Monsoon Music

One long stretch of ecstasy

Crying Holy! Holy! Upon the nameOf the Rain

My first Bombay Monsoon came upon me with no warning. A clap of thunder and down came sheets of rain that poured for days. It rained like it would never stop. Used to the polite drizzles of Calcutta, I was appalled. On the third day, I timidly asked how long this was going to go on. I was told three months. Three months?! By the third week, I was terminally depressed. A friend offered to take me for a walk on Marine Drive to cheer me up.

Walk! We staggered up and down, screaming at the top of our voices to be heard, as vast waves crashed down beside us. It was like balancing on a fine edge of fury. For all the tetrapods, the sea was just one snatch away. From that moment, I learnt a healthy respect for the monsoon. Later, there would be headlines that I would read with regret Three picnickers washed away at Marine Drive8217;. Four drowned atAksa beach.8217;

How that first monsoon stretched out, awash with strange discoveries! Leather Look Plastic Wear8217; was one. I even went out and bought a pair of plastic shoes one monsoon, only to discover that wearing them for more than three minutes brought me out in a rash. I resigned myself to losing my shoes to the monsoon and mould. I resigned myself to the endless sound of rain in the night. I resigned myself to lost umbrellas, and dripping crowds and depression. And then, in my second year at Bombay, the strangest thing happened I fell in love with the monsoon.

It started with a gulmohur tree outside the hostel. Every shower became a shower of flying red petals. The green of the tree showed up against it8217;s iron black trunk. What had been a dusty, ignored tree suddenly stretched out, languorous and beautiful in the rain. It continued with an interlude sheltering in the portico of the Taj. I had dashed in there for shelter, and found myself beside an Arab family with two children. They were staring atthe rain, faces agape. The children had never seen rain like this before. At first, they were terrified. The father had to explain that this was what he had brought them here to see. Then, as the fear subsided, the wonder took over. They made sorties out in the rain, mouths open to catch the falling drops, hands outstretched to grab what they could of this wondrous excess. Imagine seeing rain for the first time in your life. And rain like this! Tempted, I stepped out into the rain and walked away.

I have never been able to walk away since. The very first shower tempts me out. Who can resist the warm musky smell of the earth exhaling serenely after the first shower? Who can resist the first happy spatter? And how wonderful to look around and see everything washed so clean that colours stand out upon the eye, that looking becomes a new seeing. What a lesson of renewal and healing the rain washes down upon us.

And even when the trains stop and trees crash down, and commuters have to walk home, there arestill blessings to be counted. There is the camaraderie of the marooned, the spirit of those awash and afloat. The shouted greetings and the cheerfully shared information as you join the vast body of people plodding their way home through water. I write this as the monsoon winds up, because we are at that stage when the wonder has worn off and the irritation has set in. When vast showers are no longer to be gazed at but to be cursed. Whenever the irritation gets too much, I go to the window and fling it open. Outside, there are trees stretching new green leaves to the grey skies. Patiently they stand, waiting for rain. For renewal.

May you too be renewed. May there be many monsoons in your life. And may you find your umbrella when you need it!

Venita Coelho is a television script-writer