Raindrops keep falling

The monsoon is finally here – and I couldn’t be happier. 

 

There is no better feeling than when, after sweltering through ground-breaking heat for months, you wake up to the sound of a thundershower and hear raindrops beating against your window in an incessant rhythm that sings its way into your very soul. The sweet sound of the season’s first rain, heralding the start of the monsoon, is the best kind of morning alarm, and not surprisingly it had me tumbling out of bed and running to the balcony so that I could witness it first-hand.

 

The monsoon is always something that I look forward to (don’t come at me with talk of clogged roads; I simply refuse to let mundane concerns ruin the romance of the rains) but this year it came as a particular relief. Temperatures had been touching the mid to high forties with a distressing regularity and leaving home had become akin to stepping into a hot oven which wouldn’t just bake you but burn you to a crisp. So, the ten-degree drop in temperature that the rains brought was particularly welcome. 

 

As I stood on my balcony, inhaling the magical smell of petrichor (the scent the dry earth emits when rain hits it for the first time) and luxuriating in the feel of raindrops dropping on my head, I found myself transported to monsoons past and all the fun times I had had during them.

 

My earliest memories of childhood revolve around the monsoon. I remember my mother stripping me down to my frilly white underwear and letting me loose on my verandah as the rain came pouring down. She would clog the drains that led off it with pieces of cloth so that the water accumulated until it was up to shins. The giddy excitement I felt as I skidding around in the few inches of water, screaming in delight, lives on in my head so many decades later. As does my searing disappointment when she finally decided that I had had enough and dragged me away to dry me off. Left to myself, I would have wallowed in my private ‘swimming pool’ forever.

 

Perhaps it was this that triggered my love of the monsoon. But, for as long as my memory goes back, I have adored this time of the year. The magic of the horizon as it turns grey, then black; the majestic sound of thunder; the lightning flashes that electrify the sky; the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops; the freshly-washed look of the trees after a shower; I love it all.

 

And then, there are the food memories. Monsoon in our household always meant hot steaming bowls of khichdi with oodles of desi ghee floating on top, paired with a mustard oil-enhanced alu chokha for lunch. Tea would be accompanied by assorted pakoras, sprinkled with a generous dusting of chaat masala. And sometimes, as a special treat, we would get spicy shingaras (no, there are nothing like north Indian samosas) with syrupy sweet crisp jilipis (no, nothing like the north Indian jalebis) hot from the kadhai of the local mishti dokan. 

 

So, I guess it’s no surprise that my first instinct when it rains is to deep fry. Unfortunately, pakoras are not my forte so I end up making Mumbai-style kanda bhajiya which my husband loves. If I am feeling lazy then I just take out a packet of frozen alu tikkis from the freezer and shallow fry them, slathering them with green chutney or maybe even ketchup. The masala tea of my childhood has been replaced by a steaming hot cappuccino, courtesy my new-fangled coffee machine. The only childhood monsoon staple that has survived into my adulthood is the khichdi, which I rustle up the moment the sky threatens rain. 

 

Alas, it’s no longer possible to strip down to my underwear and wallow in my self-made ‘swimming pool’ as I did as a child (mustn’t frighten the neighbours!). But I do the next best thing. I leave my umbrella behind and head out to the neighbourhood park for a walk, revelling in the feel of raindrops enveloping me in their misty beauty. I walk until I am soaked to the skin. 

 

There’s no mom any more to summon me back and dry me off. So, with great reluctance, I force myself to turn back home – until the next shower beckons.

 

Raindrops keep falling...

At long last, the monsoon arrives in Delhi – and I couldn’t be happier

 

It is an admission that is usually met with derision, but the monsoon is one of my favourite times of the year. There is something so magical about seeing those dark clouds gathering on the horizon, bearing the rain that will release the magnificent smell of petrichor from the parched earth, and bring solace to all those suffering from the blistering dry heat of a north Indian summer. I can spend entire days just gazing out of the window, watching the sky change colour, marveling at the rain as it comes crashing down, and luxuriating in the cool breeze that accompanies it.

 

This year, though, I had a long wait on my hands, as the monsoon was delayed in Delhi for one week, then another, and then yet another. Such was my frustration at this state of affairs that I decided to do something that I hadn’t done in my entire life. I decided that if the rains would not come to me, well then, I would go to where the rains were.

 

So it was that I arrived in Goa one cloudy afternoon, braving a flight from Delhi. The moment I stepped off the plane and smelt the moisture in the air, I was in heaven. As I drove to the hotel, the dark clouds threatened rain, which finally came pouring down after I had checked into my room. That was my cue to take up residence on the balcony and just watch the skies open up. 

