Awaiting my Monsoon

Its becoming difficult day by day to watch the dark clouds just loiter across the sky and vanish away God knows where. Monsoon is half way through on calendar yet there has not been a single wet day this season. I feel like asking Mr. Varun Raj – the deity of Rain : Dude what’s the matter this time? Are you on bench or something?

I am no farmer who has lost all his crops to the drought and who has ended up in pitiable conditions. Nor am I a gypsy who is not able to find oasis. I live in a city where the water supply has been just “cut down”. I have the syntax tank installed at home and my shower still pours steady lines of water upon me to accompany my bathroom singing. I drink purified water and don’t remember my mouth ever being parched. Draught hasn’t hit me as yet even though it seems lurking right around the corner...

Thinking of the rain my mind takes a reverse gear back to my schooldays. Yea yea yea…the same dancing in the rain, paper boats, puddle jumps, fragrance of new school books , frog catching and all that most of us indulge in. The very act of huddling up in the warmth of the blanket on a cold rainy night, watching the dancing streaks of water upon the window pane and listening to their Taal-Vadya-Kacheri was a soothing exercise. No thoughts racing in the mind, no demands, no complaints, just an observing me. As if I were drinking the rain through my eyes and ears. Flapping my feet in the pool of muddy water trapped in my building was my favorite pass-time. But I am sure cleaning me after that stunt wasn’t mom’s. Thanks to BSES that no-electricity days which I adored, were celebrated only during monsoon. No homework that night. Shadow’s ballet shows on the walls. Candle light dinner at home, post dinner trek on the terrace with dad. I used to get to fiddle with torch only during this time. Those nights I have lived all my fascinations of the medieval castles lit up in the candles. Snakes used to show up sometimes which was a rare feast for a city child like me. I used to boast about my building watchman who had hunt down a water snake once upon a time in late 1970’s (when I wasn’t even born) to my classmates having them them listening with widened eyes and dropped jaws. He sounded like a Hero to us then. I used to suitably assume every stick visibly floating in water was a water snake and I was this brave girl to pave my way through them…like in Harry Potter! Thankfully I never had any genuine encounters with this category of danger, however as I grew up, there were many other hazards…especially for us traveling Mumbaikars!

Trudging through knee deep, dark and filthy sewage water outside the train station unaware of the potholes and ditches carved by Municipality…hell it was risky…it always is! Sitting in college lectures feeling disgusted about your feet, shivering in your wet clothes and urging the monsoon to get the hell out of Mumbai was a yearly ritual. Flooded roads, local trains delayed and cancelled, uncertainty of exams due to excessive rains, epidemics and unaffordable sick leaves amidst study pressures, wet books and thus to be redone assignments…monsoon was no more a friend like it felt during school times. Beyond my understanding was why on earth poets and filmmakers portray it romantic.

It took several more years and phases of life and different versions of monsoon experienced to understand that. Monsoon treks to lush green mountains. The panoramic views of the blessed and contented earth from their summits, roaring waterfalls, thick grass, wild flowers, soil fragrance, moist air, interesting group of friends and the natural “hit on’s” and infatuations in early twenties mostly happened amidst such atmosphere only... This most beautiful face of monsoon was none less than ecstatic. I recollect a very filmy incidence happened with me in the crazy London rain. I was walking past a pavement at Canary Wharf, the windiest place you can imagine. It was raining horizontal and vertical and I was drenched to the fullest with my overcoat dripping. My frail umbrella had turned into a satellite dish upside down and I was being pulled with its force. It was impossible to hold onto it at one point and my hand just gave up. It went drifting along with the winds and hit a handsome young British-man. He looked around and realized that I was the owner or that poor thing and am myself drifting along with force of the wind. Catching the umbrella, he gathered its frills together and gently handed over it to me with a smile on his face. In perfect Scottish accent he said “No use opening it” …I stood there in electrified numbness. Fortunately or unfortunately unlike in the movies we never met again, but that monsoon moment justified to me what a romantic season is all about…

Different types of rains, different times, different places…but it makes you get involved. Not only your body but also your mind soaks in it. Itsn’t it beautiful how every little leaf even on the thorny bushes blossoms after the very entry of monsoon? It’s the season of burgeoning life. No matter how inconvenient, how difficult it is, monsoon assures life…not just water. These days due to the aging effect and the social inhibitions its difficult to get away and play in pouring rain. But I consciously did that during the debut showers of this season, and trust me it did bloom something inside me which was dead...or at least dried out. I don’t know what that is but its alive now. I felt like a peacock flaunting his plummage.

Which is why I am really really waiting for it like that very farmer or a gypsy or a peacock. Yes, water shortage is a hovering peril but its not just about that. I am missing you monsoon…I am missing you bigtime…

Hey you Varun Guy – What are you waiting for? Get out of your bench and send me my monsoon…NOW!