The Umbrella That Hated Rain

In the corner of a cupboard in Dadi's house lived a brand-new umbrella. It was bright yellow with a curved wooden handle, and it had one great fear in life. It was afraid of getting wet.

"Water spoils things," it told the old raincoat that hung beside it. "Look at you. All wrinkled." The raincoat only chuckled. "Wait for the monsoon, little one."

The monsoon came. Each time footsteps approached the cupboard, the umbrella slid behind the brooms and held its breath. Dadi took a plastic sheet to the market. She took a newspaper to the temple. Once she took a steel plate and held it over her head, and the whole lane laughed.

"Where is that new umbrella?" she grumbled. The umbrella pretended to be a walking stick.

One evening, clouds as dark as a buffalo rolled over the town. Dadi had to fetch her grandson Kabir from school. She opened the cupboard, and this time her hand closed firmly around the curved wooden handle.

"No, no, no!" squeaked the umbrella, though nobody could hear. At the door, Dadi pressed the little button. Whoosh! The umbrella flew open for the first time in its life. It had never known that it could become so big.

Then the first drop fell. Tup. The umbrella shut its eyes. Tup, tup, tup. More drops came, then hundreds, then thousands, drumming on its yellow skin like a band at a wedding.

"That tickles," said the umbrella in surprise. The water did not soak in at all. It rolled off in shining beads and jumped from the tips of its ribs. Underneath, Dadi's white hair stayed perfectly dry.

At the school gate, Kabir squeezed in beside her. On the way home he reached out and spun the handle, and the raindrops flew off in a silver circle. The umbrella laughed so hard that it nearly turned inside out.

That night it stood dripping happily by the door. "Well?" asked the old raincoat. The umbrella shook off one last drop. "Tell the clouds," it said, "that I am free tomorrow as well."