6/30/07
Raft. I added it to my list of things to buy when I reach NY. After pondering the depth of the rain water at the foot of my building, I figured if it’s already two to three feet this early in monsoon season, it could get a lot worse. I can make an oar out of any long stick. I swear I will swim to the airport if this rain doesn’t let up by Monday. I have to go to NY. I have to get out of this place. I finally feel well enough after two days of the worst diarrhea of my life and this is what I encounter. I feel like I am suffocating, drowning I guess it would be, in germs, moisture, mildew and lack of proper infrastructure.
I manage to remove my anxiety for a moment and resume watching an obscure Disney or Pixar or whatever film that never made it to theater in the states. It’s times like these that I am thankful for Sheetal’s extensive pirated dvd collection. My boss’s wife calls. She is concerned as she knows where I am staying and how it is prone to flooding. Shortly after, my boss calls, from a different location of course. He has to appear concerned although I’m sure he’s been aware for many years now that his wife is much more capable of taking over this responsibility. The water is four whole feet below where I am standing. There is no reason to be concerned, I tell myself. It isn’t long before I sense a pang of panic creep in, the one that only comes when there is no reason to panic but nowhere to run, like on an airplane or when being addressed in court or now, when stuck in your two-room apartment because you are floating in the middle of a lake of sewage. This time, I realize I could be trapped for a very long time. I am not concerned about starvation or dehydration, I am concerned about getting my clothes from the cleaners, buying a bikini and getting my alterations done in time for my flight in two days. And there goes my weekend. I have no choice but to wait. Sit on my non-furniture and wait. The place sounds eerily quiet. No dogs are barking, no crows are searching for food. There isn’t a single auto on the road. I think the flights may be grounded. I check the window about every 10 minutes until finally around 6pm I see the water level dropping. An hour later I go to the bathroom and from the floor-length window that reveals way too much I hear the sound of children playing in the street. For the first time in months, the sound sets off joy and peace in my mind rather than the accustomed irritation.
Below: A sign for a Bombay salon that displays how I felt when I wrote this entry. Notice the strange, cherokee chief costume in the right corner . . . ?
