Friday

(pic courtesy: www.layoutsparks.com)

It rained in Dubai. Big deal. 

Facebook had an overdose of poorly shot photos of the city in rain. The casual facebooker was content that he served the purpose in his life by letting others know that it rained; just in case the others thought the water was just an illusion. 

The asphalt and concrete burdened with petrol/oil/dirt and every other substance over the last two years (time elapsed since the last rain) gave it all away to the water and co-produced the dark slime that send moving cars drifting on to pavements. 

Buildings never meant to stand in rain leaked in a thousand places. It was almost funny watching the Sharaf DG staff at Ibn batuta mall trying to look nonchalant as the shoppers dodged falling drops of water without much success.

The kids who came out to play in the rain went indoors with their feet smelling funny and clothes stained with soot-oil-rain mix. Their mothers cursed loudly as fathers huddled in front of televisions sipping hot chai. 

Friday morning was dull, wet and messy. How much ever the early-morning-poet in you tried to administer the romantic eye on the proceedings, it was far from being beautiful.

But it was as lazy as it could get. It slowed down the city. Then it made big dirty muddy puddles everywhere. And as customers sunk into couches and ordered more hot coffee, the waiter carried on at a faster frenetic pace.

It would take a lot more than a rain to slow him down.