Monsoon memoirs!

Yes, it’s messy, muddy and often plays spoilsport but there’s another side to the season. A side that we reminisce on; the romance of the rains that brings out the philosopher in each one of us. This evening, as it pours, we will etch you a fantastic tapestry of the Indian monsoon, woven with threads of nostalgia. So you can enjoy the weather and culinary experience it brings to us with the onset of the season, sitting a thousand miles away!

You wake up at 7. Snooze the alarm and fall asleep again. Everything else in the world falls back before your comfort and the love of your comforter. You want to sleep like a baby while the rains sing a lullaby for you. For us, Indians, monsoon means comfort, fun, colors and happiness. Walk out on any typical rainy day and the streets are a riot of colors. Somewhere within, it instills hope. Why else would someone buy an umbrella with the color of a rainbow if not to battle a grey day!

As you walk through the same lane, fulfilling your responsibilities- the usual of an everyday mendicant- you pass through a familiar smell. Smell that spells rain. Fried food from the ubiquitous vendors that seem to pop up in every office lane. Mouthwatering. Ignoring it as you walk pass, in a very old wall maybe, you look carefully and see moss. You awaken the child within and run your hand along for that velvety feel. Smiling in the rains for no reason is absolutely justified.

While at work you keep looking at that big window and feast your eyes on the torrential downpour, a sudden splash drench you as you step out after a busy day. Quite surprisingly it brings a smile across your face. You hail a tuktuk and sit in it refreshed. The driver draws the plastic curtains in order to save you but you push it away instead- loving the feeling of the cool wind full of water droplets. Maybe stop somewhere for a bowl of hot soup!

You reach home and take little pleasures in all the rain related culinary delights, pull a shawl over you and read a book and fall asleep with the heavenly lullaby. Thank God for the rains.

The Kite Festival

Here I am on a cold Minnesota winter morning. The skies are grey, but my memories are projecting a thousand color onto its blank canvas. It seems like just yesterday that I was a young boy growing up in Ahmedabad. On January 14th, my vibrant city used to burst with even more fun, color and energy. The skies would be dotted with kites of all shapes, sizes and colours. Me and my friends would gather on my terrace to enjoy the warm winter sun and soak in all the excitement!

All of us had crucial roles- Harsh was in charge of bending the kites to perfection, Varun would make sure the string we bought was the special Surat variety that was extra strong and sharp thanks to the glass powder. Jay was in charge of flying the kites. So where would I come in?
Well I had a very unique specialty – I was in charge of fighting. Yes, I was in charge of making sure that our kites soared high and cut away all those that came in its path! I was the one who ensured we all got to scream out “Kai Poche!” which is a triumphant call meaning “I have cut”.That was our only agenda all day long, the setting sun never discouraged us.

Flying kites in Gujarat is such an obsession that we have found a way around it. We tie paper lanterns called ‘Tukkals’ that illuminate the kites and make sure its non stop fun, well into the night!

Harsh and Jay still live in Ahemadabad and enjoy the festival and they make sure to call me to make me feel bad for missing out on all the fun! Well thanks to technology, I was online watching them and joining in the celebrations last year. I don’t know when I’ll be able to be there with them next, but one thing I know for sure – it’ll be just like old times.