HEADY AROMA OF JAMUNS ON A RAINSWEPT AFTERNOON
and/or www.mantra.com/jai
By Chandan Mitra
Agenda
The Pioneer
Sunday, June 26, 2011
The monsoon rains invariably revive memories of adolescence and
youth. Just as spring is associated with love in the West, in India
it's the rains that unleash passion as no other season
Perhaps the most readable item in the Mumbai eveninger Afternoon
Despatch & Courier is the reproduction of its founder-editor Behram
Contractor's column on the back page. Behram, better known by his
pen-name Busybee, died years ago but the reproduction from the
paper's archives of his crisp daily column still makes engaging
reading.
I chanced upon 'Round and About', which is what his column was
called. Reproduced from the Afternoon's edition dated July 11, 1975,
it was about heralding the monsoon in different parts of Maharashtra,
including Mumbai and hill stations on the Western Ghats, such as
Panchgani. Busybee had captured the feel of watching the clouds roll
in to the accompaniment of special effects like lightning and thunder
and the eventual breaking of the rains.
This is a phenomenon unique to India; nowhere else in the world is
the arrival of any season so distinctly discernible, nor does it
cause such expectancy or exhilaration. In my childhood in West
Bengal, I quite hated the onset of the monsoons. It meant mud and
slush, musty smells in the house, sullied clothes that refused to
adequately dry and, of course, severe water-logging in Kolkata. In
terms of convenience, the rainy season would be the most challenging.
But after migrating to Delhi, I have begun to value the rains
immensely.
Although I rather like Delhi's dry, scorching summer (my friends
believe it's nutty to do so), by mid-June, it gets humid and the heat
wave oppressively long drawn. So the rains bring phenomenal relief,
apart from easing power-cuts and water shortages.
A couple of years ago, I was particularly lucky to experience the
arrival of the monsoon in Kolkata and Delhi, besides also visiting
Mumbai in its very first week. Kolkata was unbearably hot and humid.
Everybody you saw was drenched in perspiration, human energy was
sapped to a point where the only thing anybody wanted to do was
sleep. Then, suddenly one night, the skies opened up in a torrent,
reminding me of Rabindranath Tagore's rhythmic invocation:
Jhanjhan manjira bajaye jhanjha
Rudra anandey,
Kala-kala kala mandri-nirjharini
Daak deye pralay ahvaaney
(Lightning claps cymbals in angry pleasure/ Rains descend like
waterfalls responding to the call to deluge).
Rains in Kolkata, Mumbai and places close to the coast can be
blinding in their fury, making it difficult to stir out of the home,
leave alone drive. And despite the massive backlash of clogged drains
and submerged roads, rains in these places are accompanied by some
traditional delights. For example, eating muri (puffed rice) lightly
brushed with mustard oil along with fried onion rings (peyaji) while
it's pouring outside has a charm that's difficult to capture in
words. Or, khichuri with fried fish, yet another Bengali delicacy. I
am sure every part of India has its own culinary way of celebrating
the rainy season. In Delhi, for instance, it means toasted bhutta
(corn) and kala jamun.
When Edwin Lutyens planned New Delhi, he was insistent that only
three types of trees be planted along its wide boulevards --
gulmohar, amaltaash and jamun. It was such a thoughtful move,
intended to visually depict three magnificent seasons, spring, summer
and the rains. The gulmohar with its flaming red flowers lends energy
to Delhi's vivacious spring in April, while the bright yellow plumes
of the amaltaash blends perfectly with the searing summer in May-
June. But once the dark purple fruits of the jamun tree start
dropping on the pavements in July, they lend an aroma to central
Delhi that's as heady as ambrosia.
I have started looking forward to that as I now reside in Lutyens's
Delhi. Recently, I had observed the sky darkening while driving
towards Gurgaon, and although it did rain overnight, these aren't
monsoon rains. But it is really something else watching the clouds
bundle up in huge masses along the city skyline when monsoon arrives.
One can sense the monsoon in the air heavy with moisture. In fact,
the atmosphere is so moisture-laden that driving back one night I saw
droplets hanging in the air like a blanket of mist, reminiscent of a
late December night.
I shall never be able to capture the rains in Mumbai with the passion
of Busybee, but watching the Arabian Sea vent its fury on the rocky
outcrop at Bandra's Bandstand from the bay widow of Taj Land's End,
was as fascinating as sighting the advancing dark clouds in Delhi.
Something happens to the sea during the monsoon as it transforms into
furious coils of water from gentle waves that caress the coastline at
other times.
I have walked down Marine Drive during the monsoon when gigantic
waves get tossed easily 10 feet into the sky as they lash the
reclaimed embankment, wetting pedestrians with their violent protest.
Unlike some people who love to enjoy the rains outdoors, the monsoon
drives me indoors. There's nothing I love more than fixedly staring
at sheets of rain from a window or balcony, drink in hand. I am sure
poets share this idea with me. Not being a connoisseur of poetry, I
can only buttress my argument by referring to some Hindi film
classics, my favourite being a Madan Mohan composition rendered by
Mohammad Rafi:
Sawan ke mahine mein
Ek aag-si seene mein
Lagti hai to pee leta hoon
Do-char ghadi jee leta hoon
The monsoon rains invariably bring back memories of adolescence and
youth, especially those related to romance. Just as spring is
associated with love in the West, in India, Kalidasa onwards, it's
the rains that unleash feelings of intimacy as no other season. Come
to think of it, the really beautiful moments I recall from my
romantic associations are invariably associated with the rains --
Rimjhim ke tarane leke ayee barsaat/ Yaad ayee kisi se woh pahli
mulaqat. Paradoxically, the monsoons are also a time for lamentation.
Sample this:
Aisi hi rimjhim, aisi phuhaarein,
Aisi thi barsaat,
Khud se juda aur jag se paraye,
Hum dono thay saath,
Aisey hi sawan phir kyon na aaye.
In almost every sense then, the monsoon rains make for memories -- of
togetherness and separation, love and despair.
In recent years though, the monsoon has lost some of its erstwhile
mystique. Come May and the media starts chasing monsoon stories.
After spending hundreds of crores buying sophisticated gadgets, the
Meteorology Department unfailingly gets it as wrong as it did in the
past. In fact, one year the day rains broke over Delhi, I was amused
to read in a leading newspaper that the department has predicted a
fortnight's delay. Over the next few months, the monsoon's progress
shall be meticulously mapped.
Undoubtedly, all this is important particularly for the farmers and
policy-makers. However, little emphasis is placed on planning for the
future. There is no serious concern about conserving rainwater and 70
per cent of it continues to go waste while fields remain scorched and
drinking water gets scarcer by the year.
Thus, while we exult at the arrival of the rains -- and hopefully
they will be bountiful as predicted this year -- attention must turn
to harnessing the monsoon for the nation's good.
- This column has been reproduced from the archives. Chandan Mitra is
travelling and will be back next Sunday.
http://dailypioneer.com/348435/Heady-aroma-of-jamuns-on-a-rainswept-afternoon.html
More at:
http://www.dailypioneer.com
Jai Maharaj, Jyotishi
Om Shanti
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