Libre Magazine

I know I am not supposed to fear the Indian monsoons, but give me a break if I want to feel a bit of trepidation regarding the fury of the weather back in India, then I am allowed to. After all I do not live in bondage. I live in a free country, came from a free country; I am a free human being, free to do as and when I wish.

For those who do not know, I hope to be in Mumbai (Bombay) towards the end of July. This will be my very first trip during the monsoons, many years after I left the country to do what most others do when they leave their country of birth. Prior to this, I have returned only during November-December when the weather has been bearable for most NRIs (non-resident Indians).

Getting to the Indian monsoons. As I do on most mornings, I made a concerted effort to get away from my computer and race outdoors before I get side-tracked with communicating. However, this morning the sky looked pregnant, more so than yesterday. But still I went out, “got to get at least 30 minutes of exercise, or else I’ll become a computer potato,” I thought.

Just as I was heading back home, rain drops as big as frogs jumped out of the sky without any warning, though not unexpected. Still it felt as if a switch had been suddenly turned on. But with the same suddenness, the frogs changed to tadpoles, and then to a faint drizzle, and then no rain at all. Yes of course I was soaked, since I cannot run. But it was fun! Fun because it was as if the heavens were playing with me, warning me, warming me, reminding me of what it used to be like before I became more of who I have become.

“Preparing for the Indian monsoons,” I mused. It had been many months, even years, since I had walked back home in the rain.

Heading back to computer, guess what I came across? A Sepia Mutiny blog entry titled, “Mumbai sensitive about its manholes.” The entry warns American citizens of the open drains in Mumbai, warns them that they could one minute be on ground and next underground since there are no markers or warning signs of the open human and animal engulfing holes. Only the occasional tree branches cover the holes, as if everyone is supposed to know what that means and can see them during the low visibility periods.

Here I had been going back in my mind to the good old days when I occasionally walked back home in Pune (Poona) during the monsoons, looking forward to perhaps doing the same in Mumbai. “Perhaps that will wash off some of the cynicism accumulated over the years through experience, of course,” I day-dreamed.

Just yesterday one of my new friends wrote to me, requesting that I should be careful walking over drains in India.

“Of course, I’ll be careful,” I thought. “It’s not as if I was going to the moon. Its only India,” I thought. Though nothing “only,” about the country whose economy is growing leaps and bounds, at least 8 to 9 percent per year, if not more.

“Needlessly worrying, how sweet though,” I happily thought. “How kind of someone I met this past weekend to be concerned about my safety in our mutual country of birth” I pondered.
Others have told, “take an umbrella, its your shoes and pants that get ruined,” Minor details I thought.

But reading the blog article has made me think this whole thing over. In the US, it is I who typically warns my friends, “Be careful, don’t walk on drains, as if the inevitable is waiting to become the evitable. One never knows.”

“Don’t be so paranoid,” is the look I mostly receive. But my friends know that I am the cautious sort, for the most part.

Turns out such things do happen, perhaps more so back in Mumbai. So if I do not blog towards the end of July, or ever again, please do not assume that I have been swallowed by one of those holes in the ground in India. But then again, you are most certainly free to think as you wish.