A quick Instagram story prompted me to think about rains and how they make feel.
Ever since I was a child, I have always loved rains. I grew up as a somewhat lonely kid, who never really felt understood by the people around her, and rains were a welcome despite to break the routine, slow down and do things differently.
My earliest memories of rain were that of in Chennai when my brother and I had a nanny/help who would walk a bunch of kids in the neighborhood to school. This was quite common back in the days when the help doubled as a kid walker to make sure a small batch of kids would cross roads and get to school safely. She literally caught hold of our hands and did everything a dog walker would do, albeit without the leash.
I remember looking forward to going to school on rainy days, because half the kids wouldn’t turn up, and the teachers would give us many free periods, or let us play indoor games of our choice. Even at that age, I quickly realized that I liked being around lesser people, and I hated strict routines. We were also allowed to wear bathroom slippers or slippers of any kind really, to school because it was understood that the rains would ruin the shoes. This small freedom added up to my excitement while our nanny hauled our raincoat wearing selves across the road, keeping an eye out for open sewages and potholes that could swallow us whole. True story!
The next memory is of me in Kolkata, again in my school, set in a very small classroom with 3 or 4 children and my english teacher who I miss until this very day—Bidisha Ma’am, who was the first adult woman who I wanted to be like. I remember her saying this looking out the window as the rain poured, “Rains make me poetic.”
I remember me watching her with a sense of innocent adoration that you can only have at the age of 11 for a teacher you really admire, and I thought to myself, “I want to be just like her when I grow up.”. This line and this moment would be etched firmly in my memory for a long time to come, and I would end up using this line, “Rains make me poetic.” on numerous occasions when I wanted to impress a guy, or when I wanted to remind myself of who I was.
I was 24, when the Bangalore-Chennai Shatabdi pulled up on platform 2 at 11 a.m. sharp. My parents had just moved to Chennai from Nagpur. I was working in Bangalore and I was to spend the weekend with my extended relatives and help my parents settle in. Not that I was very interested in this agenda, but I could not come up with a valid excuse to get out of this.
As the train inched slowly into the Central station, I religiously stood up like the fifty other people in my train, lugging my bags in front of me with an entitled impatience of having the best reason to get out of this Air Conditioned Train as soon as I can. It was drizzling outside, and I was not really expecting anyone to come get me. I still kept looking out, because I enjoyed seeing the emotions on people’s faces through the droplet-covered window, as they waited for their loved ones. You can imagine my surprise when I saw a familiar face that seemed to be looking for a face that looked like me.
There he was, this guy I had been going out with, who was also working in Bangalore, but had some connections in Chennai. He always spoke about showing me Chennai through his eyes, and had decided this was the day to do it.
It is one of the most romantic and spontaneous gestures I have ever seen happen to anyone in real life, though at that moment I was equal parts stunned, annoyed and excited. Seeing that face through the window of the Shatabdi injected a fresh dose of excitement and hope for my otherwise boring weekend. Also, it was hella romantic!
The drizzle continued as mild pitter-patter pretty much all day, and we were two lucky lovers who got to see Chennai in all its beautiful drenched, green, self. We went from local biriyani joints, to piping hot tea in random tea shops, to watching the Marina rage with her intimidating waves. Imagine being the two people out of five in the world’s second longest beach on a rainy evening as the clouds thunder above you, and the waves threaten to swallow you whole. It was terrifying, but I had never felt more alive or in love with the present moment. We drove and drove the whole day, stopping only when the rains became too heavy. I remember some beautiful conversations. I remember water everywhere and a very messy car. I remember a passionate kiss right next to the Gandhi statue. I remember the rains witnessing all of this. I remember the drop-off and the lies I told my mum. : )
The story gets dark now. I am 25, and I wake up like any normal day at 8:30 a.m. to get to work from my first adult apartment in Urapakkam. My room mate has already left for office, and I am wondering if the entire day is going to be as cloudy as it seems at the moment.
In the next few minutes, the rain starts to pour with an intensity I have never seen before in my life. I decide to work from home for the day, and go on about my day. In a few hours, the electricity goes off, and with it the wifi gets disconnected. Thankfully, I have some power backup that I have now decided to use for essentials like my phone and light.
