The monsoon convert

Everyone in India has a monsoon story. Mostly more than one.

And none of them start with, “It was a windy afternoon and as I looked out of the window while sipping tea, the drizzling started, slowly at first, coming down in sheets thereon. As the rainbow appeared from afar, I contemplated swimming in the brook up ahead, to the pitter patter in the background.”

Because everyone I know has a monsoon story from our cities, our ever-imploding, under-serviced, groaning-under-our-weight cities.

I have one memorable story from each city I have lived in – Chennai, Mumbai, Gurgaon.

And ALL of them have to do with how I was stranded in waist deep water with nowhere to go, and it was dark but not lonely, because there were thousands of others stranded exactly like me. Apologies, my Gurgaon story is a little different. I was stranded but inside my car. I don’t think I would be here writing this post if I had been stranded outside. You don’t know why? Oh, you naïve being, don’t ever get stranded outside a car in Gurgaon in a bid to figure out why.

Anyway, I digress. This post isn’t about run-of-the-mill, cities flooding, cars floating and drowning, sewage dumps opening and devouring people kind of stories.

It is about the spirit of the monsoons. Wait, isn’t that the spirit of Mumbai? It is actually about the spirit of Mumbai during monsoons.

I don’t know if this is true about other cities (definitely not Chennai) but Mumbai wholeheartedly celebrates the rains. And like how! At the sight of the first rains, these mad, mad people are on the roads dancing (to avoid potholes), getting drenched in the rain (because it is too windy to carry umbrellas) and generally getting gleeful and happier (it’s true, the grins are wider).

Come June-mid, consumerism goes to a high, as every store in the city announces a monsoon sale that goes on for at least two months, running up to ‘Ganpati Bappa Moraya’. The roads of Dadar overflow with people holding colorfully large umbrellas big enough to engulf you, your family, and your one room kitchen Mumbai house, as they cross the jammed and crowded roads of Khabutar Khana in a bid to reach the stores. Matunga is a bit saner, as always, the elder sister to its chaotic Dadar sibling, the responsible adult in the works. Here, aunties in Lucknawi kurtas with exquisitely embroidered dupattas get down from BMWs that they hopped into on the adjacent lane, as they make their way slowly across to buy sarees they may never wear in their lifetime (I am your friendly neighborhood judgmental Saree connoisseur). The malls drown under the weight of the early morning shoppers as the trial rooms start overflowing with people and dresses.

My first full-fledged Mumbai monsoon was in 2008. And was it an experience or what. I was scared stiff, tired, and forever damp. Everything got damp and moldy, the furniture, the clothes, the footwear, the books. Even the laptop looked at me with sad camera eyes, begging for a blanket that would keep the dampness away. By day 3 of the season, I started asking around when this would taper off. Remember, I grew up in the Chennai of the 90s and 00s where monsoons lasted all of two days. That’s when some kind soul at work informed me this will go on for 3 months. It was the most horrible time of my life, I assure you.

We are in 2019 now. This year, the monsoons have been quite the rage. Unlike last year and last to last year when we were all sad the lakes (and the city pavements) weren’t filling up fast enough, this year, Mumbai has been in over achievement mode. Potential to be rated 5, in corporate employee parlance. But then again, exceptional rain is only expected performance from Mumbai, hence we will have to settle at a 3 ok.

A colleague of mine who has recently moved from Delhi looks out every day at the rains lashing down outside the office windows, worriedly saying “Aaj bahut kharab lag raha hai. Ghar kaise jaayenge?” A Mumbai boy amongst us assures him it isn’t as bad as it looks, we are on the 17^th floor, too near to the clouds to get an unbiased dataset, and anyway the weather always clears up in half an hour in Mumbai. I am not so kind, nor do I remember I was that scared colleague over a decade back. I guffaw and say, “It is Mumbai. It is July. It is supposed to rain in July in Mumbai. Otherwise, how does the world make sense?”

I am a convert, the Mumbai type, who steps out to get drenched in the rains of the first week, who checks the lake levels and gets happy, as if it is some personal achievement deserving of additional bonus. I am also a convert from the beginning of the monsoon when I didn’t want my Little Person to get any exposure to the rain to the middle of the monsoon when I happily pick her up and take her to school come rain, or pouring rain, all the while singing “It is raining, it is pouring.”

This has got nothing to do with the spirit of Mumbai, which, in probability, doesn't exist, except on sensational TV channels (branded ‘news’). This is exactly what normalizing extraordinary situations looks like. And, when habits get formed across many years, it is hard to remember what your normal was before you got introduced to all this madness.