Monsoon Flood

Yesterday, the fattest, heaviest rain I've ever seen. And it came down for hours. Fortunately, I was stuck at my tabla teacher's place and so just practiced and practiced in fugue counterpoint to the raindrops coming in the window and splatting against my back. I ventured home, hoping Heather wasn't worrying too much about me, during a lull in the downpour. The entire mile or so to our hotel is downhill and the streets funnel toward the lone pedestrian bridge. I couldn't believe the water. Thigh-deep and racing downhill, it really was a dangerous river in many places. As I struggled to stay on my feet through the dark brown water, I winced at the thought of all the cow, dog, monkey, and human dung I'd seen covering these streets all week. Cars steaming and stalling-out, drenched hindu pilgrims fighting their way uphill while the fast, heavy, filthy water crested against their chests. One small boy sat on his father's shoulders singing and laughing and absolutely loving the deluge, which made me smile hugely and remember how excited I was whenever our basement flooded when I was a child. A female Japanese tourist passed me, her face, near tears, showing utter despair and disgust, her dress hiked up as high as was decent. I smiled at her, too, glad that I'm not as obsessed about cleanliness. That said, I did take a long shower immediately upon my return, shuddering occasionally.