The monsoon has set in. The last few weeks wre not exactly hot, since we had pre-monsoon showers.

Now, that it's monsoon, it's back to umbrellas, raincoats, watching the rain fall, hurrying home as the drops begin to descend, drinking hot tea, eating spicy snacks, wringing water out of wet clothes, drying then on a clothesline, playing with water, watching paper boats sail their way along streams, wiping spectacles, notice elders push the young indoors, seeing freshly washed greenery, squeal when strange-looking insects hover around you.

Have a happy monsoon!!

If i have some work around Basavanagudi, i usually schedule it on Tuesdays and Fridays, as i'm there the entire evening. People ask me questions as i carry my black case (where i strap in my paintings) around. Some have been kind enough to offer help to hold it.

A few weeks ago, i was held up at J.C. Road for more than an hour. It had rained heavily, and i was driving back home. The auto-driver whose auto stood next to my vehicle asked whether i carried photos in that case. I told, 'Yes'. He remarked that the photos wouldn't need any wash, the falling rain would do the job easily.

The rain that's been raining since yesterday in Bengaluru is quite depressing. Similar to the advertisements shown on various channels where the kid is stranded inside the house and cannot play with his playmates as it pours outside. It's simply not possible for one to go out as the rain shows no signs of giving up.

Being cooped inside four walls through the day can be annoying, especially on a Sunday, when you want to take a stroll around.

Last Friday made big news. It rained cats and dogs that day. And perhaps, i'll be reminded of that day the next time i drive my bike in the rain.

I left my Art class late as it was raining heavily. To find myself stuck in ankle deep rainwater and in traffic jams all along the way home. This is regular during the Monsoons in any metro here, i guess. But that was my first time when i drove through flooded roads all the while praying that my two-wheeler didn't give up on me.

And i reached home not very wet. Sometimes, i hum a tune when i drive. And on that day, when moving inch wise (literally) i burst into a song and quite loudly at that. You see there was nothing else to do except to play with raindrops until the mass of vehicles moved before me.

Feeling sleepy she glanced at the clock. It was thirty minutes past nine in the night, and surprisingly her eyelids were heavy with sleep. She wanted to sleep late as the next day was a holiday. A whim that she sometimes yielded to at times. Walking to the bed, she arranged her blankets on her, positioned her head and body according to her comfort and let peaceful slumber overcome her.

During the wait the pigeons sheltered against the windowsill muttered in their typical manner. A regular muttering. Couldn't they simply stay still and quiet! It was drizzling outside, perhaps they were complaining at the wet atmosphere. A bike whizzed by, horning at some obstacle. The screeching of it's brakes crashed the silence of the dark night. A few voices could be heard, some whispers, some noises. Indecipherable.

Soft melodious music was being played somewhere. Maybe a recorded lullaby intended to put a baby to sleep. The lilting tune gently led her to the stupor that precedes sleep. In that state of relaxation, she dreamt wild. The absurdness of the flow of thoughts in the subconscious mind brought her back into reality. On opening her eyes, she was enveloped by the inky blueness of the dead night. Pushing her hair back, away from her face, she fell into a torpor that would last till the next sunrise.

The dark green of the leaves in the darkness glistened like they had a coat of varnish. Some appeared absolute white where the shine was at it's maximum. An almost black shade adjoined the white at places. A play of light and shadow created by a streetlight that grew close to the lamppost and the wind. The sheen added by a fresh showered. As if they existed in utopia, if one witnessed utopia that is.

It had rained continuously for hours together. A first for this year's monsoon season. The roads were wet, tyres of cars, bikes sunk in stagnant rainwater which ceased flowing into the already full drains. The vehicles themselves were drenched. Maybe they'd need some heat too. With the city's dust and grime washed away, their true colours shone bright.

Clothes take more time to dry. Perhaps, only when the Sun peeks amidst heavy clouds, or when the damp towels, kurtas, trousers are spread on the furniture all over the house. Wet footprints dot the dry floor in a pattern a right followed by a left footprint. Shouts follow tarting the owner of those feet.

