New day, new rain holiday.

It rained all night, like squirrels were dancing to drumbeats on the windows, and in the morning, our road had a thin layer of water on it, the tree was still blocking up the road, and the cobbler and the tea shops had huge blue plastic roofs over them. Now there’s a bird-screeching and rain-windy sound all over, the background noise of the rain.

I have to meet Latisha today. We need to follow our usual tradition: we sit inside and watch the rain and draw Mighty and sometimes we pretend we are crime fighters (nothing violent, we are experimenting with pacifism) and we usually eat popcorn or Maggi cakes (you make Maggi, put it in the fridge, then cut it up into little pieces) and hot chocolate. We look at the sea (sometimes it looks blue, mostly it looks grey and dark) from the huge windows in her room. Sometimes we act out scenes with Mighty, like Mighty in a hospital (he doesn’t fit in most ambulances) or Mighty getting a passport (it’s tough for him because he doesn’t have parents). Time passes so fast when we get into our zone. Now, it clunks around and goes so slowly.

Amma met Freda Aunty yesterday on their usual evening walk. She said that some things take time, and there is a lot that she can’t tell me right now, and this must be difficult for Freda Aunty too, which I should think about. And Amma’s classic – I should have patience. I said all that was great but is Latisha going to talk to me today? Amma said to wait. Again. I think it’s time to speak to Faiz and see if he can help me out.

I walk into the kitchen to say hi to Mala Akka. I want to open the window. It overlooks the road and all the trees look green today. The air smells fresh and the trees look extra green, as if someone has double-painted them with Camlin poster colours. All the colours in the world are brighter now, even the black on the huge dustbins.

“NO NO,” Mala Akka says. She squeezes the kitchen window shut, leaning past the stove and the pickle bottles and my favourite bottle of sweets (in order: Mango Bite; orange toffee; caramel). I think I catch her saying a Tamil curse word but she is too fast for me to get any more information.

“No more of this rain nonsense. You’ll happily run away. I have to sit and look at the stupid rain. Quickly close it.”

She gets down the Bournvita bottle.

“Fine, but no Bournvita today then.”

“Rekhs, you have to grow up, you can’t stay a songi stick forever. You need calcium.” She starts mixing the Bournvita into some hot milk.

I wonder if Mighty drinks milk, or if he used to when he was Baby Mighty. He was a tiny little blob when he was first born from laughs: then his long arms grew, then he slowly started growing upwards like an elastic band. Now he can stretch himself out into a thirty-storey-long elastic band and make sure all the cars and scooters can move down the roads without touching the waves and waves of water on the road.

“Can you teach me how to drive a scooter?” I ask Mala Akka.

“Come learn from me today. I’m taking the scooter to drop you at Faiz’s house. Your mother told me. Drink up, baby, you can’t fool me.” She makes me drink even the little lumps of clumpy Bournvita powder at the very bottom of my glass.

I turn around and see the telltale signs. Cut up murunka. There’s only one person who likes murunka sambar. It’s not me, it’s not Amma, it’s not Mala Akka.

“Mala Akka…” I point at the cutting board.

“It’s for your dad. He is coming for dinner. Amma didn’t tell you?”

This is just not my day at all.

I go get ready. I go into Mala Akka’s room and use the little Medimix soap she keeps for me there. I think I’m going to give Mighty the power to fast-forward three hours, with just a tap of his hand (he can’t click his fingers). I want to skip to tomorrow when Dad would have come and gone already.

On the way to Faiz’s house, Mala Akka driving, me sitting behind wearing my blue raincoat, the rain is so heavy it’s pushing against me. It’s grey and slanted, and deafeningly loud. I see Mala Akka’s point. Mala Akka says I will be fine for dinner if I just don’t mention:

• My sadness about Latisha (we don’t know if Dad will ask any questions so it’s better to avoid it)

• How much fun Amma and I have (since Dad may feel bad)

• The divorce (touchy)

I wonder what is left. After Mala Akka drops me she goes to the provisions store near the sea to buy butter and basmati rice then to the police academy and to the beauty parlour.

Normally, I’m so excited entering Sea Breeze but this time I don’t even appreciate the huge roses in the garden or the tall blue buildings or the huge walking track with several different colours of stones. It’s pouring and muddy, there’s no one cycling, the pool looks like a deserted swamp, and if Mighty was here he would be taking a long nap on the tiles by the empty walking track.

Himmat Uncle, the security guard, is sitting in the lobby. He has been here as long as I have been alive. But today he doesn’t look happy about it. “Again it’s raining, and I’m stuck here doing duty,” he says, sadly.

“You don’t have to, Himmat Uncle, you can go back home.”

“To the mountains, in this cold? I don’t think so,” he says. “Can you believe this rain? It started before the sun rose.” He presses the code on his computer to give me access to 6A, Latisha’s house. The lift makes its melodious sound.

“Not 6A today, Himmat Uncle. Just G. I’m going to the garden.”

I can’t believe Latisha is so close to me and I don’t get to see her.

“Not meeting Latisha?”

“I’m meeting Faiz in the garden.”

Himmat Uncle frowns as he tries to remember. “Oh. 7C.”

Himmat Uncle looks up as if he can see through the ceiling up to Latisha’s house. “6A, she hasn’t come down in some time. Only Madam and Sir have come. Is she not well?”

I have to tell Himmat Uncle the bitter truth. “I don’t know. It’s now been two days. At least.”

“Okay, you don’t worry, you go to the garden,” Himmat Uncle says. “With the rain, everyone is falling sick. Look at me, I’ve had a fever for three days. But who knows if it’s a fever or just doing the same thing again and again… She will be fine.”

Excerpted with permission from Rain Holiday, Shreya Ramachandran, Talking Cub Books.

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