Sense and Sensibility

We would all recall the ditty we were taught in school: ‘Rain, rain, go away; little Johnny wants to play; come again another day…’. This nursery rhyme seems to have acquired an amplified resurgence in our adult lives, with a vengeance, except that Johnny’s wanting to play wish is now a far longer wish list. The first line, however, remains intact and almost underlined. ‘Rain, rain go away!’

The truth is, for all the wonderful Indian classical literature, art and music that the monsoons inspired in yore, enduring the rains in the modern day and that too in metropolises, seems to have become a test of the nerves more than inspiration for creativity. And why just the big cities? When it comes to the smaller, hilly regions of the country, we see horrific pictures of landslides and wreckage in the once pristine hill stations and towns, right from Uttaranchal and Himachal in the North to Sikkim in the East. Much to their amazement, the citizenry of Rajasthan, which not very long ago had to pray to the rain Gods for their blessings, now posts pictures of incessant rainfall and flooded streets.

In the cities, coping with waterlogged, bumper-to-bumper traffic turns just making it to work and back no less than a trek. Post after post on social media describe the state of our roads with people venting their frustration, perhaps as they sit on their steering wheels, staring at stationary serpentine traffic ahead of them. Flyers brave bumpy and delayed flights, many turning irate as they miss connecting flights. Those who manage homes have their own set of complaints - from absent house help to leaking roofs, not to mention a variety of viruses that raise their heads and manage to infect, if not raid families. If nothing else, unending grey skies take a toll on one’s spirit and mood, dampening both.

When did the rains - a season that was meant to be one of vitality, where sensibilities found artistic expression - become one that tests human patience and endurance, turning it into one soggy rant? But resilience, as we’ve discovered over time, is truly our second nature. So, even as we rave and rant about the potholes and panic about the rising water levels, we also adapt - switching to online meetings, packing extra footwear in our cars, tucking up trousers and clothing our heads in polythene bags as we learn to sing and dance in the rain.

And of course, at the slightest of available opportunities, bite into hot, crisp pakoras with ‘adrak’ chai for a semblance of comfort. And then, just when the skies soften for a few hours, a colleague or friend manages to click a photograph of rain-washed greenery or a drenched skyline bathed in that elusive, moody grey blue, just perfect for an ‘Instagram’ post. If the India of classical times responded to the rains with ‘Raag Malhar and Desh’, evoking the emotion of rasa and a longing for the beloved, then what will today’s India leave behind? What digital trace, what creative footnote will we offer posterity - a perfectly looped rain reel or a meme about traffic snarls and potholes?

Yet, it may be unfair to compare. Each era responds to nature with the tools of its time. The soul, after all, still stirs when the first petrichor hits - even if instead of tuning into ‘Raag Megh’, we may now have to recall the old ditty with a mild twist:

Rain, rain, go or stay,

Little Johnny must find his way.

Not quite play, not quite pout,

Just sip his chai and wait it out.

Supriya Newar is a widely published writer and poet from Calcutta. Besides being a music aficionado, she is also an avid traveller. She may be reached at [email protected]