I think this has to do with the fact that Indian summers are so hot and suffocating.The long summer moths start in April and get worse and worse as May gives way to June, by July all we can do is wait and the only solace that those torrid days hold specially for those in the north of the country is the news about the upward journey of the rain clouds and the glorious anticipation that thrills many a heart during those long unbearably muggy and suffocating days.
For me the rains always bring with them a sense of renewal. Winter might be my favourite season but monsoon, threatens to dislodge it from that cherished place some years. When I was a little girl running up to the terrace or the courtyard to get wet in that first monsoon shower was something that I used to look forward to every year.
Even now the sight of trees swaying in the cool, moist wind that heralds those first rains brings sweet joy to my heart. It makes me always feel revitalised. The reason I have been waxing poetic about the first monsoon shower is the what it symbolises in my mind. For me every hot and horrible summer day is equal to the trails and tribulations that we face in our terribly complicated lives and that first monsoon rain symbolises the revitalising and soothing end to those trials. The seasons in a year for me stand for our lives, really. Lives in today's modern era have torrid summers, monsoons that are revitalising for some and a deluge for others, the brief interludes spring and autumn give us the hope of relaxation and harmony and then there is winter, harsh and cold for most but clear and bracing for others. This cyclical fact of life is whats makes me look forward to the day in the morning and quite frankly gives me the strength to get out of bed on those terribly difficult days.
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