The final year of college had just started. As final year students, we were supposed to sit in the placement process of companies that were supposed to visit throughout the year, get a job (two if you were good enough) and make the college proud. To achieve this, the first week of the semester was devoid of any classes but full of “placement training sessions” in the main campus of our institute located 22 km away.
I didn’t really want to go, but it was mentioned that attendance is compulsory and not attending would lead to “dire consequences”, I decided to give it a go. It was a five day week, Monday to Friday. The first couple of days were full of prep talks from representatives of various companies and a few aptitude sessions, the questions of which even a 10 year old kid could solve, but my classmates couldn’t. Needless to say, I was bored out of my mind.
On the third day, after another 8 hours of boring lectures and shaking my head at the sight of my classmates not being able to solve school level mathematics, I was glad to go back to my hostel and unwind. I was already in two minds about whether or not to attend the last two days. So I kickstarted my bike, gave lift to a hopeless friend and we were on our way for a ride of 22 kilometers in the unforgiving city of Bangalore.
It hadn’t even been a kilometer when clouds gathered around and the sounds of thunder began echoing through the crowded streets. Soon enough, it started to rain and we had to take a sanctuary beneath a tea shop, but only after getting nominally wet. It rained cats and dogs for an hour, the roads were flooded, thanks to the poor drainage in the city before finally it stopped.
Once again, we were on our way, the streets even more crowded now that the all the bikers had resumed their journey. The flood water on the streets had already started seeping in through my shoe and socks, the clothes already being completely soiled courtesy the water splashed by daredevil car drivers and Volvo buses. Can’t people drive a little bit slower?
At this point, it started raining again. With nothing to lose anymore, we decided to continue riding. At the next red light, I put my feet down for balance. As soon as the light turned green, an autorickshaw, in its attempt to get ahead in the rat race, quickly accelerated and overtook us, stomping over my right foot in the process. The bastard got away by the time I could shout.
I wasn’t even sure if I was bleeding. It could be blood, it could be the three liters of flood water, I wouldn’t even know until I got home. Already incredibly furious with the events that had transpired through the day, I started racing away, overtaking vehicles willy nilly, going as fast as I could. I didn’t even care for the large drops of rainwater searing through on my skin at large speeds. I just wanted to go home.
Finally, after one and a half hour of this arduous ordeal, we reached our destination, completely drenched in water. Thankfully, my foot was okay, the rainwater had cushioned the blow. I had a nice hot shower and a packet of egg noodles to get back to normal temperature.
Needless to say, I didn’t attend the remaining two days of the process.
So that’s why I am not particularly fond of the rainy season. What are some of your rainy season memories? Tell me in the comments section below.