Umbrellas, puddles and pakoras

THE monsoon brings back a flood of cherished memories. While climate change has led to fewer rainy days at times, this year’s monsoon has seen the rain gods being very generous.

A rainy day is a sensory experience, blending nostalgia and simple joys, especially those from childhood. I vividly recall our family’s early days in a newly developed colony near my father’s workplace. The roads were unpaved, and after every heavy downpour, they turned into rivers of muddy water. Our school bus couldn’t reach our house, forcing us to wade through knee-deep water for nearly 300 metres. Our parents ensured that we were well prepared. Textbooks and notebooks were wrapped in plastic sheets to keep them dry, and our schoolbags also had spare socks and shoes, all sealed to survive the rain. My ever-cautious mother would even insist on a spare set of clothes. In those days, the ideas of reducing plastic use or having lighter schoolbags hadn’t gained traction, so we were well equipped for the daily watery adventure.

Each morning, armed with umbrellas, and our trousers rolled up, we embarked on the monsoon trek. It was a challenge, as scooters and bikes splashed us while we carefully avoided potholes and stones hidden beneath the water. Once we reached school, we would be greeted by rows of wet shoes and umbrellas. The air smelled of rain-soaked leather, and our waterproofed belongings were eagerly unwrapped, with the hope that they had withstood the downpour.

Rainy days often meant power cuts, even as classrooms took on a relaxed vibe. Even teachers adopted a lenient approach, allowing us to enjoy the rare freedom such days offered. I remember the leaky ceilings and the scramble to move benches away from the dripping spots. The school canteen was abuzz with activity, with students jostling for hot tea and pakoras.

The journey home was never complete without splashing through puddles. Songs like ‘Kaagaz ki kashti...Baarish ka paani...’ played in our young minds, though we didn’t fully grasp their poetic significance then. In typical North Indian fashion, the evenings called for spicy, fried treats like pakoras and bhature, paired with ginger tea. The sizzle of pakoras in hot oil remains a comforting memory, providing warmth against the damp chill of the season.

In those times, air conditioners were a luxury few could afford, and we used to sleep on the rooftop at night. A sudden downpour would wake us up, prompting a frantic rush to gather the bedding and rescue the fan left outside. These hurried moments of flight became an indelible part of the monsoon experience.

The monsoon is a blend of chaos and serenity, a season that showcases both nature’s fury and its nurturing beauty.