Rains in Mumbai

The older I get, the more I seem to be in love with the city of dreams. But I have to admit it – I like Mumbai best when it rains. Put it down to living in a city that has no seasons; just hot, hotter and hottest. But when it rains, Mumbai comes in to its own; almost comes down close to having a change of weather. The streets become greyer, the skies full of dark clouds and there is love and thunder in the air.
The rains bring out the best in the city. Motorists stopping for stranded pedestrians. People sharing umbrellas; taking in strays; excusing late arrivals at work; turning a blind eye to bare feet and sock-less shoes.
Yes, I love Mumbai in the rains. Soggy raincoats and dripping umbrellas; rattling window panes. Schools closed because of flooding. Trains delayed or cancelled. Erratic power supply. Entire offices stranded with nowhere to go. Ah, you may love the spring in New York, summer in London, winter in Paris; but nothing comes close to Mumbai in the rains. Urchins flashing in the flooded streets; cars stalled; bedraggled policemen; shanties covered with blue plastic; trees struck down by lightening; and roasted corn on the cob.
The rains in Mumbai. The hot chai and bun maska at the local Irani. A drive down the Worli sea face. A walk along Marine Drive. A movie at Eros. Coffee in CCD. A trip to Khandala; a hike to Matheran. A picnic at Juhu beach.; happy hour at the Pav Bhaji stall. A siesta tucked inside a thin quilt. Aah, there is nothing quite like Mumbai in the rains.
It’s a time when I want to buy every song about the rain that exists. Sit home and drink tea all day. Talk for hours to a friend on the phone. Mix a lemonade, sit back in the veranda and enjoy. Wear faded blue jeans and battered slippers. Give rides to strangers. Exchange umbrella woes. Take in shivering pups.
The rains in Mumbai. Much more dramatic than the rains in London. Much more romantic than the rains in Paris. Gentler than the rains in Cochin. A time for rejuvenation and renewal. A time for nature’s glory. Everything being washed clean again. The earth lifting its face to heaven in gratitude. An orchestra in the sky. Mumbai’s most blessed season. The rains in Mumbai take us back to school, where we splashed about in the mud; to Aksa beach, where the foam of the waves lash out on the rocks and the sand; to college, where we arrive very wet and very late.
We do not have a winter and we have never seen a fall. As for the spring, it seems to pass us by. But what Mumbai has is the rains. And by God – I love them!