The Annual Reunion
Mumbai’s monsoons have always reminded me of a long-distance marriage. Imagine the monsoon as the husband who works on a ship for eight months of the year and comes home for only four.
The reunion is beautiful.
After months of unbearable heat, the first shower feels like relief itself. Suddenly, every Mumbaikar is standing by the window with a cup of chai pretending they weren’t complaining about the weather just a day ago. Plans that didn’t exist twenty-four hours earlier magically appear. Marine Drive, long drives, Lonavala, roadside chai, pakoras, every rainy-day cliché suddenly sounds like an excellent idea.
Just like a couple making up for lost time, we try to squeeze four months’ worth of happiness into the first weekend of rain. We overlook every inconvenience because, after all, we’ve missed it.
Then We Remember Why Long-Distance Relationships Work
The honeymoon doesn’t last very long.
Within a few weeks, Mumbai starts behaving like the partner who’s been home just long enough to leave the wet towel on the bed and the toothpaste cap off one too many times.
The blocked drains wake up with a smell nobody asked for. Roads develop more potholes than actual road. Clothes refuse to dry without smelling damp. Your favourite shoes stay wet for days and suddenly your wardrobe consists entirely of clothes you don’t mind sacrificing to the rain.
Outside the house, things aren’t much better. Local trains begin operating on what can only be described as monsoon timing. Roads flood. Vegetables look like they’ve given up on life. Every plan starts with checking the weather forecast instead of checking whether your friends are free.
We Still Keep Falling In Love Again
And yet, every year, we wait for it.
The rains cool the city, fill our lakes, turn everything green again and somehow make life feel just a little slower. We stop looking for air conditioning and start looking for cafés with outdoor seating. Weekend plans move from rooftops to rain drives, from beaches to hillside villas, and for four months Mumbai feels like a completely different city.
That’s the funny thing about long-distance marriages. You spend months waiting for your partner to come home, a few weeks complaining about all their annoying habits, and then the moment they leave, you start missing them again.
Mumbai’s relationship with the monsoon isn’t very different. We spend four months complaining about flooded roads and delayed trains, only to spend the next eight waiting for the first drop of rain to hit the window again.
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