The recent monsoon rains brought back a torrent of childhood memories. In the 1960s Bengaluru, wet weather meant bracing for a prolonged cold spell. As a result, sweaters and pullovers knitted by the ladies would emerge from the closet. Mother, Padmakumari, wrapped in a shawl and armed with an umbrella, escorted us to school, but sometimes her pallu doubled up as a shield.
Some schools declared a holiday when it rained cats and dogs, cheering the tiny tots. We would relax with a game, read comics, or tune into the radio on such days. Mother would pamper us with homemade crisps, payasam or spicy crab soup.
The meteorologist did not forewarn us with yellow, orange, or red alerts. Instead, the amphibian orchestra entertained us with their croaks. The army of frogs gleefully devoured insects that came out after a spell of rain. Some sneaked into the houses, sending womenfolk scurrying. However, my siblings and I derived immense pleasure in driving out these weird-looking creatures.
Sometimes scorpions, centipedes and other creepy crawlies also emerged from their dens, and we would crush them with glee. Leeches were another menace in wetlands. These blood-sucking parasites with suckers at both ends would cling to the skin of cattle or humans and draw blood. Kudremukh, circa 1980, was where I spotted these annelid worms for the first time.
The monsoons would also get our creative juices flowing as we sailed our paper boats and relished contests to see whose craft travelled far. Some smart Alecs would manufacture ‘kati kapal’ (knife boats), but these unsteady contraptions often toppled and disappeared into the muddy waters.
Another tribe of students enjoyed frolicking in the rain. The pitter-patter of the raindrops and the gush of fast-flowing rainwater created a soothing lullaby. Monsoons also inspired Bollywood filmmakers to make those sensuous, romantic rain songs. From ‘Tip Tip Barsa Pani’ in Mohra to the favourite ‘Baarish’ from Half Girlfriend, mellifluous monsoon music was a dime a dozen.
But sometimes, torrential downpours brought death and misery. Newspapers often splashed news of citizens meeting a watery grave, washed away by the raging floodwaters or falling into an open utility hole. Low-lying areas were the worst hit, with many homes getting inundated. Leaking roofs were typical in the old monkey-top, Mangalore-tiled buildings, and residents scrambled to place empty vessels to catch the falling droplets. The tinkling sound of water hitting metal was music to the ears. At home, though, dad would promptly rearrange the tiles and plug the leaking roof post-rains. Some low-lying areas like Koramangala, BTM Layout, RR Nagar and Jayanagar were notorious for water-logging, and civic authorities often indulged in a blame game. Heavy downpours inevitably flooded roads and led to traffic snarls. The rains also led to fallen trees and sent prices of seasonal vegetables skyrocketing.
However, we detested the rains when frolicking outdoors. Whenever the threat of rain loomed, we would chorus, “Rain, rain go away. Come again some other day. We want to play!”.
