Monsoons are my favourite time of the year. Every year I desperately wait for the monsoons to arrive. The evening I was born, Bangalore was enveloped in torrential rainfall. I Had a similar entry on Planet Earth as Lord Krishna did.
Monsoons are paradise.
There is the lovely petrichor. It is neither too hot nor too cold. There are children playing in puddles, little paper boats, colourfull kites fill the skies like parakeets. I have some dear fond memories of monsoons too. Having maggi noodles (sadly been banned, God! ) or pakoras with a spicy tangy chutney. The smell of ginger tea. My appologies for going over board, but can’t you sense my love and excitement for the season! 😛
I always keep asking the question why. So I keep wondering, why exactly do I love the rains.
I haven’t been able to pin point exactly what or why I love this particular season, but I am just in love.
One of the reasons I guess is the noise. My mind has rooms. It has doors and windows and drawers. I keep these openings shut. Forcefully. Each of these has something behind it. That I dont wish to deal with. Instead of dealing with events, grief or regrets. I shut them up in boxes. But as and when I am stressed or anxious. These boxes open on their own accord. Hence there is always a noise in my head. . .
It is an incessant clamour. It is mayhem and chaos. And it is constantly there. But during monsoons, I feel at peace. The rumbling skies and the perpetual rainfall over power the sonic chatter of my mind. While everyone is running for cover, I stand there, thrilled with my arms wide open. Embracing the storms.
My hostel friends think I am crazy, so does my family. But I feel gratefull to such rains.
And in these numbered moments of joy, I feel as if the rains wash me of my grief. Of all the guilt and regrets I habour. Of all my failures and lost opportunities. Of mistakes and of sins. I am not sure if it is in accord with penance and purification as the religous texts would guide us towards.
But the rains make me feel washed, fresh, like painted anew. This might not make sense to a lot of people, but it is a weird epiphanous experience I go through, everytime when it rains. Many people I know equate this with a Bollywood style of romanticising life. I dont know if thats what I am doing subconsciously. All I know is, the rains make me feel different. Make me feel happy. It seems good to know that even the mighty skies can crumble and shed a few tears. That I am not the only one who feels grey.
I feel that the heavens made the rains for me.
What do you think? Do you associate yourself with a particular season? Do you get such life altering feelings at times?