A Wednesday

Singapore's fickle weather needs no special mention. Every morning, Ms. Nature wakes up, stretches her arms, opens the window and then decides whether to summon the sun or the rains to let loose on this island. Only for the next few hours, that is, before she orders a change of weather over breakfast and coffee. Hence it is always safe to carry an umbrella with you no matter what the weather prediction says.

Thus it came to pass that I opened my window screens this morning and took in the sight of heavy rain falling after a particularly dry spell (10 days). I got ready to go to work and by the time I stepped out, Ms. Nature had had a change of mind and it was sunshine. Much against the wife's cautionary words, I chose not to carry an umbrella. Up in my mind, the day's quota of rain had been exhausted in the morning leaving behind a bright sunny day for everyone to lap up. Right? Wrong.

I would not have walked more than 200 metres when the first drops started falling on the still wet road. Before long it was coming down very heavily. Ms. Nature was apparently breakfasting. I sought refuge in the nearby cluster of housing blocks. The Singapore Govt., keeping folks just like me in mind, has gone out of the way to allow us to cohabit with the rest of the normal folks. The government housing blocks, with all their shortcomings, have covered walkways linking one block to the other. Thus I walked to within a couple of furlongs (When was the last time you used this unit?) from my office, still bone dry. The last stretch leading up to the rear entrance to our premises, however, was open to the elements and I stood at the very edge of the last block, by the parking lot, with a forlorn look in the direction of my office and a bored, indifferent cat for company. Not even an impending meeting could move me to make a dash to my office. It could have made for a dramatic entry, granted, but those things look good only in the movies. Wearing wet clothes in an air-conditioned office in real life is a pain and a half.

The cat was engaged in various acts of personal grooming and I slowly settled into a reverie, watching the falling drops. I don't know about you, but watching rain fall to me is a meditative experience. Particularly on a work day morning, while I'm stranded outside the office. It helped calm my frayed nerves. A good 10 minutes must have passed in this fashion when she emerged around the corner of the opposite block from where I was stranded. A lady, firmly entrenched in her mid-sixties, I reckon, came walking towards the housing blocks from the store across the road. Her labored gait, robbed of grace by the advancing years, suggested fatigue and the frailties that go with her age. Her face, with an ample smear of kungumam on her forehead, bore the marks left behind by the many years of existence and experience. Her mostly grey hair was casually worn in a bun and she was clad in a "nightie" that came down to her shins. And she trod, one careful, slow step after another, using her folded umbrella as a walking stick. I became sufficiently curious about what someone in her condition was doing outdoors on such a wet morning and I tracked her progress silently.

She trudged to the point exactly opposite from me and stood by the edge, just away from the rain. I was wondering why she didn't proceed further as she was armed with an umbrella when I noticed that she was looking at me. Probably coming to the same conclusion that you, my reader, must have come to at the end of para 3 : not a very smart man. She gave me a smile that was more condescending than sympathetic. I responded with a near sheepish grin, having smelled the condescension that hung in the morning air. She mimed if I wanted an umbrella: pointing to her own umbrella and then pointing towards me. Caught unawares, I offered a half hearted nod/shake of my head, not sure myself if that was a yes or a no. Although, I must hasten to add, that I had no intentions of relieving her of her only protection against the rains. Cue another smile from the lady, understanding and sympathetic. Kids these days.

I can be accused of not being smart more times than I would like, but I'm innocent of selfishness. I may have been running late for a meeting starting in less than a few minutes, but I drew a firm line at plucking the only umbrella from an aged stranger in pouring rains. But the lady opened up her umbrella and stepped into the rains and made her way to a beige Toyota Corolla parked nearby. [I'm on a sticky wicket for anything beyond RGB. While I was tempted to put it down as a really pale, dull yellow with a tinge of brown in English or the more descriptive and accurate aathla aracha sandhana color in Tamil, I had to look up the shade at the Toyota website to bring you an accurate description of the vehicle.] Using her remote entry key, she unlocked the car, opened the rear door, reached inside and pulled out a full sized umbrella. By this time, I had sized up the situation and went up to her to collect the same from her. She still had that smile on her face.

"Thank you ma'am. How should I get this back to you?" I made my intentions clear that I wasn't planning to add her's to my unused umbrella collection at home.

"Never mind la" I don't know if she didn't expect this or wanted to play it safe with a stranger in the rains.

"Ma'am I walk past this place on my way back from work. I'd like to return it to you." I shone some light on my decent side.

"No problem la. Never mind, really. It's an old one." She had gotten behind the wheel and was closing the door now. The smile was still on her face.

Toyota makes really silent engines. The Corolla sprang to life and she eased the car out and drove away in near silence. I stood there watching the car round the corner, shielded from the rains but drenched completely by her kindness. An act of random kindness on a wet Wednesday morning. All is not lost with (the rest of) humanity, after all.

I have memorized her license plate and I plan to return the umbrella with a thank you note and perhaps the link to this post. Will keep y'all posted on how that goes.