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I have never been a big fan of the monsoon. I appreciated what it brought to delhi. A sense of relief, escape from the searing purity of the desert, life. However, a good monsoon always made me cringe. Pregnant, fat, large lizards, followed by disgusting hordes of lizard babies. Flooded, collapsing roads. Inconsiderate mother-fucking drivers splashing putrid muddy water on you at the bus stop. But on the whole, the monsoon was tolerable. It balanced itself out. And it feeds the lot of us.
In Bombay, there is no balance. It does not fucking stop. Clothes never dry. Shoes are destroyed. One is forced to walk in floaters and slippers, wading through water which has unknown quantities of human animal waste thoroughly diluted in it. And then, if wealth is but a distant nightmare, you go back to a flat that isnt what it would be in delhi. Mine is more than comfortable for one person. I am, however, over-run. By earthworms. Lizards. Flies. Everyday I spray three kinds of Baygon in what has to be toxic quantities. My maid is efficient and regular. I clean up crumbs, wash dishes and take out the garbage on time. To no avail. It is a losing battle. I feel like any day now i shall be evicted by the creatures from beyond. Some insects whose names i would rather not know. Earthworms in the bedroom. Fuck. I shall die either of caner or one of this things laying egs in my brain while i sleep.