Mausim

You don't suspect anything when the termites begin feasting on the wood, nor does the unrelenting heat and discomforting humidity hint at the shape of things to come.

Day in day out, traveling the central line in local trains or in your air cooled car along the Mahim causeway, you absolutely do not notice the sudden appearance of egrets along the bushes near railway tracks.

At night, little winged insects hit against the living room tubelight or the TV screen, sooner or later slurped off by a delighted house lizard. But all that only adds to your pain, as you wipe the sweat sitting below ineffective fans in rooms that feel stuffier than ever.

And then one late afternoon, the wind chimes in the balcony suddenly start ringing louder than the hum of the air conditioner. The sun goes mild and the windowpanes sway, pushed by a gentle breeze carrying various smells of the city.

Before you know it, sheets of rain start hitting the building walls and clouds roar out a bass drum roll. You rush out to gather the clothes drying on the line and there you feel a few refreshing drops of the first monsoon rains spraying on your face, washing away at once all the discomfort of the days gone by.

Last year, I drove out of Mumbai towards Alibaugh in the monsoons. Even though it was early July, the sky was bent upon throwing all of itself at the earth. Rains in these parts offer a spectacularly overwhelming experience. You simply cannot get ahead of rain that pours nonstop for 24 hours, refusing to even pause for days on end.

Trickles turn into swollen rivers as bridges over them become slippery. Paddy fields on each side of the road assume a brutal green hue and rocks go damp allowing the growth of fungi and moss.

Rural folk in waterlogged villages wait for that one hour in three days when the rain takes a short break so that they can sneak a few moments back to normal life and buy supplies. Wives beckon their husbands to stay home and not venture out to the seas and husbands
ignore the advice and catch handsome booties of fish without venturing too far out.

Like an epic novel, the monsoon builds over the weeks, elaborating itself in different ways at different places. Some towns turn into the aftermath of a war, with trees, telephone poles and hoardings crashing down and getting strewn all over the place.

At other places, monsoons accentuate the inherent natural beauty of the area. Birds usually unseen perch atop trees and high tension power wires and snakes exit their water filled holes to catch frogs enjoying a splash game at puddles. The occasional squirrel saves its skin by making a well-timed dash from getting hit by a falling coconut.

Back in the city, clothes take forever to dry, hang as they do on nylon lines on balconies overlooking the seaface where lovers walk hand in hand, finding lonely spots to cosy up. Others wait up over coffee for their loved ones to arrive on delayed flights at the airport.