The monsoon’s on.

It’s on, fools.

Forget waterproof boots. You need hip waders here. Make like you’re catching salmon(ella).

Last week it gushed like a Bombay socialite with a motive. Forget going outside. You’d have been drenched just getting to the street. With an umbrella. And then you’d have to slush through badly-drained water several inches deep.

Storm drains ran in reverse like jacuzzi jets. Roads newly ripped up for the purpose of drain widening collected water like the BJP collects scandals: in waves, in sheets, in standing water which breeds. Our phone lines promptly fizzled. A week later they’re still not working.

But the lightning and thunder were real, and they were spectacular.