The rain does not stop or slow down for the entire day, and as the evening approaches I panic a little as I see the water levels rising and slowly submerging cars in the ground floor. My flat was on the fourth floor, and I had no car, but I started to realize that this is no ordinary rain. At this point, there was no power, no internet and I was all alone in my flat where I did not know any of my neighbours.
I had gas and few things to cook at home. I made something basic to sustain myself, as I started to feel the dread of one of the worst flood situations Chennai has ever seen, and me having to face it all alone in a dangerous low-lying area called Urapakkam/Guduvancherry.
I used my mobile data to understanding the weather situation. Twitter was a riot with #chennairains trending all over the world, with people reporting how bad things are at different parts of the city. Clearly, the area I was in was one of the worst affected because it was a lake converted into a township, and below ground level, so the water kept rushing into our apartment like a descending waterfall. By evening, most of the two wheelers parked in the ground floor had started to float and had to be tied to strong pipes and pillars to avoid their floating away. The cars were all submerged too, with some of my neighbours hopelessly watching their expensive cars drown slowly in the 5 feet water levels.
As it started to get darker, I realized how scared I really was. My anxiety became my very existence, and I could not come to terms with the fact that there was nothing I could do in that situation. It was pitch dark, and I wanted to save whatever electricity I had for charging my phone so I could stay in touch with my family and loved ones. I walked around the entire house like a lunatic, nervously checking twitter updates and hashtags about Chennai rains. My brain went into extreme analysis mode of how old the building is, and how long before the water seeps into the walls and the building collapses. There are creatives ways of bringing misery to oneself. I learnt this on that day.
The night was the hardest part with darkness everywhere and very little connectivity. Whatever mobile data I had left, I remember spending it to check Twitter conversations and updates on the flood situation in the city. I overworked myself to the bone with anxiety and finally fell asleep. The next morning truly showed the devastating after effects of what rains can bring. There were bikes floating, cars submerged, people stranded in their rooftops with no food or drinking water waiting for rescue teams. As for my apartment, it was completely surrounded by 7 feet of water with no way for help to come in or residents to go out.
Eventually the rains would let up, the water levels would slowly decrease, and rescue boats would bring us out. But I would never look at rains the same way again.
At 29, I saw another fierce face of monsoons, but this time it was as beautiful as it was terrifying. My then boyfriend and I were in Goa, and I took him to Ashvem Beach as part of my customized off-beat “See Goa through Dhivya’s eyes” plan. A lot of goof ups with hotel reservations should have warned me of the properties in the place, but I was feeling adventurous and wanted to explore things as they come
The hotel was stunning. It was literally right off the coast and it was one of the most beautiful location I have ever seen or stayed in. But the property was terrible. It was worn out, peeling off in most places, dirty sheets in most rooms, lighting issues— they had it all. The only saving grace was the staff who kept the place running despite the horrible management and the maintenance.
Our room was barely 500 m from the coast, and the cloud were in a thunderous mood. The sky was dark grey, with the rains pouring continuously, and if you look far into the horizon, you would not be able to figure where the sky ends and the ocean begins. It was a magical, and terrifying all at the same time.
I was thrilled about the location, and he was disappointed about the property. We settled in, and I retired to bed early with a slight fever. The rains continued to pour with the most alarming thunderstorms we have ever seen. Have you ever seen a lightning strike from the sky to the sea? It will blow your mind.
Flashes of thunder amidst the pitch darkness, and the feeling of being so close the magnificent ocean is surreal, and slightly scary. I was fast asleep when I was awoken by a low voice that whispered something like, “Babe, tsunami is coming.”
I remember laughing, and also feeling slightly scared but mostly I thought it was funny. My very casual boyfriend who is quite adventurous, is suddenly terrified of the sea storms, and is finding it hard to sleep or be alone.
Why?
Because, Rains.
What are your favourite memories of rain? Let me know in the comments. Let’s bask in those memories. 🙂
how we all miss our English teacher…
Haha! We do indeed.