Rain

Ten Things I hate About Chennai -No.8

Its rains a lot here. It's raining now as I write this.

For many years I lived in Manchester, so I thought I knew all about rain.
But the rain here is different. Its wetter, and it doesn't go away. Even when its stopped.

And whereas the rain in Manchester fell frequently and often, it did at least wash some of the Mancunian grime away and make the place seem a bit cleaner, Occasionally  the clouds would part, the sun would shine, and a rainbow might appear above the Oxford road arching from somewhere over the Refuge Tower to Picadilly Gardens. It was a bit like that moment in Wizard of Oz when Dorothy lands in Oz and everything turns from Black n white to glorious technicolour,

Well. Your not in Kansas any more Dorothy. Your in Chennai.

In Chennai the rain turns the litter strewn streets into litter strewn sewers.
Sometime within a matter of minutes.
One minute your strolling down to Cafe Day for your mid-morning cappucino, the next your wading
back to work and wishing you had thought to pack a pair of fishermens waders. (The kind they use when they go fly fishing and have to go in waist deep.)

One time I came out at lunch time after it had been raining during the morning to find Santhome High Road was already doing a passable impression of the Ganges Delta. Its only 50 yards to Coffee Day, (  Slogan - A lot can happen over Coffee -No shit) but if  I wanted a coffee it was clearly going to be a case of sink or swim ( or perhaps more accurately stink and swim)

There was one other option. I believe it was Nikoli's sugggestion (work colleague) but since it was still raining heavily I went against all my principles and summoned an auto from the Auto drivers hangout opposite the college. Even in the short time it took him to drive to us the river had already risen several inches, and since Coffee Day is in the direction against the flow of traffic we decided on another venue a little 'down river'. Sometimes I like to think I can quite literally go with the flow.

We set off in the direction of the "Palm Shore" restaurant a few hundred yards away.
The water already lapping into the footwell of the auto, and the rsing current threatning to capsize us at any moment. The driver pulled up at he Palm Shore, but the problem was there wasn't one. A shore I mean. Just several feet of murky brown water swilling around the entrance.

"Here Sir!" the driver beamed. Indicating we alight, but I refused and yelled
 ''You need to get us nearer!"

No Sir. Not possible. Water too deep.! Here is good!

No! Here is not GOOD! Im not getting out!

Here good sir!

NO! NOT GOOD!

Oh for the love of God.
Just Take us back!

Back Sir?

Yes! Get us out of here!

No eating Sir?

No eating.. Just take us back.

The manager of the Palm Shore stood in the doorway eagerly awaiting us.
And was probably even more disspointed than I that we would not be  joining the rest of his very wet clientele for lunch that day.

I gave him an apologetic wave as we departed.

Or perhaps I was
Not waving.
Just drowning..

Lost

Another reason I hate Autos is that I lose things in them.

They are small. The Autos that is. They make a dodgem car seem like a stretch limo. This doesn't seem to worry the locals too much who have no problem cramming entire generations of their family into them for the school run. But for us Westerners with our love of personal space and breathing things can seem rather cramped.

If your carrying a few bags of groceries and your laptop, then the problem is exemplified. The only place to put your shopping is on the small shelf behind the passenger seat. They may be safe there but they also out of sight, and therefore out of mind.

Unfortunately in my case this is frequently where they remain when I get out.

The stress of haggling the fare with driver and/or worrying that the agreed fare is actually what we agreed, means that when we reach our destination my mind is often elsewhere and my body wants to follow unencumbered. I usually get out promptly, thrust the 'correct' amount of ruppees at the driver, turn and walk briskly away. Ignoring any or all requests/calls/pleas/crying/begging along the lines of ' Sir! Sir! More! 10 rupees waiting time etc..'

The upshot is that in the relatively short time I have been here I have already lost;

1 bag of shopping from the Mercado Deli in Besant Nagar -contents included a jar of Bonne Maman (very expensive) Orange Marmalade. (Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!)

1 Pair of dark blue Adidas Football Shorts.

1 Compaq 510 Laptop  in its case along with 1 Daler A4 black hardbound  sketchbook.

The only thing I was particularly upset about in the above list was the sketchbook, (and possibly the marmalade the morning following its loss.) The shorts too I could live without

However the laptop is/was the property of Raffles Millennium College, and so procedures had to be followed and a full report filed to the police.

And so on a Monday afternoon Umamageswaran (Uma) the I.T. technician (who else) and I took and Auto down to Besant Nagar nick (police station).

Now Police station waiting rooms are nobody's idea of a favourite hangout I guess.
But while Uma wrote a full and detailed account of my stupidity in his best handwriting I had plenty of time to ponder the utter drabness of the interior decor (or lack thereof,)
India is nothing if not colourful, but stepping inside Besant Nagars version of Precinct 13 was akin to entering not so much a black hole as a dark brown one. One from which no light could escape much less anyone unfortunate enough to have been taken in custody,

My eyes fell upon the poster behind the (Female) duty sergeants desk. Who was by the way warily eyeing Umas statement whilst he wrote, and looked as though she would relish the opportunity to arrest him for poor grammar, or (more likely) kosh him for a spelling mistake.

Anyway back to the poster. Actually it wasn't so much a poster as a large list of numbered bullet points of statistical crime data in the Besant Nagar vicinity. Including helpfully:

10.Crime Prone Areas, and 11, Prohibition Black Spots. Obviously its my sincere wish to avoid both of those, but it was No 15. which really stood out

15. NO  OF BAD CHARACTERS

This had a sublist

HD -Nil
DC -Nil
KD -Nil
Rowdies- 7

A sense of relief washed over me. No HDs (  Heroin Dealers? Hard Dicks? Hairy Dorks?)
No DC's (Dirty Coppers? Drunken Crazies? ) No KD's (Ketamine Dealers? Killer Dogs?)
and only 7 Rowdies! There's more Rowdies than that at a Parbold Village Womens Institute meeting
(and come to think of it probably more Ketamine dealers too)

Besant Nagar is obviously a very safe neighbourhood. Im so glad I moved here.
Thank God for the boys in blue (or brown n khaki to be accurate)

I only hope its a recent poster. Although I have my doubts on that score.

Eventually Uma finished writing the report. It must have been OK because the duty sergeant didnt arrest or kosh him, in fact she seemed to be almost smiling and joking with Uma by this stage, and I wondered for minute if love might be in the air along with the stench of custodial fear, blood, urine and sweat.
Then it was handed to me for verification on the accuracy of the events as portrayed. To be honest I couldn't really read his handwritng but I signed anyway. No doubt I may face a perjury charge someway down the line and end up as a statistic on the poster. NF (Naughty Foreigner)

Spell Bound

Joined up writing please

Besant Nagar Crime Stats