Monsoon Clouds
Lalit Shastri In my formative years, I was but a third-grader, and my elder brother had a lead on me by a couple of classes. Our father, affectionately known as "Babuji," was a firm believer in discipline. His demanding career claimed most of his week, often spilling over into our precious weekends. It was on one rare Sunday that Babuji ventured off to his office, leaving us behind. In his absence, our steadfast domestic help, Puran, wielded his powers of persuasion to convince my brother and me to indulge in a midday matinee at the nearby cinema. The film was scheduled from noon to 3 pm, and, to our surprise, we found Babuji anxiously pacing the front-verandah upon our return. As I, who was a few steps ahead of my brother, approached him, he cut to the chase, demanding to know our whereabouts. Without a moment's hesitation, I stammered, "Babuji, we went to watch a film." Initial anger gripped Babuji as he probed further, "Which film?" My response, &