 

And what a sight it was! The vast expanse of green lawn soaked up the moisture greedily, even as the tall palms swayed sinuously in the breeze. The grey sea roiled in the background, as the showers gathered in intensity and then abated to a gentle drizzle. The show was mesmerizing to behold and I was crushed with disappointment when the dark clouds finally moved on and sun came out in its full glory.

 

But this was Goa in the monsoons so, thankfully, I did not have to wait long for a repeat performance. In another hour or so, the clouds were back and so, in time, was the rain. This time I decided on a more immersive experience, and wandered along to the beach, where in solitary splendour – no one else was mad enough to venture out in this kind of weather – I allowed the rain to soak me to the skin. 

 

The experience transported me straight back to my childhood. In those more innocent days, the arrival of the rain meant stripped down to my chemise and running up to the terrace to get sopping wet in the rain. I would be joined by my best friend at the time and we would create a little swimming pool of sorts (by blocking all the water outlets) and skid around, whooping and hollering with joy.

 

I was very tempted to do the same sort of thing on the beach, but the presence of the lifeguard meant that I behaved like a responsible adult instead of a giddy child even though it went against my every instinct.

 

But like all good things, my Goa sojourn also came to an end. And it was back to Delhi, which was (still!) waiting for the monsoon to arrive. 

 

And then, finally, it did! I woke up one morning to see an overcast sky that promised rain later in the day. And sure enough, as I sipped on my first coffee of the day, the rain came pouring down, accompanied by a strong wind that whipped my hair all around my face and deposited a gentle spray of rainwater on me. The temperature dropped by a good 10 degrees and the mugginess of the atmosphere disappeared as the moisture was leached out of the air.

 

Monsoon had finally arrived in Delhi. And it was time to roll out all my monsoon rituals. Khichdi, alu chokha and begun bhaja for lunch. Kanda bhajiya for tea. And a walk in Sunder Nursery in the evening, as raindrops kept falling on my head. Bliss!

 

Monsoon Survival Kit

Some handy tips to keep you frizz-free and stress-free this rainy season

Is it my imagination or do civic services seem to get worse every monsoon? The traffic snarls increase, the number of potholes proliferate, and the flooding – even when the volume of rain is not out of the ordinary – gets more apocalyptic with every passing year.

So, I wouldn’t blame you if you regard the onset of the rainy season with dread and trepidation, wondering what fresh hell will be unleashed this monsoon. I would, in fact, understand completely, and make sympathetic noises even as you moaned and groaned.

But what good would that do you? None at all!

Which is why I have decided to compile my own Monsoon Survival Kit to provide you practical tips and advice to get through this season with your feet dry, your hair frizz-free and your sanity intact.

·       Grant yourself rainy-day holidays: When the rain is coming down so hard that complete and utter traffic dislocation seems guaranteed, call in sick. If you think that won’t wash (pun alert!) then claim to be flooded in and ask if you can work from home. Then you can hunker down on your bed (or sofa) with a nice, steaming cup of tea, and work on your laptop with one eye on the amazing monsoon sky raging and raving outside your window. And when the rain finally comes down, you can take a little balcony break to feel the fresh spray of rainwater on your face. Bliss!

·        Better still, hold over some of your annual summer leave for the monsoon. Then when everyone else is dealing with traffic jams and car breakdowns, you could be walking the beach in Goa or Kerala, getting soaked to the bone as your feet squelch across the wet sand. And while swimming in the sea may be out of the question in this season, you can still enjoy its stormy beauty as you sit at a beachside shack, knocking back some fish fry with a beer or a vodka tonic. (If the beach seems too messy, then head for the mountains to feast your eyes on the mist, the fog, and yes, the rain, from your vantage point in the hills.)

·       If you do have to go to work, then work on making your commute fun. If you are driving, load some nice rain songs on your music system or pop in the earphones to listen to your latest audio book. If you are being driven, catch up on your reading, whether it is with an e-book reader, an actual book or the Kindle app on your phone. Phone a friend you haven’t spoken to in a long time. Check out your favourite feeds on Instagram. If you can fill this empty time by doing something you enjoy, something that makes you happy, even the interminable jams won’t seem intolerable.

·       There will be several days during this season that you will find yourself marooned at home. So make sure that you have everything you need to keep yourself entertained. Subscribe to Netflix, Amazon Prime or Hotstar, so that you can binge-watch the latest shows. Make sure the liquor cabinet is well-stocked. Keep lots of microwaveable popcorn handy, so that you can replicate the movie-watching experience at home. (Added bonus: at home, unlike at the cinema, you can pair this with a glass or two of wine!)

