Ah! The Mumbai rain is back like a sword zipping and swirling from east to west, left and right, parachuting endlessly in a shower of bliss. Simply drool over this splash of ecstatic joy like a kaleidoscope of lighting shining bright on faces. Monsoon is a celebration of life in jest. The mad mad rains hark me back to the Mumbai and SoBo days of getting soaked and drenched to bliss, socks turned into fish swimming in this lake called my pair shoes.
The year was 2008. Monsoon struck in the city and thunder electrified the blue sky fading into a dark patch, a barrage of water heckling the Mumbai populace on all sides. There is a something inherently charming about rain in South Bombay…the umbrella flying and the body oscillating as you let the fair down, traipsing at Marine Drive and the windy breeze in jest and jostling you as if some villains fighting you in a Hindi movie potboiler. The tea was brewing at Fort, just outside University of Mumbai as water flew beneath the feet and flowing on the road that we could play paper boats. Milk poured in the huge vessel and steered as steam flapped on the face. The tea seller expertly took a sip to get a hang of the sugar and eyes stood straight in agreement with the taste bud. Tea flew in exact quantity on the glasses placed on the huge wooden table where hardly tiny drops fell. I was in awe of the exact measurement. Pure bliss. I loved my Mumbai chai Kadak in the rain and the joy of water plopping in the small cutting glasses makes it an amorous affair.
A break up was being nursed in those days. I plopped my feet completely drenched and the sticky jeans, walking from DN Road to Churchgate Station…a helluva long way to go but determination to enjoy every single moment. The first monsoon had to be experienced like a mushy lover, caking the steam filled cup to the face that felt eternally passionate kiss to be cherished forever. Craziness had a name. From Churchgate to Mahalaxmi, I sashayed my way in a Best Bus and walked to Haji Ali, serenaded by the rain, twisting and spinning in aimless directions as the water and wind threatened to strike in the midst of heavenly bliss. I didn’t trudge in fear but felt the murmuring of wind and sticky clothes like gum on the skin that had no place to hide. Another cup of tea and samoosa at the modest canteen. On the way back, walked and steered the way in the rain which felt like a yatra of water and the body couldn’t move but jerked inside the sticky jeans. Finally, hopped on a bus, and zoomed in the local (train) back to Churchgate.
The rain miraculously stopped but the madness didn’t. I was in no dearth of spine and walked my way to Marine Drive after putting fresh clothes. The steps plodded towards Nariman Point and pain felt on the soles. But, who gave a fuck! I wanted to do something exciting! Climbed the boulders nestled close to each other and trudged the way to sit on the top, watching the waves crashing and the sea water manifesting its might. Felt like a King atop SoBo and eyes furtively glanced beneath the boulders, crabs swirling and gentle water percolating. The climb helped me to cope with anger and heartbreak, calmed the frayed nerves in the eyes of the storm to sit peacefully.