This monsoon...

The monsoon was too late this year.... I had to wait for long...those dark clouds to come and show me the 'greyscale' portrait they make in the sky accompanied by the cold wind who pulls my dupatta like a lover boy! I treasure my monsoon experiences...nowhere in my memory I can find a monsoon that laid me on my bed with a flu... Al through my life, 22 years short, I have enjoyed the heavy downpours.. I have the right to complain, this year he was late...

I am not sure about the size of the crowd that enjoys rain in hil stations... There are a few reasons I know- everything should have a reason for sure.... The soil would be gravel-free and the air like a freezer... Biting cold spoils many throats and makes many walk in search of health clinics! Somehow, I belive that cold rains ingnite me in every ways. Right from the age of seven I fel in love with cld rains...I can smell rain, feel it and live it...And I write this, though I can speak of not many readers, for my memories get inscribed in the cyberspace...

Wet soil under my bare feet makes me feel as if heaven has come under me... I always relate rainfall with odour...I t is at times called fragrance, and rarely in turns 'dreadful'! My dad's grandmother, my great grandmother, passed away on rainy day. I was too young at that time to store each and every detail to reproduce it at the age of 22!! I was doing my schooling at that time. May be seven ofr eight years old. One sunday evening, my parents, aunt, cousin who was a baby boy at that time and me, were at home. T he only landphone connection in our area was half a kilometer near! So the message of our granny's demise was 3hr old when it reached us...! Tears filled my dad's eyes though now he does'nt show anyu signs of having tear glands! He was so attached to her I know. I was sad, reason I really know. I was too illeterate to know the big loss I had that day. I now realise the width and depth of the gap the death of loved one can create inthe - life of others.
We climbed up the mountain from the valley. By noon we reached our place. I very wel recollect the place with all its innocence, purity and simplicity. A small bus waiting shed which rarely saw private buses and always inhaled the smoke left by State Transport Corporation's buses. A few shops that had limited number of gods and the entire village consuming them. The air never smelt bad. Always a misterious feelind spread around. Coffe plantations on either side of the road, tall trees sheltering countless number of species, butterflies, wild berries, flowers who smile at people....and all the ingredients of a beautiful living space... I use to encounter tribes walking around and wishing my father who belonged to the upper class. Their kids wearing rags enviying my clothes. The ladies lokking at my mom and aunt. The respect my dad and aunt [dad's younger sister] got from them was not because of fear, but because of their birht in a family that showed love and compasion to their life in backyards of or home! So respect withou fear, should be called love! Yes, all of them loved my dad's family. They were laborers in the plantations, but neithr my great grandfather nor my great grandmother maintained the rules of caste or race-just humanity prevaled in their actions.
Though I was to attend the funeral of granny, my mind was rather thrilled about the visit. I had no hopes about staying back. But I was happy thatI could be with kids of my age.We walked fast. And I remember, it was drizziling!
We had to remove our chappals when we entered the courtyrad. That was the first time I felt the siol so cold. I saw my granny draped in white cloth. She had a hidden., rather incomplete smile... Her silky white hair tied up and her wheat-coloured skin unaffected by the frozen raindrops! I was soon 'shifted' to my uncle's house which was a few steps near by. On my way, I found a tree, flowered top to toe. I vory white petals decorating dark green leaves... I realised, the rain was given an odour...no a fragrance by them... I still relate the rain with that smell.... Fragrant rain...or was that the fragrance of death?
Grandma was cremated. Usually an odour of burning flesh would fill in the air. But that day, I could take in nothing, but the rain's odour... Therafter, for me, rain turned out to be an obsession...death, a favourite topic of though and discussion and my granny- a lost treasure!
Granny was mother of eleven [out of which only 9 survive], grandma of 22 and great grandma of about 9 when she passed away. An obedient wife who was not destined to trvel beyond her home. She knew little about fighting with her daughters-in-law. Her smile, so magical [I wonderhow lucky my grandpa was to have this beautiful wife], and al she knew was to love-unconditionally.
I' m not sure about the reasons. But my dad was her favourite. And that truned out to be my fortune.During our visits to that home she used to pamper me the most, the main rason for my voracious apetite is her hospitality and coking skill! She had passed on the same to my dad's mom, who nurtured the habit of eating well.
Her skin was baby-soft, her hair she use to oil regularly and her super soft cotton cloth she kept always clean. I can recollect all... She fed me with love I say, punished me with care so that I was not hurt and prayed for my life's best. Her prayers for all never went in vain... A woman who knew only about how to make other's happy...
It's raining out here. My city feeds me with dust and smoke, My breath is no more an easy job... My apetite is no more voracious.... All that remains with me now is rain... that too a late comer... Atleast that remains! I wish I could drive back again...to that home, where my granny waits for me with a heart full of love.....