One can hear the pittar patter of the raindrops against the window shield when it pours hard. Many times, a night's sleep is broken due to this endless noise. Accustoming oneself to a regular drill, the mind is lulled to sleep. Only to wake up to see slick roads on the morrow's morning. The proof to show that clouds burst the previous night.

A lot of greenery and very few people around reminds me of the Western Ghats. Luckily, i've been there a couple of times. The lush green that surrounds one, the quiet sounds of the dense forests, the wetness of the damp earth there, describes nature in a most pristine manner.

Few weeks ago, i went around one of the localities on the outskirts of Bengaluru. A lonely road, with no soul visible on it's sides, some bushes and trees lining the road, i was taken back to the verdant locales. Only to see a building after a bend.

Times were good when i was in Mysuru. I've had memorable moments. Then, i had the opportunity to visit a few locations in this geographical area. During the rains. To visit them again would definitely be a delight.

It seemed like the Monsoon in Bengaluru after a gap of about two weeks. It was drizzling in the morning steadily for over an hour. And come midday, the sun shone brightly. There's not enough sunlight for things to dry when left outside, the nights are cool, the seemingly blood-red sky at night looks laden and is ready to burst. Typical symptoms of the monsoon's presence.

One thing that can be very much observed almost everywhere during this season are the umbrellas. Made of synthetic cloth, capable of shielding droplets of rain from one's person, they come in a variety of colours and sizes. I remember a bright yellow umbrella with prints of cartoons on it. This served me during school.

I guess, even to this day, the black umbrellas are omnipresent. We had a long black one which also could be used as a walking stick. With a pointed end. This kind was common a few decades ago, wasn't it? We possessed one of this sort as well. But, i haven't seen it for many years now. These days, colorful ones are plenty and compact too.

Maybe, the black umbrellas will eventually disappear, one fine day.

Today, I enjoyed the first monsoon showers that swept some parts of Bengaluru today. I let myself soak the fine spray of moisture that was carried to me by some strong winds.

Some time had passed when i felt a fat drop of water graze my cheek. My skin stung for a moment. I've loved the rain without any prejudice. Maybe drops of water can prove to be mildly harsh.

Raindrops slid towards the bent elbow from where they dropped in a continuous thread. A palm was cupped in a frail attempt to catch them.

Later, zephyrs of cool wind blew into the face. Snatches of the rain smell could be sensed. Carrying along minute particles of dust which made into the eye despite it being guarded. The blue flame fuelled by gas danced wildly beneath the heavy iron pan. As chapathis were baked on it. A step back was taken to avoid the fire lest the cotton clothes also burned.

It's been raining incessantly since a few days. A continuous drizzle sets in now and then. There was some sun today. The evening and night didn't see the rain. The water, chairs, blankets are cold to the senses. My teeth go numb every night as i clean them.

Hope tomorrow is better.

glazed with rain

The night had cool breezes blowing. As the body rested against the window, the eyes peered into the inky-blue darkness. Blocks of different heights marked the boundary of the bigger commercial establishment. Some stars twinkled in the never-ending sky. Strong lights beamed from the distance, fringing the roof of a hotel in the distance. Circles of flashy yellow placed in an array.

Leaves shone on a nearby tree. Like they had been glazed with varnish. Glazed black leaves turning white, almost, when light fell on them and when the soft air currents played with them. Raining it was, intermittently. The window bars had drops of water hanging precariously. As if a gentle touch of the hand would disregard the delicate balance made the droplet of water with the window bar. Leading to a soft plop onto the hard concrete surface below.

The night went on.

disconnected thoughts

Thoughts can be stringed together or otherwise. I guess, it mainly depends on we see/think at that moment. I've had thoughts coming from the two poles one after another. Totally varied.

