The Weatherman

My father sniffed the winds

cocked his head

and said

I can feel the rains

sneaking eastward

then doubling back

north westerly

past the Western Ghats

to spout as if

from an elephant’s trunk

at midnight.

Then with a beatific smile

at the  certainty

of his forecast, turned

tripped on his dhothi

clutched and clawed

at the door frame

 steadied  himself

and settled down for

the 6 o’clock Asianet news.

The sky 

a clear blue challenge

would call his bluff

I thought.

Half way through

the midnight movie

in the shadow of the night

the sky snarled black

and taut rain strings rolled out

bales of water.

Parting the curtains

loaded with  a childhood

 midnight fright

watched the breakdance

 of thunder

through the rain curtains.

…………………………………………….

neerada

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