Drenched in memories

Images: Google

Rains in Bangalore, what a relief from the parched, dusty brown streets, the lifeless trees and withering leaves. Some call it gloomy weather, some like to say overcast and humid - not a good sign, some others worried about the wet clothes, musty smell, slushy roads and freezing cold. I just loved it. The grey clouds and humid air told me of their secrets and conquests….secrets only some liked to hear. I did. I eagerly awaited the cool winds and the soft drizzles. I was even geared up for the mighty showers.

Rain. There is something about the very word that showers me with freshness and fulfilment. It washes away all the dust and grime, the cobwebs and grease from my being.  It fills me with excitement and wonder, happiness and cheer. Even before it actually came, there was torrential rain in my heart and soul.

I was getting ready for the pitter-patter on my windows. I would give it a grand welcome. Not like some others who shielded away the cool breeze and the lovely weather with unfriendly woollens and jackets. As I walked back from the market last evening, the clouds finally showered their blessings on the city. Soft, cool sprays of water on my face. It was heaven. I closed my eyelids and breathed in…the earthy scent that I so love, the dampness in the air, life-giving water…water everywhere.

Memories of monsoons in Kerala gushed in. The non-stop rains, the flooded roads, paper boats, the cat at the doorstep curled up on the mat, people hurrying home before the heavy rain, steaming hot coffee in a steel tumbler that Amma would bring along with spicy savouries and snacks- that I would enjoy while staring outside the window, the sound of crickets and frogs at night, the endless power cuts and candle light family dinners, the unfriendly mosquitoes that whistled away nonchalantly after a feasting on a sumptuous blood meal, water snakes and fish that appeared suddenly out of nowhere, slugs, flies, millipedes and what not? Temple visits with best of friends despite the downpour and flooded roads, our chappals spraying brown blotches of muddy water all over our clothes. I feel blessed to have experienced the monsoons in Kerala for a little over two decades.

Pulling my unwilling self back to the present, I stare out of the window up into the sky, trying to trace the origin of the drops of rain. May be I could catch a few spirited kids playing in the rain. May be I would see a few toads calling out, trying to find a worthy partner. May be. Failing in my attempt, and utterly bored, I go to the terrace and see the clothes getting wet. I dash towards the clothes line, tugging at the clothes in desperation, gathering them into a huge bundle. But they are already wet and cold. I curse the rain and go about doing my work. I make a cup of instant coffee for myself and gulp it down. With a slight pang of sorrow I realize they are not the same any more…the drizzles and the torrents.