Monsoon was an enchanting season that gifted us the most cherished and sweetest memories in childhood. Getting wet in monsoon showers was something we dreamt of. Not in heavy rain, but soothing drizzles sprinkling all over softly from the sky when monsoon set in. The maiden showers after scorching summers were exactly what we looked forward to at the time our schools reopened after vacations. Frisking into the drizzles and getting soaked meant great fun and excitement.
As children, we welcomed rain with passion and love for they vouchsafed us boundless joy. The shower never let us down with their timing. They always arrived in the first week of June, drenching the fields, prompting farmers for plantation and waking up plants in our garden to blooming blossoms. They never burst over us in threatening cyclones, thundering and shooting lightning strikes or flooding rivers and causing endless miseries to people. Like benign blessings, they descended from the heavens. No one shook in dread at the thought of rains.
We sprinted into the sprinkling rain and got wet, clapping hands excitedly in bouncing joy and singing rain songs loudly.
In case of a heavy downpour, under the watchful eyes of our parents at homes and of teachers at school, we stood on the verandahs, stretching our cupped hands to catch the pearly, glistening raindrops and savour the collected celestial drink in our tiny hands. Added to this was the pitter patter over the tiled roofs of our homes and school buildings which we enjoyed listening to as a wonderful piece of music that could never be created by humans.
When the rain ceased, we got busy tearing papers from our notebooks and making a variety of paper boats. With the boats in our hands, we rushed out. We competed to make our paper boats sail in the rain streams and puddles with small sticks gathered from brooms. Setting our boats on sail, we derived infinite joy and prided on our navigating skills. Little puddles with rainwater always caught our fancy. We’d begin jumping up and down, splashing water all over each other. Our clothes thoroughly wet and soiled by the time we returned home, we received a dressing-down from our mothers. But we never gave up these games of sailing paper boats and making a splash.
Now in our adulthood, we look back with nostalgia at our puerile joys of inviting monsoon showers. There are no such soft, gentle silver rain of our childhood anymore.
What we have now is either long and damaging drought or devastating cyclones and floods. The children of today, heavily burdened with studies and examinations, are woefully bereft of the simple, joys presented by the first of the seasonal rain and remain alien to many celebrations of monsoon. We can only reminisce the excitement of bygone rainy days and wonder what a beautiful childhood we once had.