Written 3 months ago in Gainesville, Florida–
Until today, I never realized how fundamental the rainy
season is to the Indian.
Sure, there are songs, movies, poetry solely devoted to the
rains. Come July and there are ‘Malhar ….’ or ‘…. Malhar’ events happening in
every nook and corner of every city, or rather, every space with a seating
capacity of 15 or more. Hindustani classical music has not one, but an entire branch of raagas meant only for the
rains. So rain if anything, is a topic explored ad nauseum via every form of
expression known to man.
So why am I writing this article? Because today I found out
how integral the rainy season is to my existence. I have hated, mocked,
despaired at rains all my life and yet, yesterday, I found myself sitting in my
apartment, having just returned from a walk in the rain, in front of my PC
listening to a marathon of rain music (ranging from Colonial Cousins’ Indian
Rain to Pt Ravi Shankar’s Concerto), longing for teatime and incredibly,
reviewing a technical paper on rivulet formation on airfoils. It felt cosy (the
music I mean, definitely not the paper.) The cliché about the rain drumming a pattern on the windowsill rang true.
For the first time ever, I LIKED the rain!
Written today in Mumbai –
All the old
grouses against the rain return in with full fervor. The roads are ditches, the
clothes don’t dry, the alley smells…………..and reaching your lab soaking wet is
not fun by any stretch of imagination.
Umbrella
shopping is fun though.
The
lightening coruscates the sky every night. It would be nice to get at least one
decent photograph of it.
