Dreaming of Monsoon…


It’s pouring here in Rome. I feel content listening to the steady drum of the rain and looking at the stray raindrops splash against my window pane. Yet, that unfeigned, unadulterated joy associated with the monsoons in India is missing! The pure bliss, when the skies open up after the blistering heat, is strangely conspicuous in its absence. There are no children dancing in the rain and no smell of hot crispy pakoras wafting in through kitchen windows and certainly no rapturous Facebook status posts. Maybe I am romanticizing the monsoons – the inevitable trap an expat/Indian away from home, falls into. After all, Delhi isn’t a pretty sight with water-clogged streets and traffic jams and Mumbai is positively revolting!

Yet, I am a sucker for the monsoons! All of us are to an extent; The wet sari wouldn’t have acquired the cult status in Bollywood otherwise, and we’d be infinitely poorer culturally without Megh Malhar or Kalidas’s Meghadutam or the numerous festivals marking the onset of Monsoons.
After months of the relentless sun beating down on the parched and cracked earth, the rains herald a kind of exuberance that’s difficult to understand for anyone except us. Indeed, if it rains all year round and without any ceremony, it becomes just another blip on the weather forecast page- just another occasion to wear those rain boots and carry an umbrella. Nothing to get excited about!
Ah, but not so in India. Monsoon is a time for romance and for long drives and to hear birds sing raucously and smell the damp earth! Now time to get back to work…
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