Of Rain and Bajjis
Whenever the rains came, everyone’s voice would rise in a loud clamour, calling out to save the clothes drying outside. Sonia took advantage of that chaos to slip out of the house, breathing in the fresh earth and letting the soft patter of the rain on the surface of her umbrella lull her into a peaceful silence. The door opened again, boisterous laughter spilling into the street.
She felt a little figure crash into her from behind and turned to see Amit clinging to the back of her hoodie, his hair dripping a little. He looked at her with wide, pleading eyes and she shrugged. Ah well, if he wants to get out of the noise, I can’t really blame him.
With her nephew attached to her arm, she joined the crowds of people still rushing around in the rain, faces blurring and hidden under the brightly coloured umbrellas. Occasionally, Amit would tug on her hand and silently point out a particularly outrageous looking umbrella and they would let out matching huffs of laughter.
She didn’t really have any path in mind. She had just wanted some space, away from the well-meaning smothering of the aunties and uncles in their house.
“Hey,” she finally said, stopping outside a small department store and looking down at Amit. “You want something?”
His eyes widened. “Ice cream.”
“If I feed you ice cream in the rain, your mom will have my hide.”
“Milkshake.”
“Too cold.”
“Bajji.”
She opened her mouth to refuse, and then paused. “Actually, I can get behind that.”
They stood under a leaky tarp stretched over a tin sheet wall and waited for the Anna to finish making their bajjis. The smoke rose up in slow spirals, curling its way through a cut in the tarp through which the drumming rain fell, dripping into a puddle at Amit’s feet. The hiss of the oil was loud enough to drown out the drops on the tarp as they blew at the hot bajjis with green chili chutney.
“Traffic sucks here,” Sonia groaned, five minutes later, when they had been drenched by a passing car that went five metres before rolling to a halt at a signal. An ambulance wailed at the back of the line. The muffled thud of a dozen windshield wipers surrounded them when they crossed the road, the rain getting heavier on their umbrella.
“Where did you go?” multiple voices screamed when Sonia opened the door. Before she knew it, the umbrella was on the balcony, warm clothes over them. The entire house was filled with the smell of slightly damp clothes that had been laid out over every conceivable surface.
“What were you thinking?” her mother scolded, and to her side, Amit was hearing a similar diatribe from her sister while she dried his hair.
“Aiya, leave the kids alone,” her grandmother said, waddling in with a steaming plate. “Bajjis?”
She looked over at Amit, grinning, and they both reached out for the plate.
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