Monsoon
Schizophrenia
"I
love the monsoon and as dark clouds gather overhead, I am
moved by a strange delight. Something within me is as starved,
as parched as the dusty, brown earth, and when the rain
comes down in sheets, I too feel revived and rejuvenated.
I can sit for hours on the verandah drinking in the sweeping
mists of rain, the trees swaying drunkenly in a delirious
dance of joy, the quick shifting clouds, now banking on
the horizon, now scudding across the sky. I rejoice in their
moods and colours from soft, smoky Grey, to the dark, full
of promise thunder cloud Grey. The piercing, blinding darts
of lightening and the clap of thunder hold no fears for
me and I struggle to keep myself awake in the dead of night,
so that I may enjoy the sound of rain and the drama up in
the heavens. If it rains for days on end, it's never too
much for me.
Yet,
skulking within the soul of my person is another, quite
different entity - the traitorous housewife, who after the
first cooling shower, eyes the cloud askance. She, hearing
the rain in the quiet predawn darkness, instantly begins
to worry about school and college, of umbrellas and raincoats.
Where have they put them away - after two year of draught,
it's hard to recollect just where they are. Will Misha get
drenched, and what, if she deliberately walks through all
those muddy, cold giving puddles? What of the buses? Will
they ply on time?
Other
worrying scenarios drive the sound of the rain and the sleep
from her mind. What of the "part-timers" - those
domestics so essential to the mental and physical well being
of the housewife. Will they turn up or will the cleaning,
washing, sweeping be left to the lady-cum-servant of the
house? It's pouring cats and dogs now and serious doubts
regarding the arrival of the milkman, bread man and the
paper man make her sit up in bed.
Oh!
This rain - will it never stop? Where, on earth, can one
put out clothes? Arun and I both object to seeing lines
of washing flapping on the balcony - but since we are not
members of a nudist camp, clothes have to be washed, and
furthermore dried in the rainy season. This can take a couple
of days. The housewife dislikes the smell of damp clothing
and towels that never dry. She is preparing to do fierce
battle against the hordes of insects, mosquitoes, ants,
cockroaches and sundry, other creepy crawlies and flying
creatures. Her mind draws up plans to somehow keep muddy
shoes outside the house and wonders in despair why Dost's
paws can't somehow be encased in gumboots?
Mercifully,
this period of mental agony, of two creatures struggling
to gain ascendancy over my person, is brief. Come the cool
sunny days of October and I shall be whole again. And yet,
I often suffer a pang for the child that was, when monsoon
was a season of pure, undiluted and unmitigated delight."
Juhi
