After complaining about the heat for the better part of June and almost half of July, the rains came to my city with a bang. In the two weekends that it rained ( why does it always rain on a weekend?) everything was thrown out of gear. I am not complaining about the rain because we needed water. But I am unhappy about the fact that despite being a tropical country where it has been raining for centuries, how come we haven’t figured out how to effectively make a drainage system?
Aren’t we the descendants of the ancient Harappans who made the ideal city at Mohen-jo-daro?
And weren’t ancient Indians master builders with their exotic cave temples made without modern machinery and tools?
So what happened to the modern Indian who can use a cell phone, do keyhole surgery and even send a rocket to Mars?
Why can’t modern Indian engineers tackle the annual onslaught of the monsoons?
But this post is not a rant. It is about the joys of seeing mushrooms suddenly sprouting amidst the lush green lawns of our garden.
I don’t know who was more excited seeing the mushrooms spring up in our garden: the little ones or me?
We spent the next ten minutes running around looking for more and more.
It was a welcome break from the wet evenings we’ve been having the past two weeks.