Subir Roy: Too much of a good thing

OFFBEAT

One of the first nursery rhymes I learnt was an exhortation to the elements: "Rain rain go away, little children want to play..." Then, as I grew up and accessed literature rooted in England, I learnt of a consciousness shaped by having to endure endless drizzles from a gloomy sky and celebrating rare "glorious" summer days when the sun beat back the clouds.

But India was different. My earliest memory of the joyousness that rain brings is from a mofussil town in middle Bengal, at the top of the Ganga delta where it didn't rain all that much, and where that year the hot summer never seemed to end. Then one day, it got cloudy and as the first drops of rain hit the dust, the earth yielded a wonderful scent. Far from asking the rain to go away, we children ran around in it and got as drenched as we could.

Much later, as I accessed some of the classical Sanskrit literature via translation, I came to know how the dark monsoon clouds were welcome in another way, as a harbinger of romance. The clouds yielded not just huge raindrops but brought in through the open window a strong sensuousness as if by osmosis. After English-medium schooling, my discovery of India through my college days was greatly facilitated by the initiation into Indian classical music. The monsoon ragas added feeling to what sight and sound could discern.

The takeaway from my co-educational college years was a permanent love, not for one person but the monsoon that created such an intensity of feeling and almost made your skin tingle. Then, over time, as rain followed drought and the nation swung from shortages to plenty, I came to realise that the monsoon not just made romance flower but saved most of India by keeping the Thar desert at bay.

So why am I complaining? This year, if you have been living in the south, you will be ruefully admitting that a good monsoon that goes on and on can become too much of a good thing. The papers say that the semi-arid districts of Karnataka, which are one step behind Rajasthan in normal years, have not had such rain in decades. A bumper crop is expected and jewellers and consumer durable dealers are celebrating. I know it is good for the country but life can get a bit trying if you live in a city like Bangalore whose drainage system can compete with many a mofussil town.

When the April showers were dead on time you loved it. Then when they seamlessly merged with the regular south-west monsoon, you took it as an additional blessing. It was a joy to see Ulsoor lake full to the brim. But it is difficult to relish a banquet day after day, and sooner or later you long to see the sun just the way the English do. And if, to top it all, the potholes get worse and the cars keep multiplying, you are at your wits end.

So when Diwali came and it was time to visit our son who is now in Chennai, we actually looked forward to sighting the perennially water scarce city. But for the three days we were there, it just rained and rained. Whether it was a depression in the Bay of Bengal or the regular noth-east monsoon, mattered little. We scurried back to Bangalore but no respite. The last straw was the wife's comment as she read the papers the next morning: Your posh HSR Layout is under water and property prices are crashing; what happens to the flat you booked there?