Most Indians love the rain. As temperatures rise across our country and India’s great plains grow steadily parched, through April and May, all thoughts turn to the Monsoon. We wait breathlessly as it progresses towards our West Coast and watch anxiously for any sign that it might be late or veer off track. (Talking about the weather is serious business in India!)
Indian literature and music and poetry are steeped in the romance of the rainy season, with endless analogy between the promise of rain-laden clouds and a lover’s dark hair. The impatient wait for the beloved is oft likened to waiting for the monsoon rain, which will magically transform the thirsty barren land into moist and fertile earth.
My rain legacy stays within me. I equally enjoy the gentle summer shower and the magnificent stormy downpour – I actually have a storm CD to help me sleep on too quiet nights! Last week, I discovered I am a Pluviophile (described in the dictionary as a lover of rain and someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days) and perhaps there is a tribe of us.
I’ve never really understood why rainy days are characterized as bad weather in the West. Yesterday, as I walked to the metro station with my umbrella and outdoor shoes, I found myself stepping deliberately into some of the splashier puddles…
