The intention of this post is to just give you an idea of A Day in the Life of an Indian Monsoon. If that doesn't interest you, you might as well chill out and listen to some rain (awesome site no?)
"Here", says my mum as she props a small plate of bite-sized vadas beside a pile of books on an old chair. My house is minimally furnished and at times like these she finds it really frustrating to find a resting place. I obediently pick it up before they either turn cold or drop from the the edge of the chair.
"Here", says my mum as she props a small plate of bite-sized vadas beside a pile of books on an old chair. My house is minimally furnished and at times like these she finds it really frustrating to find a resting place. I obediently pick it up before they either turn cold or drop from the the edge of the chair.
Outside the slightly ajar window I see heavy rains continuing. "Yet another weekend, lost to the rains", I think to myself. The window is only slightly ajar because of mosquitoes that are unavoidable. There is a green carpet of bushes outside swaying in the wind and soaking down the rain, a crookedly parked line of motorbikes on the street, steady streams of water merging and flowing down a narrow ridge, an old abandoned rickshaw and a wayward dog finding comfort underneath it. Quite the room with a view, I have got.
"There is going to be a powercut in 30 mins, so if you want to take a hot bath, this is it", forewarns my mother as she enters and leaves my room quickly.
Monsoons in India bring their own share of woes. Going out in the rains mean a lot of things - enduring traffic jams, making sure your phone is well-protected from the rains, dodging the water puddles, timing important errands so you don't get "caught" in the rains.
What can possibly be romantic about Indian monsoons you ask?
Yes if you are sitting in the confines of a shelter, preferably with a hot cup of chai and good company - a book or a person. Or perhaps just lying under the sheets and catching an old flick.
Rains in India seem to have what I call the "standstill" effect. They bring a lot of things to a grinding halt - whether you like it or not. You are forced to work under constraints. You are forced to "take a break" and look around you. Everything is so interconnected to the predictability of rains.
And although I quietly mutter under my breath, I know that I didn't quite have a weekend plan either. My weekends are mostly filled with errands. So I impulsively put on my shoes and running tracks. I decide I want a jog in the park today. A park that takes atleast 45 mins to travel to. The heavy rains having stopped encourage me on this dogged pursuit. I spend a good 20 mins searching for my bike keys. I still don't find them. Undeterred I pick some of my library books I want to drop on the way and set out to do so with my friend.
No sooner do I reach the library, it starts to pour with a vengeance. Damn it! Of course, I am not that worried because the library is probably the second best place to be stranded (after home) for me. We look around for a place to sit but some old ladies have occupied them already. We contemplate about going to a coffee shop across the street but the ominous rains seem relentless and not in a mood for a break.
As we stand there craving for something hot, from nowhere a guy walks in armed with a thermos flask of tea and small plastic cups in his pockets. We ask him for two and he promptly pours them. "6 rupees", he says. We search for some coins but he decides he is ok with a 10 rupee note.
"Quite the angel", I tell my friend. As we sip the hot tea, we contemplate things around us. Old lady struggling to get downstairs (the library is on a building's second floor) with two kids who speak in US accent. "Must be NRI's", we tell each other. One of the kids, a tiny girl, scans the bookshelves like a pro. She decides on a book or two and leaves as her driver comes to pick up the family.
Directly behind their SUV parked on the road, I see a poor grandmotherly lady strutting down the road, carefully avoiding the puddles, with nothing but an old plastic bag covering her head like a shower cap. On the same road, I see young guys on bikes taking a smoke and enjoying the rain nevertheless, middle aged ladies sharing an old ripped umbrella, an auto-rickshaw guy looking out for his next customer and a neighborhood bakery doubling up as the rain shelter for the day.
No, there is nothing romantic about monsoons, if you choose to think so. And yet, there is still something contemplative about the monsoons in India. Either way, life goes on in India.
As I walk down the street to my home, an emaciated looking boy in threadbare shorts, tries to sell me a printed design umbrella. I ignore (as I do with beggars on the streets) and go past him to enter my home. I look back to see that he has done the same - walked across the street to try his luck with another resident.
No sooner do I enter home, mom gives me a deft reminder - "You still have to find the lost keys to your bike". As I said, life goes on.
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