·       But while there is a lot to be said for chilling in the dry comfort of your home when the monsoon is raging outside, you will be missing out if you just stay indoors. So, when there is a break in the rain, head out for a walk in the neighborhood park. The rain will have had a cleansing effect on all the vegetation, the leaves will be sparkling, the flowers glistening, the grass greener than ever, and the world will seem like a happier, shinier place.

·       This is the season of bad-hair weeks (rather than days). The humidity will make you sweat gallons and you will feel like washing your hair every single day when you get back home. But don’t just stop at a shampoo, pamper your hair with a frizz-free conditioner. And to make sure your ends don’t curl up by the next morning, squeeze on some frizz-free mousse for good measure before you blow-dry it. (Alternatively, you could just embrace your curly-hair avatar. But while there is something to be said for philosophical acceptance, it still smacks of defeatism to me.)

·       Whether or not you have kids of your own, this is as good a time as any to relive your childhood. As a child, rains to me always meant heading straight for the terrace to get soaked to the skin. Then, it was time for a quick shower and settling down to some chai-pakora, served up by my long-suffering mother. Now that she is no longer around, I go through the ritual all on my own. But I can feel her presence even in her absence; and I feel like a six year old again. And I have the rains to thank for that.

Raindrops keep falling...

When the monsoon comes calling, it's time to fall back on those rainy-day rituals

Whenever the rain comes pouring down, I remember my grandmother. She was a true believer in the magical properties of rain water. So, even as the skies darkened, she would be ready with buckets, tubs, steel pans, and whatever other container she could lay her hands on. They would all be lined across the verandah, carefully positioned in the places where she knew (from her vast experience) the most rain waiter would fall.

When the skies finally opened up, she would press us kids into service. The moment a bucket/tub/container filled up, it was our job to pick it up and jog across to the large water tank next to the kitchen, empty it in and come back for more. The higher the water level in the tank at the end of the downpour, the happier my grandmom.

Then, until the next shower, this water would be rationed out carefully to all the women in the family (men really didn't rate in my grandmom's world; the feminist before her time). Not to bathe in; that would be a criminal waste. The rain water was only used to wash our hair. And I have to admit that, in that pre-conditioner era, it left our tresses silky smooth and shining.

It was only after my grandmother passed on that I developed a rainy-day ritual of my own along with my best friend in the neighborhood. The moment it started raining, we would run to the terrace and block all the water outlets with balled up pieces of cloth. Then, the two of us would get soaked to the skin, fairly screaming with joy, even as the terrace slowly transformed into a swimming pool (admittedly, a very shallow one!). Once the water was a few inches deep, we would 'swim' or more accurately, skid along the smooth concrete, having the time of our lives.

When we were a little older, we incorporated a bit of arts and crafts into this routine. Once we had satiated the thirst of our animal spirits, we would settle down in the shade, piles of old exercise books by our side. We would carefully fashion paper boats and sail them across our miniature ocean, keeping close tabs on whose boats made it the farthest.

But by far, the best part of the monsoons was the 'rainy-day holiday'. In Calcutta, where I grew up, you were guaranteed at least four days off due to torrential rain. So, every morning I would get up and run hopefully to the window to see if the rain was coming down in gallons. And you cannot imagine my delight on the rare occasions that we were in fact given a 'rain holiday'.

That day, breakfast would not be a glass of milk and a couple of slices of buttered bread. It would be milky tea, teamed with steaming hot singaras (what you would call samosas in the north) and jalebis from the neighborhood 'mishti dukaan' (sweetshop). Then, I would grab my favorite book - an Enid Blyton when I was younger and a Georgette Heyer when I was a little older - settle down in the window seat and prepare to read the day away while glancing occasionally at the grey skies outside, fortified by many cups of chai.

And then there were the rainy-day menus, all unified by the theme of deep frying: fluffy puris for breakfast with aloo subzi; steaming bowls of kitchdi served with begun bhaja; pakoras made with everything from fiery green chilies to soft creamy paneer for evening tea; and if we were still hungry at the end of that, another helping of kitchdi for dinner.

I think it is fair to say that as I got older, rainy-day rituals became a spectator sport rather than a full-on, immersive experience. Rare was the occasion that I allowed my inner child to go forth and frolic in the rain. Instead, in keeping with my new grown-up status, I would watch indulgently from the sidelines as my nieces did much the same thing, playing out my childhood in front of my own eyes.

But no matter how old I get, I find it hard to eschew rainy-day rituals altogether. So now, when I am in Mumbai, my rainy-day ritual extends to taking the day off, keeping a pot of coffee on the go and just sitting on the balcony, watching the rain slash down into the Arabian Sea.

