Monsoon

It was pouring now. From the veranda of my house I could see it. It wasn't drops, it was torrents of water beating down on the cement floor in front of my house. The lawn was now puddled in patches, would that much of water be good for the grass I wondered. I watched the black umbrellas bobbing on the road outside. I decided if walking in this rain was required, the task these people were walking to must be really important. I could see the water pouring from the banana tree leaves. The huge leaves were torn into tatters, they shine a bright green, accentuated by the shine that the water gave to them. A dog sauntered on the road, I could see its legs through the grilled bottom portion of the gate. It didn't seem in much of a hurry. Must have resigned itself to the fact that the monsoon was here to stay. Where would it take refuge for the night I wondered.

The raucous laughter of the kids came wafting through the wet air. They slowly came into my view. I could see four boys, not more than 10 or 12 years old. They wore the transparent fisherman's plastic hat. If it was meant to protect from rains, it was a cruel joke. They wore it nevertheless. They carried their fishing poles and were merrily talking and walking. I thought they would be presently headed to the pond where I did my fishing as a child. Was that pond still around? I ought to visit and see sometime. It was a wonderful place during the rains. The rain creating patterns on the sheet of water as the winds blew. The croaking of frogs, and the pitter patter of water dripping from the trees that surrounded the pond. Maybe these children were headed there. It was a pleasant thought to imagine them sitting there with their fishing poles above the water as they sat watching the float on the fishing line intently for any movement. 

A car went by washing away a puddle onto the sides, onto the legs and hands of the scowling pedestrians on the corner of the roads. Bikes went zipping by, with its rider and pillion visibly drenched, hair all soaked like that of a wet chicken. What possible joy could one get from all this drenching I wondered. Somewhere from the rusty corners of my mind, my conscience awoke asking me if I truly didn't do it myself when I was younger. I did ; I agreed' and let my conscience go back to her ensconced slumber correcting her saying I did it on a bicycle and not a bike. The huge empty plot in front of my house was filled to the brim. The huge gutter that was newly constructed to drain excess water was filled to the brim. I thought my well should almost be filled to the brim now. All the overfilled water now inundated the road. Kids wallowed in it with much joy and shrieks. Bicycle boys raced through it, with no concern for any traffic, not that there was much of it.

A fish monger drove up to my gate on his moped and gave his trademark hooting to signal the arrival of fresh fish for the day. I enjoyed seeing the catch. It was a childhood habit to always walk up and see the variety of fish he had in his basket set precariously on his pillion seat. But it was pouring today and I was not particularly in any mood to get wet. I called out to the maid to get some fish. The fisherman wore the ramshackle plastic transparent rain hat as well. He was drenched from head to toe, water dripping from the folds of his knee level folded lungi. water dripped from his nose and chin under the hat like he was sweating. How did he manage to keep the fish basket from filling up I was thinking. He hooted again. I yelled for the maid, but no response. 

Muttering to myself, I folded my lungi, took the still drying umbrella and walked to the gate.Water splotched from my rubber slippers onto my lungi and vest. Cold water dripped on my legs and exposed parts of the back. Cursed narrow umbrella. I looked into his basket and saw diverse range of fish. I feasted my eyes on them and decided on some prawns for the day. Nice hot prawn curry cooked in coconut oil interspersed with delicious curry leaves. The thought alone made up for the cold water on my body. I bought a kilo, and started back home. I didn't pay him, we had a deal where I would pay him at the end of the month. We would each have our own version of the accounts, that's another matter. As I was walking back I saw that the courtyard was getting inundated with water. I handed over the prawn cover to the maid who now had found her way to the kitchen and retreated to the courtyard to open the seal of the pipe that would let the water drain into the gutter outside.

As I cautiously walked to get the job done, one of those nasty winds swooped down, and as if the forces of nature were hell bent on making my day a bad one, upturned my umbrella. The umbrella was now a water collector. As the water splashed all over me, I mumbled a curse and closing the umbrella got on with the work at hand.

After unplugging the pipe, I walked back, and after a moments thought, went by the gate, stood there in the pouring rain watching the wet world go by. I couldn't help but smile at the beauty of it all. I wondered why I had resisted it so much. The monsoon was beautiful, and in a show of concurrence, another set of raucous boys went by, laughing and shrieking, mirroring the joys that the monsoons of Kerala bring.