An English Experience

Its pouring outside and its pouring ideas inside; pestering me to write, as it's been a long long time since I last wrote. The monsoon's here in Bangalore, and it's here to stay. The roads are full of colorful umbrellas and the air now has a touch of frost. Samanea saman (the rain tree) and the gulmohurs are heavily loaded with blossoms, and weight of water from the heavens above that they trickle down on the passersby like holy water. Yet unable to bear the weight, they also shed their flowers and pave the way to make it look like one European countryside alley.

I watch the drops beat against the window pane. They hit the leaves and romance nature out in the open space, while I cuddle in the warmth of my quilt.

Staying in an apartment just above a bakery, has been quite an experience. Waking up to a waft of vanilla and the freshly baked bread makes me fancy to have woken up in the neighborhood of some French bakery. This sickly sweet smell lingers in the place and, believe me, sometimes gets heady enough.

To add to the effect, when it gets dark, the drenched roads also reflect the glow of flickering lights from the lamp posts above and the light filtering from the windows of the cozy little houses nearby. The tapering roofs of these houses allow the rain water to gently and quietly glide past to form puddles of water everywhere. Owing to the usually damp and wet weather of the place and the Coorgi style architecture, emphasizing the use of wood, fills the air with an earthy scent inside the well-kept heavily furnished cozy houses. Outside, the leaves, the straw and the wood rots rendering the whole place a feel of a perfect refuge. To tell you, being in Bangalore is quite an English experience. It is as English as it can be in India.