Why Don't You Hate the Monsoon?
- 10 Jun 2015
- Maria John
- Features
Text: Varun Kannan
Monsoon is here and it is raining romance and nostalgia on the internet; umpteen posts about the rains bringing back memories of a nonchalant childhood, of making love in the rain, of a game of soccer in a flooded field, hits you as shares, tags and blogs from all directions. Honestly, we have nothing against romance and in the least against, what was the other word? Ah, nostalgia! But living in Kochi, one cannot help but look at the less cheesy side of the rains.
First things first; Rain, in reality, is just plain water splattering down from the clouds, and when you have nothing to cover yourself up, you get drenched. Well, let’s examine. Is there any romance in water splattering down? Not really. And in getting drenched, say on your way to the office? No. So now you see what we are talking about, right? The Met. Dept always has this peculiar way of describing the monsoon’s path; they say monsoon hits the coast of Kerala. If you thought it was just a figure of speech, you were wrong. Monsoon literally hits Kerala, and in one solid punch, breaks the noses of a 4-crore strong population. Fallen trees, collapsed houses, the roads that remind one of Chernobyl or Hiroshima and unmanageable queues at the hospital, all stands testimony to the havoc that the rain god wrecks on this state.
Ok, everyone who has travelled beyond the bypass knows that Kochi is cramped for space. The narrow roads, the metro work (supposedly intended to address the commuter’s woes) and bad drivers with their bad tempers. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, we have the rains.
Not coincidently (I think it’s an enemy ploy to harass us), Rains also happens to be the school opening season too. Now if you are somebody who takes the public transport, you know that means- end of the ceasefire. And who are the enemies- squirmy little devils, all neatly dressed up in the morning but shabby and smelly in the evening, these kids are all like God- omnipresent. They are behind you, in front of you, pushing you, leaning on you, tugging at you. And when you get back home, having survived the ordeals of the day, what awaits you? No, not the smell of the first rains, but the pungent smell of the once sun-baked dormant sewer next to your house, brought back to life by the fiftieth rain and miles of still incredibly wet clothes on the line. Romantic indeed!
Nonetheless, we don’t see rains are boring. Kochi is beautiful in the rain they say. For instance, the sight of the average Kochikaran who looks at the rain as an excuse to have his mundu always in madakkikuthu, which means the pair of his humongous hairy thighs is always up for show. Hairy thighs are interesting in some ways but definitely not romantic. This monsoon, let us de-romanticise and de-nostalgicise the rains. How? For starters stop dreaming and look where you are walking with that fancy umbrella of yours, which you tried to open on my unsuspecting face. This monsoon is a goon!
