Yet another one on the monsoon

Year after year it seems like there is a meteorological reality-show to see how wrong they can get with their predictions on the advent of the monsoon. Infact, psepologists (esp the kind that appears on news channels), astrologers and and our meteorology dept should send

atleast one team (I am sure they will have many) to the now drab ‘Great Indian laughter challenge’. I remember reading reports that it was going to be an early monsoon. And the real story started only a week after even the usual dates.

And when it indeed starts raining, their expectations of 'heavy showers for the next 24 hours' almost repeats everytime it rains. And as if the rain can sense this building expectation it decides not to rain for 4 days consecutively. And when you almost start forgetting your umbrella, there it comes!

Like every other season in India, people tend to greet the monsoon and hate them as well. And usually it is an exercise in unison. They greet it when it appears and starts hating it when a few days later it affects their regular office commute. For a few, like school-schildren, the glee re-appears every time a holiday is declared.

Despite all this, the initial days of the monsoon is a great treat to watch…people looking up into the sky with a subdued sense of glee, some- hiding the glee behind their umbrellas, some offering ‘lifts’, people running with their shoulders hunched in brisk steps from one canopy to the other-covering them with whatever they have in their right hand (or the hand itself) which covers exactly 1/3^rd of the

forehead. And there are the people with ‘I can wait, but pity you’ smirk on their faces jostling for space in the steps of the footpath…or leading to a store that suddenly sees a spurt in visitors. I can imagine the shopkeeper’s exasperated silhouette against the famed Gandhiji’s quote saying "a customer is the most important visitor on our premises"

During my schooldays in Kerala (Loyola School, Thiruvanthapuram), the rains were expected on the day the school re-opens after the summer vacation … on June 1^st or 2-3 days before/after. It was almost like a natural law. After the tech renaissance of the past decade, the meteorologists started getting over zealous…and started predicting cloud movements. It was almost like the doctor talking about bowel movement when the patient was complaining of constipation.

Back to school days (was never good and old), it was almost a test of optimism to walk out in your new shoes, bag, uniform and other paraphernalia when the rains were almost about to burst out…the only saviour being the new umbrella/rain coat. The most dismaying part was the new shoes. If they could, they could fold up together while you walked out and made a fervent appeal not to take them out in the rains. Poor sole! And the un-heard appeal was thrown along with the shoes into the rain drenched football ground. What fun. The walk back home all cold and huddled under the umbrella straight into the bath without my aaya seeing me was one great adventure that Enid Blyton would have started a series on.

Inside the Loyola School bus, the cold look that your 'window-seated' seniors gave you, every-time you lifted the the window-shutters to see whether your bus-stop has arrived, worked as the only teaser. And the pride with which the driver looked at us, partly adjusting his perch on the seat when a poor soul on the road jumped aside and shielded himself with his umbrella from a puddle when the bus sped past him. It should be another great catch 22 - the dilemma to shield oneself from the rain or the splash from the puddle.

Rains again became an implicitly awaited event while in college-the hot & humid summers never let the brightly coloured jackets (never helped to keep one dry) out of the home. It was even spectacular when the bike made its entry. There was an unseen emergency to reach home (or wherever) when it started drizzling. You could never reach anywhere and in the end just formed an excuse for a hot chai, gossip and a smoke. And every time my bike started, it almost became a good omen to hear my dad or mom shout out to be back before it rains. Due to lack of exposure on any of the other four seasons, the fondness for the rains just grew over the years.

Apart from nostalgia, there is something inherently mystical about the rains. Despite the eager prayers for a good monsoon, there is always the catastrophic tales of lives lost due to mud avalanches, sea erosion, floods, cyclones et al. In Mumbai and elsewhere roads giving way to trenches have become a specialized media subject. Every year we only re-question our sensibilities by questioning the civic administration. Every monsoon almost erases our current frustrations and presents us with new ones. That includes candle lit vigils on terrorist attacks or our exasperations with the administration.

Since the time the rain clouds started gathering in the horizon, the rains were always revered for its power to give birth. But there always seems to be an air of uncertainty… almost unstated preparedness for something unfortunate. And when that happens, every monsoon seems like a season only for memories. The dilemma then is to whether let the old memories get washed away by the rains and make way for new ones or to hold on to the old ones and ignore the present.