One of my favorite weekend breaks is to head to Goa during the monsoons, when the grey of the sea and the skies is set off to perfection by the verdant green of the vegetation. And suffice it to say, if you haven't walked down a soggy beach, being pummeled by the rain, the salty sea spray, and the buffeted by the winds, you haven't lived at all. If I have a little more time off, Kerala is my 'rain destination' of choice, with egg roast and parottas taking the place of  singaras and pakoras, and coffee standing in for milky tea.

And if I am stuck in Delhi, not the best place to enjoy the monsoons admittedly, then it's off to Lodi Gardens to take a walk in the rain and get soaked to the skin. It's hard to resist the temptation to fashion a few paper boats to float down the water that collects in large puddles as I dawdle along the jogging track. But now that I am no longer that little girl who would try so hard to transform her terrace into a swimming pool, I try my best to resist.

Listen to the pouring rain...

And take time off to revel in the magic of the monsoon…

It has certainly taken its time about it this year, but finally the monsoon is upon us. And not a moment too soon, either, if you ask me. Just when we were about to wilt under the unrelenting heat and melt into a little puddle of humidity, the skies opened up and gave us the magic of the monsoon. The rain came crashing down, washing away the dirt and grime of an Indian summer, and suddenly the world looked green, clean and freshly-laundered, with the smell of petrichor filling the air.

As you can tell (and you certainly can, if you have been regular readers of this column), I love the rains. I love the sight of dark, gathering clouds. I love the fat little droplets of rain that fall on my window. I love the drama of the thunder and the flash of the lightening. I love the romance of walking in the rain, getting soaked to the skin and drenched to the bone. 

Which is why I can never understand the monsoon nay-sayers, the ones who moan and groan about the onset of the rains. Yes, I know that traffic can become a mess after a five-minute shower in some parts. I know that if a storm breaks, a power cut can’t be far behind. And that the slightest hint of rain is liable to make Tata Sky (less a DTH service; more a weather app) disappear off your TV sets.

But come on! It’s the monsoon. It’s the season to leave all your inhibitions aside and embrace the promise of the rains. It’s the time to sit on your balcony and watch, hot mug of tea/coffee in your hand, as the showers transform the urban landscape. Or just snuggle up on your couch, with a good book, and read all day long with a thunderstorm providing the perfect background score. 

Are you really going to be put off by a few puddles or even massive waterlogging, for that matter? Isn’t a traffic snarl a small price to pay for the privilege of gazing at those darkening skies, until they finally split open and shower their largesse upon us? Does kitchdi ever taste better than when it is accompanied by a light but unrelenting drizzle? And did I mention that the temperature falls by as much as 10 degrees?

Growing up, my idea of heaven was getting a ‘rainy-day’ holiday from school. During the monsoons, I would get up and run to the window to conduct a ‘rain-check’ first thing in the morning. And my joy knew no bounds if the rain was already coming down in its full glory. If it lasted for an hour or longer, the odds of school being called off because of ‘rain disruption’ were very good indeed. And then I could do all the stuff that made monsoons memorable: get down and dirty in the puddles in the garden; plug the drainpipes and create my very own swimming pool on the terrace; gorge on pakoras and other deep-fried delights.

So, my message to all the monsoon kill-joys out there is this: lighten up and embrace the season. It is going to rain – incessantly, if we are lucky; on and off, if we are not – for the next couple of months, whether you like it or not. So, why not try and get into the monsoon spirit this year? In case you’re game, here are just a few pointers to get you started:

• Take a monsoon break. Kerala never looks more beautiful than during the rains. Beach destinations like Goa take on a particular charm at this time of the year. Or you could simply head to the hills for a spot of R&R. Take off for a week or even a weekend to enjoy the stunning beauty of the monsoon in these scenic locations. An added bonus: off-season rates ensure that you spend a fraction of the money you would have during high season. 
• Can’t take so much time off? Or simply can’t afford another vacation after the expense of the summer holidays? Never mind. Make the most of what your neighbourhood/city has to offer. Slip into a raincoat and head out for the park, thermos of hot tea tucked away under your arm, to be enjoyed in some verdant spot. Organize a rainy-day barbeque in the backyard and call the neighbours over. Or simply walk along a sodden beachfront and watch the waves roll in, a grey symphony with the overcast skies.
• Getting stuck in traffic snarls is a given. Don’t be caught out. Take along an ipod loaded with the best monsoon songs, which you can sing along to as the rain batters your windshield. Use the time to make a call to a long-neglected friend or family member. Or just chill out and clear your mind of all the clutter it has accumulated during the day. Don’t stress yourself out because of the delay; that won’t make the traffic move any faster.
• Want to feel better about yourself, even if you can’t about the season? Then take this opportunity to set up a water-harvesting unit at home, in your building, your colony or your cooperative society. The water table will thank you, as will future generations. And who knows, you may even finally get the point about the monsoons!