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| Revellers await the rain at Worli sea-face, Bombay |
A few weeks before the monsoon arrived, we aired out our umbrellas and ensured they needed no repairs. Families went out to buy raincoats and 'rainy
shoes'; sometimes, gumboots too. Its arrival coincided with the beginning of a
new year at school. We lined the insides of our school bags with plastic covers
to prevent our meticulously-wrapped brown paper books from turning into soggy,
brown pulp. We shoved crackling plastic bags with a set of ‘change clothes'
into already overstuffed work-drawers.
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| Gola at Juhu beach |
On the day it arrived, we'd all ritualistically run out to dance and get
soaked in the first rain. Once it set in, we incessantly looked out of windows
and craved pakodas and chai. And we sighed, because on most
days, we couldn't get any. Some days, we did get them and we’d be over the moon.
Other days, 'makai’ or ‘bhutta’ were a source of great joy too. Sometimes,
just for the thrill, we’d indulge in monsoon taboos like gola.
We swathed our feet with 'Band-aids' because our 'rainy shoes' would
bite. It didn't matter that the Band-aids would get washed away while wading
through calf-deep water. We'd assiduously stick on some more. We'd roll up our
trousers, jeans or salwars; I quite think we invented capris. We'd hanker for
'rainy songs' on the radio. We'd think nothing of stepping out in cyclonic
storms to get to work, to school, to meet somebody or buy something; the only
option would have been to remain home-bound for almost four months.
A few weeks later, irritation would set in - no more summer mangoes to
eat, roads getting flooded, wearing semi-wet clothes most of the time,
wading through filthy water, bags getting wet, falling ill. Nonetheless, at the
end of each May, we'd sing "Ye re, ye
re paoosaa, tula deto paisa, paise jhala khota, paoos aala motha", a
Marathi song enticing the monsoon to arrive. The biggest perk of the monsoon
obliging was getting sudden holidays - when your road was flooded or your
office, school or college was. Though that wasn’t more than a couple of days in a month,
it was still looked forward to. Nothing's sweeter than your boss calling to
tell you not to come in today, just as you were donning your rainy shoes to
step out to catch the 9:29 Churchgate fast.
That's monsoon in Bombay for you, where I grew up. We shared a love-hate
relationship with it, as turbulent as the rain-bearing clouds. Each June, we transitioned
from summer in a well-oiled drill, to make the monsoon a part of our lives for
the next few months. After I moved out of Bombay, I began craving the rains.
So, each year, I decided to travel during the monsoons; not to cities, but, to
places where I could enjoy it without any of the cares associated with monsoons
in Bombay.
A few times, it didn't rain at all, like when I was at Ashtamudi, Kerala, one
August, which is supposed to be peak monsoon. Hubby and I sat longingly by
the backwaters, waiting for raindrops to pelt our cottage roof. Sometimes, dark
clouds lined the sky and filled me with hope, but it wasn’t meant to be. Once,
when the rain wasn’t yet expected, I had a wet trip to Wayanad, Kerala, in the
pre-monsoons. Travelling with a bunch of friends, the unexpected showers were
fun and brought with them lots of steaming hot chaaya, comfort food, laughter-filled mad scrambles to seek shelter
and hiking around Wayanad’s slippery, hilly terrain.
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| Monsoon clouds over Ashtamudi Lake |
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| Meenmutty falls, Wayanad |
Another year, I spent time only at rainforests, but in two different
parts of the world - Valparai, Tamil Nadu, and Borneo. That rain is indeed a life-giver was
reinforced by seeing the forests come alive with swathes of green. Fungi sprung
in profusion. And, getting wet with us were tiny critters and towering trees. Yet
another trip was spent loafing around Belgaum, Karnataka, with friends, hopping from one
waterfall to another. And of course, gorging on monsoon favourites dished up by
our friend’s mother and a nearby bakery. Last year, I battled leeches at
Agumbe, Karnataka, in vain. Most visible were the five bites on my neck, referred to as my
‘pearl necklace’, thanks to the calamine lotion on each bite to reduce
itchiness. The unrelenting rain also meant we didn’t bathe for all the three
days we were there, due to a lack of hot water.
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| A Jewel Beetle in the monsoon, Valparai |
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| Dipterocarps shrouded in the evening mist, on a rainy evening at Borneo |
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| Picturesque hut on the 'viewpoint hilltop' at Belgaum |
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| Raindrops bounce off a Vine snake at Agumbe |
This year, I was blown away (pun intended) watching the southwest monsoon
arrive into India's southern tip, as Radha and I joined our friend Arati, as
she chased the monsoon for her story. I remember this trip for the giggle-fest
it was and for uninhibitedly getting soaked each day as we chased the chaser of
the monsoon.
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| Fishermen haul in their catch under a 'first-monsoon' sky in South Kerala |
I followed it up with a road-trip with hubby, through central
Kerala. We spent time at a beach, by the backwaters and at a forest. We also
timed our trip to watch the famous snake-boat race at Alleppey.
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| Emerald-green paddy fields, mist and water cascades - a typical monsoon day in Kerala |
With a visit to
Bandipur this month, this is the most I’ve ever travelled in the monsoon. After
four months of being a constant companion, my rain gear has just been packed
away in the loft. Until next year, then!
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| Goat-herd, Banyan and monsoon clouds - at Bandipur |
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