sky packs up its service, thereby banishing you to the dark ages. 

So, though I didn’t get to see the parade, it left me guilt-free to sit snugly in bed with a pile of books by the side and some good stuff to eat and drink. It was the first day off I can remember in a long while, so, yes, I’m glad it rained on Republic Day.