Male Intuition

India's weather continues to delight and entertain.

My housemates and I were lounging about the house, destressing with some beers after a long day at work, when the girls got it into their heads to go down to Sector 14 to get a little shopping done before the shops closed at 2130hrs. As they were getting ready to leave, us guys were lounging around in the living room (men are always dressed to go, women never are) when a very Star Wars-esque moment arose. Jens, our resident German, looked up at us and said:

" I've got a bad feeling about this."
...Search ourselves we did, and feeling the same we were.

So when the girls came out, we casually announced we were staying home. We took their bitching and moaning in our stride and eventually they were forced to leave without us, giving us some quiet time in which we decided to make some pasta.

So picture this: Three guys chilling out in the kitchen, boiling pasta, cutting up onions, smushing tomatoes... when suddenly a strong gust of wind from the south slams all the doors and windows shut one after another. A low whistle grows, virtually inaudible at first, rising in a matter of seconds to a bone-chilling howl. And above all the racket of doors slamming and plastic sheets flapping in the wind, we hear the stacatto beat of clouds of sand battering against our windows. Three seconds later the power goes out (no surprise there) and we stand in the dark with only the light from our stove to see by, as we peered out into the hurricane-like weather.

We were all experiencing our first ever Indian sandstorm.

All of us guys were awed by the sheer display of power by Mother Nature. For 5 mins we remained in silent wonder. And then looking at each other wordlessly, we burst out into peals of laughter. The girls were stuck in the sandstorm!

As we joked and laughed about it, we felt vaguely guilty, but that feeling soon faded and was replaced by a cheerful evilness. It helped of course that about 10 mins later, the skies opened up and it began to pour with rain. Eventually, probably a good half an hour later, one of us decided we ought to be christian and call the girls to see how they were. Fortunately, we had no reception on our cell phones, so not only was our entertainment prolonged, but they couldn't blame us for not calling earlier either.

Hardy and Shweta, our awesome landlords who are too cool for words, came up to our place, helped us get our power back on and offered to go get the girls back. We didn't go along because there wouldn't be enough space in the car for all of us and the girls, but mainly because we didn't want to get wet and it would be funnier for all of us to be chilling back at home when the girls returned.

So an hour an a half later, 2 very wet and muddy girls dragged their sorry asses back through our door to the cheerful refrain of The Stroke's " Why does it always rain on me?", generously sung to them by all three of us wonderful guys.

It feels so good to be so bad.