There's a sloshing sound in my shoes, and it isn't spiritual joy. It's water. Rainwater. Precious, holy, long-prayed-for, utterly annoying rainwater. And as I squish my way across the housing society where I live, I hear my neighbour yell, "Bas karo Bhagwan, bas karo!" That's Hindi for "Enough, God, enough!" And I can't help imagining a celestial weather committee upstairs staring down at us in soggy confusion.

"Didn't they just ask for rain?" booms Gabriel.

"Yes," says a harried angel flipping through celestial records. "Mumbai requested full tanks, flowing rivers, and media-worthy footage of water gushing down the Bushy dam!"

"Well, they've got that. And a little extra on the side," mutters another angelic committee member, wringing his halo dry.

And so the downpour continues because when heaven tries to please, we complain. "Where's the BMC?" we shout, standing knee-deep in what we hope is only water.

"Where's the drainage?" we wail, forgetting we choked it last Diwali with festive enthusiasm, plastic packaging, and a few cracker boxes for good measure.

I do agree that the rains very often turn out to be like that over-enthusiastic friend who you invite over—but who then refuses to leave, drinks all your liquor, eats all your snacks, parks his feet on your table, and even asks to put the TV on, instead of listening to your conversation!

But before we dismiss this deluge as divine mischief, consider this: didn't we ask for this? Just weeks ago, we were wondering whether there would be a water cut this year, and yes, even writing desperate tweets to the weatherman.

"Hope the rains arrive!" we cried.

But now that it's here, we're sending counter-petitions to the same divine department: "Sorry, please take it back. We've had enough character building, thank you!"

It's a bit like asking for muscular six-pack abs but hoping to achieve them by watching fitness reels instead of doing sit-ups. "Lord, give me strength!" we pray. He sends us a challenge. "No, not this way!" we protest.

It's the same with success. "I want to shine!" we declare. Heaven obliges—with a few storms to test your waterproofing. And suddenly, we're ducking under tables, hiding from opportunity disguised as inconvenience.

So, while the rains do stop me from my coffee with the birds and newspapers in my garden, and a frog hops confidently into my kitchen (probably to check the gas bill), I've decided to shut up.

Because the truth is, if we keep treating every rainy day as a disaster, we'll soon find ourselves parched in a drought of our own ingratitude.
So here's my message to the celestial committee: Keep the rain coming. Just... maybe skip my mornings in my garden!

And to the rest of us, chin up, umbrellas out—and remember, if there's no rain, there'll be no rainbow. Also, no excuse to skip your work because "roads were flooded...!"