When it rains, it pours

I knew enough not to visit south India in the summer, when it gets hot enough that life slows down and starts to melt. And I knew enough to check on when monsoon season is. What I didn't realize is that it's different in the South. This started becoming apparent as my train approached Chennai, early on a Sunday morning. Rain lashed at the windows, and people up and down the carriage struggled to pull down the glass and keep out the wet.

I stepped out into a deluge and waded over to the prepaid taxi stand to hire a ride. A line of eight or nine people huddled under the narrow awning of the booth, and I squeezed close to them to keep out of the rain. I got my fare ticket, opened my umbrella and ran with a driver to his rickshaw-- where he already had a customer in the backseat. I told him I couldn't possibly fit all my stuff in the rickshaw and hailed another cab.

We set off through unfamiliar streets, splashing through puddles leaving a spray of dirty water in our wake. In an open-sided rickshaw, other cars' spray proved a real hazard. One accelerated past us and sent a wave of water arcing into the cab and into my lap. My driver pulled up beside him at the next stoplight and shouted at him in Tamil. Then he closed the flaps on the side of the cab that keep out water. Strangely, even after this mishap, he felt no qualms about charging me over twice the sticker price for my cab ride. He explained that cabs cost more when its raining.

Since then, we've gotten at least some rain every single day I've been in Chennai. Today was the worst, with rain coming down in sheets all day. Our little street turned into a river, and my music teacher called to cancel our morning lesson, since the roads to his place were also flooded. My poor Tamil tutor wasn't as lucky. He'd arrived before the rain got really heavy and had no luck waiting for it to lighten again. Finally, he girded himself as best he could in his pink raincoat and red helmet and stepped out into the downpour.

The funny thing about all the rain, as I remarked to my roommate, is that it doesn't seem to make the city any cleaner. When the skies clear up, the dirt, and especially the smells, remain. Part of the problem is in a sewer system that is constantly stretched past its limits. Pools of standing water never seem to disappear. I blame the one that hugs the side of our house for the mosquitoes that swarm in through our windows and the odor of sewage that wafts in right behind.

The southern fall monsoon season normally lasts through November. I'll hope for a dry December, and maybe find some rain boots.
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Also-- I now have internet at home, and a backlog of things to write about and photos to share. I'll try to fill in the gap as soon as I can. Maybe also audio, now?