We had a rainfall last week, deluge really, the dry grass and concrete lapped up its merciful moisture only to release it within minutes.  Such was the heat! Other times it has been more thunder and lightning instead of the actual thing. I find this typical of Canada where we don’t have a specific rainy season, not like what I had been used to. Monsoon! No, we don’t have it here.

Monsoon, as I remember from childhood, was the time when my sister and I made paper boats and floated them down the narrow gutter of the inner courtyard of our house.  This gutter, paved in cement and kept scrupulously clean always, was there specifically to carry the rain water away, out of the house and to the garden beyond. Yes, even in those days we were conscious of the environment!

So there we would sit on the steps sharing an umbrella and launch our battle ships or fishing boats whichever was the favourite of the moment. Father taught us to make these boats. He would be sitting on the verandah, gently smiling.  He was our sole audience and we knew he was also cheering us on although not a word was spoken. After we had floated a battalion it was time to relax sitting beside Father and watching the rain. Of course the boats jammed up later creating a tidy little dam.  This led to many strict lectures from mother, we promised never to repeat such conduct again, and were at it once more when the rain started. Who could resist creating another Tilaiya Dam, the beautiful and historic landmark of our region?

When it stopped raining a rainbow appeared just above the custard apple tree that grew in the far corner of the courtyard. Every time. This phenomenon is not so common here, perhaps a rainbow is very closely related to warmer climates. I could be wrong, although it feels good to think I could be right.

Those mornings during the monsoon season when we missed the school bus (none of us siblings liked the early rush) must have been a real headache to our parents for perforce we then took a rickshaw to school. Now to transport in pouring rain within the confines of a rickshaw three girls with an assortment of baskets of books, not forgetting the young boy who came with us to help, is no mean task. The boy’s mother used to wash dishes at our house and he used to tag along. Before we could sit in the rickshaw the seat had to be wiped dry, sheets from home laid, next we settled on the seat juggling our possessions, the rickshaw curtain, hopelessly wet, drawn and we were off.  Oh, yes, Ramu the boy held a big black umbrella in front. How all four of us fit in that tiny space will always remain a mystery!

Monsoon also brought out creepy crawlies the most feared being that one – my sisters and I never took its name but called it “rope”, something I still do. Even earthworms were not liked although they are such an essential part of the ecosystem. Our guava trees yielded an amazing quantity of fruits so many that even after making bottles of jelly there remained enough to share among neighbours. Sunday afternoons were spent playing carom with our father and brother and perhaps a friend who had dropped in.  Those were magical days during the monsoon season.

I remember eating lunch at school sitting on the stone bench that was situated under a huge banyan tree, enjoyable most times but not so practical during the rains. Since our lunch arrived in a tiffin carrier lovingly filled with rice, dal, fish and a vegetable by our mother, I being a very slow eater one can only guess what transpired when the sky broke loose. I could never understand how my sisters managed to eat so fast when I would struggle with the first spoonful. Ramu wasn’t pleased either and even complained to mother. I blamed the fish.

My kids have always walked to school as most do here so we have to pay close attention to the weather report. Accumulation of clouds can only mean one thing – lot of wind with perhaps a quick shower, thunder and lightning cannot be ruled out at this time. Schools reopen in September for the new semester. That is the time to watch for rainy days so we must make sure the kids carry a raincoat and wear galoshes. Older ones refuse to do any of this preferring to get wet, instead.

I will always have a fondness for rain, so sweet of sound and a joy to behold, that feeling of freshness after a downpour, and best of all to sleep with the window open revelling in its misty spray.

Keep Well…..Keep Smiling

Purabi Das

Purabi Das is an emerging writer and poet living in Pickering who finds inspiration for her stories and poems from life in general. To find out more visit Purabi on www.facebook.com/purabisinhadas