ROMANCING THE RAIN


Of all the seasons that fall over Tapi town, the monsoon is by far the one that makes it most beautiful. If the skilled Sanskrit poet-Kalidasa’s cloud messenger-Meghdoot were to fly over Surat, in its fluffy state, its eye would meet many a pretty sight-

Kalidasa wrote-‘The Ashoka tree with sweetly dancing lines, the favourite Bakul tree, are near the bower of Amaranth-engirdled Jasmine vines; Like me they wait to feel the winning power, of her persuasion ere they blossom into flower.’

As Surat’s ancient architecture from Dutch to English to Mughal stands freshly awashed; most roads are carpeted with fresh blossoms from blazing Gulmohars, beaming Amaltas and in case you are on the right side of the road, pretty Parijats.

In spite of its urbanization, there still lie many quaint streets in Surat where one could enjoy a walk while it drizzles; like the by lane in Sarjan society which overlooks the garden is one closest to nature, like the main road by Panas agricultural farm where two wheelers now zip zap zoom has the most beautiful road sheltered by many a tree, like the green tunnel formed by a foliage of branches that entwine overhead outside the Umra police station.

The sweet, damp full bodied fragrance of mother earth will tempt bi-cyclists to bring out their wheels and race towards where land meets the Arabian sea, for the more adventurous, the serpentine Palsana route will serve the purpose for racing the rain.

Children who have now grown out of paper boat days will splash out into a wet and wild football or volleyball bout .As an audience of lasses below bright coloured umbrellas cheer on with their effervescent and unabashed Surti charm.

Kitly kings will be concocting up misty mint flavored tea from textile market’s famous foamy delight-‘Tim tim ‘as onerous laborers run around with rainbow coloured goods to good old Ghodod road’s cutting chai which will help wash down local goodies.

Foodies by nature, Surtis will be seen at all monsoon hotspots around town, relishing hot steamed khichu drizzled with oil and decorated with a generous sprinkle sesame seeds ,chutney lined tomato bhajiyas freshly fried by the ancient anchor at Dumas and pepper laced Sarasiya khajas from Ambaji road. As ash flies, floating out with the aroma of freshly roasted corn on the cob by road side kiosks, run by robust women from villages like Vesu, Bhimpore in bright coloured clothing, fanning the charcoal fire from below plastic hoods that do little to keep them from getting drenched by the downpour.

One could go out and enjoy the weather, view it from the various bridges that connect us to the blue horizon yonder, where palms swish and swoon to the tunes of the monsoon slate.

Just in case you would rather stay dry within the comfort of your home, curl up with a cup of hot cocoa and a great book like ‘Chasing the monsoon ‘by Alexander Frater.Or, better still, soak yourself in the rich text of ‘Meghduta’by Kalidasa what better weather than this to enjoy one of the most romantic poetry ever written -

‘Where from the Moonstones hung in nets of thread, great drops of water trickle in the night. When the Moon shines clear and thou, O cloud art fled to ease the languorous of the women’s plight who lie relaxed and tired in love’s embrace tight.’