When i was atop Mullayana Giri in Chikamagaluru last week, i was reminded of an earlier visit to Jog Falls, in July this year. And also Talakaveri, to which we travelled about five/six years ago. My hand brushed across wet hair, while the other hand rested on a moist pair of jeans. We were on cloud 9 according to my professor. Having witnessed the Malnad in it's pristine greenery and the typical never-ending drizzle of the monsoons, i felt awed. Rain and green. What compliance!

I was working on oils today. After about four long months. Me, being happy, excited goes without saying. Resulting in a nice canvas. Hope i put it up here sometime. That apart, i grumbled that my other oils, those that i started with, and henceforth, are not good. When i look at this, i grimace. Really. I wish M could see what i did today. She would have loved it, i'm sure. This was the first time that i'd worked on canvas.

Temples and me have always been apart. At home, we've had this very different practice of not going to them. We do visit them once in a blue moon, when a puja is organised by somebody in the family. Nevertheless, a puja is performed once in seven days, i guess for it's sake. Or for mother's satisfaction. She has tried to inculcate those habits into me. The process of trying didn't yield anything. In fact, i think that she has begun delineating. Am i that influencing??!! Wow!! I should pat my back. I've had to explain this tendancy to a couple of friends, who were taken aback, some with expressions displayed on their face.

where are the raindrops?

I was really pleased about five years ago. If i'm right, that's when Bengaluru stopped expecting power-cuts in summer. Wow! This is it, though i. Possibly i could use all the favorable positive-sounding adjectives the. I was overcome by pride(i still am).

Far from that scene, today we are in dire need of electricity. With an almost failure of monsoons, it's very lucid, isn't it? For a country that attributes it's agricultural patterns to the seasonal rains.

It's fantastic to fathom the profundity of the monsoons. Perhaps, that's the reason i love it. Of course, the natural scheme has deviated. A scene when a farmer views the azure blue sky for a trace of water can move anybody.

Now it's to long hours of darkness. With the faint glow of a lamp casting yellow lights in a few corners. We are cornered. Incredible or credible, you choose.

I'm waiting for it to rain. It rained heavily in Bengalooru when i was in Mysooru. Not that it didn't rain in Mysooru. I was banned from getting wet.

Now, that i have the time and the energy to get soaked, the heavens are yet to open up. In fact, i sense the heat that surrounds me.

Another thing that i noticed is the days are becoming longer. The sun can be observed at about 5:30 in the morning if not earlier. And the sun sets later than 7 in the evening. I was then, explained that the summer solstice is soon approaching. Until then we witness days which progressively becomes longer and longer, till the 21st of June.

It's raining hard in coastal Karnataka. So hard that it is impossible to step out of the house. I know that the same does not happen here. Nevertheless , i'm eager.

PS: I understand that it's boring to read of the rain everytime. But the monsoon has begun again.

a drizzle that ended

It started drizzling. No professor was in sight. They were free for some time, until somebody turned up with the attendance register.

Lunch boxes had been polished clean at that point of time. Filled with fresh enthusiasm, she ran down to the quadrangle. Standing by the fish tank, she held her hands up. With her palms cupped in the hope of catching a few rain-drops. She looked heavenwards, it was cloudy, indeed. She waited for the soft drops of water to flow along the fold lines of her palm and collect in the centre.

The others appeared with helmets in their hands. She was then reminded to do the same. She rushed to the main door, unlocked her helmet, and ran back, again, to the classroom. On placing the wet helmet on the nearest chair, she skipped outside.

The rain had weakened. Looking skyward, she so wished it would rain hard. A feeling of wetness was essential. Perhaps, to drive away the compressing humidity. Minutes later, the raindrops vanished completely. They were held in the dark and heavy clouds. 'Will they pitter-patter again?', pondered she.

This wish filled her heart, as she stepped into the classroom with a heavy heart. Somebody asked her, 'Is it not raining?'. She shook her head slowly, with gloominess writ on her face.