You know Monsoon has reached the shores when the black umbrella that you are carrying is pushed and you struggle to save it from becoming the prey of gushing winds and rains that wash the tarred roads at Churchgate. We all have a monsoon story to tell, isn’t it? A story that is as distinct and similar in many respects to many commoners
in the different cities in India. The black umbrella story bears testimony to my first monsoon experienced in Mumbai. At that time, I was staying at Churchgate and opposite to Marine Drive at the hostel. It rained heavily in June and it scared the shit out of me as a young student. The struggle to reach the black-and-yellow with the black umbrella in hand and the back pack when you are almost drenched as you rushed to enter the cab. As the car wade slowly, you wonder how you will get out of the car with sticky jeans and tee as you are already uncomfortable. But, at the end of the day, you can only smile at the beautiful and romantic shower in India. It’s a totally awesome feeling.
The local train rattle its way slowly to the station as you eagerly wait to get inside the compartment only to be gently reminded that you are not alone. You will be shoved aside as you jostle your way inside with, ‘abe haat’ or ‘kude chala’ owing to the monsoon. You don’t blame anybody coz it’s the monsoon that pressurize commoners like you to act in a more aggressive fashion. In case you think, you’ve got a respite,err..think again, coz the slow train will move at snail pace as your journey is delayed by few hours as a forty minutes journey takes two hours. You are stranded at the next station since there is no way you can get out amidst the violent storms but maddening showers. A thought pop in your head, There was no need to take a bath in the morning since nature will give you a free shower. There is such a thing call free bath in Mumbai. As you get out of the station, you struggle to light your cigarette and droplets of water fall in your cutting chai.
I remember in Pune that I was riding my bike slowly in the pool of water that reaches your knee as I move slowly in order to avoid stumbling in the mud. Once, I reached the apartment at Pashan, I was completely drenched and realized that the shoes, jeans, socks have all gone for a toss. I owned just one pair of shoes and on the next day, I reached the shop the earliest to acquire a brand new pair of shoes.
We all love and long for the monsoon despite we constantly whine that it is raining too much. We love getting drenched in the rains as we dance our way to dancing in the wilderness manner. It happens only in India and we love the monsoon.
PS: My thought goes to the people of Uttarakhand who lost all their belongings and were rendered homeless to this year’s stormy rains. Let’s spare a thought to the dead who lost everything owing to the carelessness of authorities. It’s a sad episode in our beautiful monsoon.