So happy to be back in the cool embrace of good ol' Bangalore, where
the rain makes me nostalgic and want to stay home, cuddle up with a thick book, a nice cuppa and just stay lazy all day. Cuddling up with someone special would have been even better and that's one of the many reasons why long distance relationships suck.
I have always shared a bittersweet relationship with the rain. During my childhood days, I was scared of the pitter patter on our roof and it was always a challenge for me to be alone in a room whenever it rained. Outside the house, I had a lot of fun jumping in and out of puddles and walking in the rain, purposely not using the raincoats and umbrellas that were designated to protect me from getting wet. Although it did not boil down very well with my folks whenever I reached home wet to the bone, shoes filled with water and mud. Perhaps the thrill of doing something forbidden was what made the entire experience more fun and enticing.
As a college going girl, I learnt to appreciate the rain indoors, watching it pour from the windows of my room and from the balcony of our hostel building, consumed by the fragrance that is emitted when the first drops of rain touch the ground. Rain to me spelled romance, stolen kisses and slow dances with MLTR "I wanna dance" or Eric Martin "I love the way you love me" playing in the background. The most complex relationship I've shared with the rain was in Mumbai. It was a daily struggle to commute during the monsoon, with the average time taken to get a "Ricksha" being half an hour. The "Ricksha Maharajas" also particularly favoured the season for their annual strike activities. The no.of shoes that were massacred during the course of one Mumbai monsoon was so phenomenal that I've seriously lost count. It was the rain that made me closer to the Mumbai stench that I so abhorred as we were all broiled up in the same flooded streets most of the time. The chaos, the filth and the inconvenience were just another side to it because what Mumbai rains also did was bring out the warmth in people, makes them more approachable and makes them approach more. I have shared a rickshaw ride with many strangers, some of whom were men - something I would never do elsewhere, except mm.. maybe in Mizoram. It all starts with a smile, and a simple gesture, "Would you like to share a ride?" or, "Which way are you going? Can I share the ride?". Asking for such favours or accepting such offers never seemed weird but rather so natural. Such is the beauty of Mumbai rains and it's effect on people. No wonder, it has it's on profile on Indiatimes.
Nothing beats Bangalore rains though, as it brings in a wintry flavour that tempts me to dig out those well-buried winter boots and go jacket shopping. The "romance quotient" also gets higher as the weather gets pleasant and the fragrance of it can be felt much stronger. Well, it's mostly the sweet side of our relationship that prevails here...
I have always shared a bittersweet relationship with the rain. During my childhood days, I was scared of the pitter patter on our roof and it was always a challenge for me to be alone in a room whenever it rained. Outside the house, I had a lot of fun jumping in and out of puddles and walking in the rain, purposely not using the raincoats and umbrellas that were designated to protect me from getting wet. Although it did not boil down very well with my folks whenever I reached home wet to the bone, shoes filled with water and mud. Perhaps the thrill of doing something forbidden was what made the entire experience more fun and enticing.
As a college going girl, I learnt to appreciate the rain indoors, watching it pour from the windows of my room and from the balcony of our hostel building, consumed by the fragrance that is emitted when the first drops of rain touch the ground. Rain to me spelled romance, stolen kisses and slow dances with MLTR "I wanna dance" or Eric Martin "I love the way you love me" playing in the background. The most complex relationship I've shared with the rain was in Mumbai. It was a daily struggle to commute during the monsoon, with the average time taken to get a "Ricksha" being half an hour. The "Ricksha Maharajas" also particularly favoured the season for their annual strike activities. The no.of shoes that were massacred during the course of one Mumbai monsoon was so phenomenal that I've seriously lost count. It was the rain that made me closer to the Mumbai stench that I so abhorred as we were all broiled up in the same flooded streets most of the time. The chaos, the filth and the inconvenience were just another side to it because what Mumbai rains also did was bring out the warmth in people, makes them more approachable and makes them approach more. I have shared a rickshaw ride with many strangers, some of whom were men - something I would never do elsewhere, except mm.. maybe in Mizoram. It all starts with a smile, and a simple gesture, "Would you like to share a ride?" or, "Which way are you going? Can I share the ride?". Asking for such favours or accepting such offers never seemed weird but rather so natural. Such is the beauty of Mumbai rains and it's effect on people. No wonder, it has it's on profile on Indiatimes.
Nothing beats Bangalore rains though, as it brings in a wintry flavour that tempts me to dig out those well-buried winter boots and go jacket shopping. The "romance quotient" also gets higher as the weather gets pleasant and the fragrance of it can be felt much stronger. Well, it's mostly the sweet side of our relationship that prevails here...