BOMBAY WALTZ WITH THE RAIN-A LOVE STORY
BOMBAY
WALTZ WITH THE RAIN-A LOVE STORY
The Bombay monsoon kept its tryst this year on time. Yes, I
still prefer to call the city by that name! The romantic passionate embrace lady
Rain has with the city has mesmerized
all those who has approvingly watched as both waltzes through the three months.
As the two dance hand in hand, edge to edge of BMC's roads and bridges and as
the bridges give way and the trains try to run without tracks, or so it seems,
the pavement living toddler squeezes her eyes as the rain trickles down her
lovely distraught cheeks, the office goer gobbles’ a warm but getting wet wada pav,
the rain and the city nonchalantly and unabashedly gets lost in their eternal
love.
Beginning from early June and with the ever so lovely fragrance that emanate when rain meets the earth, the rendezvous lasts for days on end.
The sky most often than not remains gravel grey. The ever so few trees too sing a song. The shrubs that grow on footpaths and roads which seem to do its bit in sucking out the monoxides, too wink in appreciation as the rain passionately feels the city's body.
The old man who sells flutes too changes the tune he plays. As he strolls the city’s lanes, his tunes now merge with the sound of the rain falling on the pavement and the trees.
The children too innocently join the waltz as this provides them with a balm that’s needed to soothe their nerves as school reopens.
For the marvellous workforce, the best in the world, the city and its embrace of the rain offers a solace from the agony of the pathetic infrastructure and lack of cleanliness of this once great city.
When one takes a break from the ever-present challenges of chasing success and dreams in this metropolis, there are moments available when you, in complete blissful isolation, can sit by your window and watch the city and the rain play out their romance. Those who does not care to see this dance and hear the music are forever condemned to the insanity that describes existence here.
Not to lose out on this eternal dance of love, the sun comes out occasionally, casting slanted beams of light across the towering heartless and tasteless match box structures that dot the city. The golden hues near the horizon leaves you with a hope that there is a silver lining amidst this existential challenge.
Sadly for one who is no longer a resident of this city, these images and sounds are so vivid that it will stay forever and keep beckoning me back. I am like a traveller who have traversed lands afar for years and occasionally comes back home.
I too then kept my tryst this year and waltzed along, the last few days. The rains had provided an interlude one early morning. Walking down the promenade of a lake in Powai, where I was put up, I watched an elderly parsi couple sitting on a bench hand in hand with a smile on their faces.. Soon the rains came back. As the drizzle slowly turned into a torrent, I too sat there watching them as their faces lit up and the eyes danced in unison with the City of Bombay and the rain.
Beginning from early June and with the ever so lovely fragrance that emanate when rain meets the earth, the rendezvous lasts for days on end.
The sky most often than not remains gravel grey. The ever so few trees too sing a song. The shrubs that grow on footpaths and roads which seem to do its bit in sucking out the monoxides, too wink in appreciation as the rain passionately feels the city's body.
The old man who sells flutes too changes the tune he plays. As he strolls the city’s lanes, his tunes now merge with the sound of the rain falling on the pavement and the trees.
The children too innocently join the waltz as this provides them with a balm that’s needed to soothe their nerves as school reopens.
For the marvellous workforce, the best in the world, the city and its embrace of the rain offers a solace from the agony of the pathetic infrastructure and lack of cleanliness of this once great city.
When one takes a break from the ever-present challenges of chasing success and dreams in this metropolis, there are moments available when you, in complete blissful isolation, can sit by your window and watch the city and the rain play out their romance. Those who does not care to see this dance and hear the music are forever condemned to the insanity that describes existence here.
Not to lose out on this eternal dance of love, the sun comes out occasionally, casting slanted beams of light across the towering heartless and tasteless match box structures that dot the city. The golden hues near the horizon leaves you with a hope that there is a silver lining amidst this existential challenge.
Sadly for one who is no longer a resident of this city, these images and sounds are so vivid that it will stay forever and keep beckoning me back. I am like a traveller who have traversed lands afar for years and occasionally comes back home.
I too then kept my tryst this year and waltzed along, the last few days. The rains had provided an interlude one early morning. Walking down the promenade of a lake in Powai, where I was put up, I watched an elderly parsi couple sitting on a bench hand in hand with a smile on their faces.. Soon the rains came back. As the drizzle slowly turned into a torrent, I too sat there watching them as their faces lit up and the eyes danced in unison with the City of Bombay and the rain.
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