CHASING THE MONSOON

It is the time of the year when the heavens come crashing down and rain king
Henderson holds sway over valley and dale. Amidst such thunderstorms as children we used to scramble through dense undergrowth, over slippery slopes and rocks to escape the boring routine of studies. Images of being perpetually damp and soaked along the winding roads which irresistibly invite you to capture some of the atmosphere of those times. All those bitter sweet memories hidden in the depths of our minds come alive like tadpoles in a pond.

The monsoon season is a magical time with the green shrubbery sprouting all over; I dream of acres and acres of lush green paddy fields, where “Sufi” music and rain songs seemed as mystical and wild as rock and roll. Our joys were great as they were simple as the patter of the rains, getting all mucky and clogged the student life and carefree days; sending the younger siblings and friends across for cigarettes, the irresistible failure to win over all those beautiful girls. The joy in discovering that love interests are harbored within and the detailed study of the ample curves of the maidens in their soggy clothes were exciting and stimulating. I wish all those lovely lasses were still village girls and not grown up into wives or mature women.

The exhilarating experience of hopes that wanted to soar on wings, the sad separation from a loved one, fascination for the sweetheart from the macho student days and such thoughts meandered through my mind. All of us have followed this well trodden path, which can also be a career wrecker as the amour of mild flirting intensifies into several clandestine trysts. One’s dominant emotions in the flush of youth reinforced by the monsoon magic will remain dormant and submerged by the vicissitudes of later adult life.

The monsoon is a double edged scythe bringing life sustenance and also a share of death and destruction. The rain bearing seasonal winds that sweep into the country riding the crest of the tropical oceans, egged on by El Nino will always remain life’s critical uncertainty

As I am lulled to sleep by the sound of the incessant raindrops against the tiled roof, the brewing storm in my mind evokes a voluptuous sensation tinged with sorrow; and I try to recapture the affections of the woman I loved and lost. The heady scent, of the wet earth, stones and grass, lash out forlornly like a woman’s smile that is fading with time, along with images of friends and the good times. With dusk setting in the storm gathers and I peer across a sea of rain, with a drink in my hand to warm my cockles, I sense that life is passing me by like the flitting fireflies. Perhaps nostalgic rain drops fall on the other side of my heart!