Here Comes the Rain

I can hear it: the soft (soon to be loud) pitter-patter that sounds strangely familiar yet foreign. I can smell it: that distinct scent of dust being washed away as the parched ground finally finds solace. I can see it, the haze of short, vertical lines that manage to block the background despite their own transparency. In a few moments, I know I’ll be able to feel it too, the dampness spreading quickly through my clothes. And I’m sure I could even taste it, if it weren’t for my fear of accidentally taking in the droppings of unmentionable creatures.

Just last year, around this time, I was doing a rain dance with friends: jumping around in excitement and frenzy at the arrival of our savior who would relieve us of the heat. Whenever people ask me how I found the infamous Bombay monsoons, I just shrugged and waved my hand as though it was no big deal. And maybe then it wasn’t: I had been dropped into the heart of Bombay monsoons just as I was starting a new life. There was no time to be apprehensive; there was just so much to do! The monsoons just happened to form the setting of my story, and I took it as that.

But now, it’s been a year. I’ve been through the rains, the amazing winter and the unbearable heat. For the last one month, I’ve been claiming that I can’t wait for the rains to get here. I would get excited every time the clouds got bigger and blacker. I bought my umbrella and floaters in preparation. Unlike last year, this time I was prepared and ready.

And then the rain started.

I can’t get myself to step outside. Maybe it’s because I know what’s awaiting me, and I really don’t want to face it. Maybe it’s the fact that rain makes me want to get into a blanket and watch a movie. Maybe it’s the idea of standing under my umbrella, waiting for a bus while trying to protect my backpack, which doesn’t seem as courageous anymore. Maybe now that the monsoons are finally here, part of me is craving for summer to come back. Maybe I’m afraid that once I step out into the rain, it’s going to become sealed: there’ll be no turning back the monsoons.

Unfortunately, one thing I learnt last year is that waiting for the Bombay rains to stop means waiting for forever.

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Here goes nothing.