As soon as the first monsoon clouds team up to darken the horizon, all sorts of strange memories invade my mind.
Here I am sitting at the verandah of the small quarter in Durgapur looking out at the horizon and marvelling at the downpour washing away the grime of the trees , flowers, roads and even the pebbles of our garden with the sound of rainfall on the various surfaces and tree leaves creating a marvellous symphony of its own.
Then there I am straining away on my small blue bicycle away from the cricket field as I continue my struggle to reach the safety of my home before the fast approaching rain drops catch up with me.
Of course, there is a fun filled moment of a few of us , all teenagers, having a time of our lives playing football in a slushy mud spattered field in a rain soaked day, while the neighbourhood damsels watched us from the convenient safety of their verandahs. Maan, how we showcased our talents that day in the 'Inter para' football championship.
There is a complete collage of picking mangoes, playing ' Jumping in the puddle' , wrestling matches on the wet school ground and intentional rain drenching sessions to be able to get French leave from school.
Add to that, the memories of being huddled inside the room as the first 'Kalboishaki' lashed the city armed with generous doses of thunder and lightning and aided by storms reaching 90 km per hour. The fear and apprehension gave way to the pleasure created by the sudden fall in temperature as one sat back in the evening munching away at 'telebhaja' and 'muri' or huddled under the mango or guava tree to pick up the fruits dislodged by the storm. An occasional 'shilabristi' added to the charm and it was fun to reach out in the rain to get hold of the icicles falling from the sky.
There is also one memorable holiday in Darjeeling where I spent one full hour alone in the Mall sitting in the pouring rain, enjoying two cones of ice cream as I tried to get a feel of the mist covered mountains in the blurred horizon.
Then there were the romantic escapades of the mind pushing me to offer umbrella space to a good looking college mate (met with rejections almost always), offered lifts on a dilapidated scooter such that the dainty selves do not soil their lovely feet in the puddles (generally accepted) and of course, participation in typical college groups walking cheerfully in the pouring rain with the hope of getting close to the most recent infatuation.
Aah, those were the days when youth was me. Those were the days of monsoon magic and romance.
These days , when I see the same clouds, I am more worried about the waterlogging, work disruptions, the maid not turning up, car stalling in the water and water borne stomach ailments.
Is that a sign that I am aging?
Who knows? Maybe.
But this year, at least one day, I am going to deliberately wade in the monsoon puddle and enjoy it. That is a promise!!
Here I am sitting at the verandah of the small quarter in Durgapur looking out at the horizon and marvelling at the downpour washing away the grime of the trees , flowers, roads and even the pebbles of our garden with the sound of rainfall on the various surfaces and tree leaves creating a marvellous symphony of its own.
Then there I am straining away on my small blue bicycle away from the cricket field as I continue my struggle to reach the safety of my home before the fast approaching rain drops catch up with me.
Of course, there is a fun filled moment of a few of us , all teenagers, having a time of our lives playing football in a slushy mud spattered field in a rain soaked day, while the neighbourhood damsels watched us from the convenient safety of their verandahs. Maan, how we showcased our talents that day in the 'Inter para' football championship.
There is a complete collage of picking mangoes, playing ' Jumping in the puddle' , wrestling matches on the wet school ground and intentional rain drenching sessions to be able to get French leave from school.
Add to that, the memories of being huddled inside the room as the first 'Kalboishaki' lashed the city armed with generous doses of thunder and lightning and aided by storms reaching 90 km per hour. The fear and apprehension gave way to the pleasure created by the sudden fall in temperature as one sat back in the evening munching away at 'telebhaja' and 'muri' or huddled under the mango or guava tree to pick up the fruits dislodged by the storm. An occasional 'shilabristi' added to the charm and it was fun to reach out in the rain to get hold of the icicles falling from the sky.
There is also one memorable holiday in Darjeeling where I spent one full hour alone in the Mall sitting in the pouring rain, enjoying two cones of ice cream as I tried to get a feel of the mist covered mountains in the blurred horizon.
Then there were the romantic escapades of the mind pushing me to offer umbrella space to a good looking college mate (met with rejections almost always), offered lifts on a dilapidated scooter such that the dainty selves do not soil their lovely feet in the puddles (generally accepted) and of course, participation in typical college groups walking cheerfully in the pouring rain with the hope of getting close to the most recent infatuation.
Aah, those were the days when youth was me. Those were the days of monsoon magic and romance.
These days , when I see the same clouds, I am more worried about the waterlogging, work disruptions, the maid not turning up, car stalling in the water and water borne stomach ailments.
Is that a sign that I am aging?
Who knows? Maybe.
But this year, at least one day, I am going to deliberately wade in the monsoon puddle and enjoy it. That is a promise!!
10 comments:
u r so right. with age, we enjoy less and worry more. hope you enjoy your puddle-wading, although I'm not too sure that your wife will feel the same (I presume she supervises the clothes-washing chore).
no wonder i could never impress any of those damsels during our soccer matches!
YOU MADE ME STAND AT THE GOAL!!!
:-P
Sucharita,
You are bang on with your presumption. However, she is equally cranky and would possibly accompany me in the puddle wading.
And I sincerely hope that you will accompany her in the washing-up that will inevitably follow.Just joking! Have a great made-for-each-other monsoon!
@Sucharita,
Do you think that I would have any other option? Thanks.
hope you get your puddle-wading soon (ofcourse with help from you washing machine for the clothes-washing chore). more so, i hope you keep writing for as long as can be..
Hi ,
I was reading ur blog posts and found some of them to be wow.. u write well.. Why don't you popularize it more.. ur posts on ur blog ‘lazyani’ took my particular attention as some of them are interesting topics of mine too;
BTW I help out some ex-IIMA guys who with another batch mate run www.rambhai.com where you can post links to your most loved blog-posts. Rambhai was the chaiwala at IIMA and it is a site where users can themselves share links to blog posts etc and other can find and vote on them. The best make it to the homepage!
This way you can reach out to rambhai readers some of whom could become your ardent fans.. who knows.. :)
Cheers,
@ Sharat, Thanks for visiting and for your comment.
@Ray, Thanks for visiting and your offer . But would you prefer to have a definite non IIM guy to be a part of the site. I mean I can not identify with Rambhai as I have never been to his tea stall:) . But thanks a ton any way and wish that you would keep on visiting my site.
Darjeeling in the rain is one of the most romantic spots if you have the right partner. Rain itself kind of asks for company. But I would rather be alone than be stuck with someone who really is in a different wavelength!
Thanks for your thoughts. There is no question of not fighting. But when I see apparently harmless and 'contact'less people harassed and the real criminals have a jolly old time, it really makes me mad.
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