Being a Woman
My earliest memory of the monsoon is of sitting at the window on rainy afternoons and watching the raindrops on electric wires, like glass beads strung together. It was so soothing to just gaze at them sliding along the line and listen to the soothing murmur of the rain.
Rainy nights were for snuggling under the blanket and feeling safe and warm while the rain fell in sheets, though the occasional thunderclap tried to scare the life out of me !
On dark and overcast mornings getting out from the warm bed was such a wrench, actually it’s still quite painful 🙂
Not a single puddle was spared on the way or back from school. I loved the squelching sound of soaked shoes and the tiny spray of water coming from them with each step. Now I’m too busy trying to figure out what kinds of disease-spreading organisms are in there and puddles are avoided like the plague !
During my childhood, the onset of the monsoon would see the transformation of our house into an abode of clotheslines. We had a maid who was quite adept at stringing up lines at the unlikeliest places. I have a sneaky suspicion that given the chance she would have tied one onto me too ! In our apartment right now, one room is given up for this purpose and the rest of the rooms are spared from being festooned with a never-ending array of clothes. Never-ending is the key word here, cos no sooner does one lot dry than the next lot has already made an appearance.
There was a boxwood plant which actually looked like a miniature tree, in our house. When the rain stopped I loved to stand under it and shake the water-laden branches. It was the next best thing to getting drenched.
I remember coming home drenched from school and laying out my wet books to dry. It was a joyous occasion since studies could be suspended temporarily.
Heavy rains at one time meant power outages and those were something I looked for ward to. Generators were not an option in those days and the whole family would sit together around a single candle and most of the time we would end up playing games. Word games and countries and capitals were my favourites. Once the power was restored everybody would return to their respective activities.
When I open my balcony door, it’s like inhaling from the freshest bunch of wild flowers, refreshing and invigorating, with water droplets falling onto my face and banishing all thoughts of sleep.
People holding umbrellas remind me of mushrooms, albeit wonderfully colourful ones. I used to be a master at losing umbrellas. To date I’ve no clue how the wretched things escaped, but each rainy season would see me with a fresh crop ! At last I’ve managed to outsmart the tribe of umbrellas, I don’t carry any 🙂
I don’t think the fauna like the rains but the flora definitely comes alive. I love to see the greenery bursting into life all around me and the wonderful shades of green are to be seen to be believed.They remind me of actors who prior to their going on stage are subdued but once they go on they become vibrant and dynamic. The abandon with which the lush green leaves dance to the tune of the mischievous wind is mind-blowing !
I get so very hungry during the monsoon, of course there’s only a slight difference during the other seasons.It’s not as if I’m suddenly climbing mountains or building bridges during the rains, in fact my severely reduced level of inactivity might put a sloth to shame. In spite of this there’s an urge to keep eating, the hotter the better. 🙂
At times, a heavily overcast sky and the steady falling of the rain brings with it a sweet melancholy. A slight sadness, memories of loss, and regret for deeds not done and words unspoken. It’s not an overpowering feeling, more like the ache from a long forgotten wound……