“I always like walking in the rain, so no one can see me crying.”

No, that’s not your ordinary Mumbai resident, the morning after three blasts rocked crowded markets Wednesday evening, killing 18 people and injuring more than 130. It’s a famous quote by Charlie Chaplin, arguably the greatest comedian the world has ever known.

But the joke is on the Mumbaikar, yet again, as torrential rains lash this coastal city in what seems like Mother Nature’s wasted effort to wash away somebody else’s sins.

Two goals, one denied and another granted, queered the pitch for use of technology in the beautiful game.

Trailing 2-1 against Germany in a do-or-die pre-quarterfinal match at the 2010 World Cup, England’s Frank Lampard unleashed a long ranger in the 39th minute which beat the goalkeeper and hit the crossbar.

Three hours of running from pillars holding up tin sheets to police posts, which provided security cover to shacks that had cropped up as polling booths, made me realise how frustrating the whole process is when the world’s largest democracy goes to vote.

It’s been more than two years since I moved to Mumbai and, frankly, voting was never top of my family’s agenda.

Back in the early 80s, cricket had already captured the hearts and minds of impressionable kids like me, my elder brother and our band of boys who had nothing but disdain for those ‘studious’ kids who were more into science clubs and lending libraries.

Hardy Boys, Famous Five and Nancy Drew were considered a conspiracy hatched by mothers to keep kids at home. While other kids went to bed safely tucking their favourite book under the pillow, I hit the bed with my batting pads and gloves on. India Poised!