Calm before the storm

I'm unable to sleep. It's monsoon, my favourite time of the year, but there is no rain. My bed is a distance from the fan, which doesn't make my life too easy. The air is still. It is humid. I feel sweat trickling down my back onto a heat boil that was formed during summer and never healed. I curse my parents for never investing in an air-conditioner, but then I remember that I'm the one who pays the electricity bill at home.
The only sounds I can hear are that of my grandmother snoring and the gentle whirring of the fan in my room. My grandmother is 86. She feels cold with the fan on. She is covered up. I am sweating and want to lie on a floor of ice. I thank the stars that there aren't mosquitoes in my room.
Then the lights go off.
My room, which is black as the night, gets darker because of the blackout. I toss and turn, trying to figure out how my grandmother sleeps so soundly, while I'm dying here. I wonder whether I'll sleep soundly when I'm 86. I then wonder whether I'll ever turn 86. I think of modern-day illnesses and what the future could hold. I think that 2012 could be cataclysm. I think that 2029 could be the year machine takes over and rules mankind. I think of horror movies.
Suddenly I'm wide awake. There is silence and I feel alone. My grandmother, who has had an exhausting day, is fast asleep. I feel as if I'm being watched. I argue with myself and curse myself for being illogical. I close my eyes and try and sleep. A mosquito comes from somewhere and buzzes into my ear. I slap it and end up slapping my ear instead. The fucker has escaped. I decide to take a newspaper and fan myself to sleep. It's a technique my cousin taught me when I went to Madras several years ago. "Fan yourself for five minutes and sleep for another five," she would tell me. I decide to follow this advice. It works. I'm just about to go to sleep when my dog barks the house down.
I curse and wake up with a start. My head is pounding because I've been woken up with a start. My dog is staring into my face. She's in trouble, I can sense. She is panting heavily and wants to go out for a walk. I get up and put her on the leash.
We walk out. Surprisingly the night is pleasant. It's cool despite the stillness in air. I envy the street-dwellers for a moment, thinking that they don't have to deal with a room that has no cross-ventilation, but take back my thoughts immediately.
My dog relieves herself. She realizes that it's cooler outside than inside and decides to walk some more. The night is dark. She likes it like this. She hates stepping outside during the day. But at night, there is nobody. The world is asleep and it is hers to explore. She sniffs at the plants and the car tires. She moves daintily from one point to another. I'm tired, but allow her to go and explore. I want to sleep, but I know that I won't because of the heat and the mosquitoes. I also know that I'll start thinking of horror movies and evil sinister plots and thunderstorms.
And then, when I least expect it, I feel a drop of water on me.
I look up at the sky. The sky that was a brilliant mixture of purple and gold a few hours ago has suddenly been enveloped by a thick layer of purple clouds. I smile, knowing that the rains are here. The rains that will bring cool relief to my room. The rains that will remove the rashes out of my body. The rains that will wash away the sweat and grime out of my body. The rains that will give my dog a much-needed bath.
Suddenly, the night looks good. I walk back home.