coffee break

This was a minister's programme, where hoardes of media had gathered hoping for the usual--couple of quotes, something to write, and make it look worth the effort, The weather played truant, and just when the minister arrived, strong winds started, and within minutes reams of cloth covered the ground, which was earlier a tent covering the place. The board put up as a welcome sign, was the first one to topple over and fall. As the minister made way to the shamiana, the reporters rushed after him. The place was on the outskirts of Delhi. The ruddy looking environs, the weather, everything was a distraction. Soon after the speech was over, which had kicked off with a song by the locals, there was mad scampering again. The journos tried to catch the minister, who quickly moved away from the cameras. The Bank heads were lolling about, talking to reporters. One of them, curiously media averse on this particular day, rushed out, and we all followed. The rain had lashed us, my notebook crimping, I strained a few inches above the ground to hear him squwak. My notes were smudged, and I was soaked. There's more. I was shivering by the time he finished speaking, and went inside the wobbly tent, giving out news. There were snacks, and lunch, and I just lapped up some tea. And, slowly the crowd petered out through the mud, and slush, getting stained, and grudingly looking at one another for the horrid morning.