Rain Dance

Every time I wear a white dress, I know it will rain! I dunno what it is about white that appeases the rain gods. I get up in the morning, see that it’s gonna be a bright sultry morning and Sindhu is voicing my opinion loud on Radio Indigo that there’s no rain expected today. So I rummage through my closet and get my white dress out.

The day gets progressively hot, but just as I swipe my card at the exit of the building I feel a few drops on me. I dismiss them as dew (but hello! Where are the trees?) and before I pull down the visor of my helmet, there’s a heavy shower and I am soaked to the bone. The raindrops fall like heavy stones and I try to slow down or pull over, but on a ring road you cannot even dream of pulling over except of course you want to get off the bike/car and take a leak.

But now that I am drenched, I might as well continue riding trying to ignore the leery glances of my Indian brothers (who for some inexplicable reason get turned on by white dress, and the wetter it is the better!). No wonder that Yash Chopra discovered this formula and repeatedly used it in his movies. All his heroines never failed to excite the audience in at least one rain dance clad in flimsy, plain-colored, chiffon saris. Never mind if the heroine came down with pneumonia the next day because of those innumerable takes in the rain, but Yash delivered what his audience came looking for!

Small wonder, that even after two decades, the ultimate fantasy rain dance remains the one from Mr India where a plump Shridevi is acting coy and enticing an invisible lover.