The first rains of monsoon...

For the last three years I’ve been party to a ritual.

It begins like another day, trapped in a ‘air-conditioned’ box moving through the day like zombies. A shiver of excitement runs through the people and many get drawn to the windows. Gasps of excitement and dilated pupils indicate of the general adrenalin rush.
A gush of people run out and most run up to greet the torrents. The thunder crashes and the gusts of wind threaten to blow people off the terrace. People rush to the nearest shaded area and get drenched anyways since the strong gusts of wind don’t really care about the people (who it must think are idiots) not getting wet.
The plate glass windows frost up and the rivulets start dripping inside our hastily and badly made office. The chai-wala does fabulous business for the day, pouring out endless cups of hot tea to drenched revelers who would not normally even contemplate a sweetened quaff.

It happens on the first day of every monsoon I have spent in Maximize Learning (still cannot reconcile to calling it Aptara). It still arouses a special feeling of excitement every time it happens. A predictable magic that never has lost its charm.

After this one moment of magic it is all about trudging through a wet rainy three months. About braving the slush. About wet clothes. About the front brake constantly caked and clogged with mud on the Royal Enfield. About the longings in the heart to not go to office when I wake up and stare wistfully at skies which prompted Meghadutam. About all such things which one can crib about monsoon.

But the first rains are ALWAYS magic undiluted.