Monsoon in my city

I love Calcutta when it rains...

When the skies get cloudy and all the dust and pollution gets swept away, infusing that hot, humid Calcutta air with a lightness.

When doors and windows start banging and you can see women scurrying around on the neighbouring rooftops pulling down those about-to-dry clothes, their saree pallus and half-undone hair making life impossible - but painting the most poetic picture of home life there is.

When kids run to the window, hoping it will pour so much that the streets will fill with water - so that they can make their paper boats and see them sail down the lane outside their doors.

When school kids wait for a rainy day - and failing that, make sure they travel back home through the most water-logged streets, taking care to jump into every puddle and get drenched from head to toe.

When you are hopelessly stuck in the downpour - in a car, bus, tram - and you know you will never get anywhere on time. But you don't mind because everything around you seems so lazy, so sleepy, so Calcutta.

When the kitchen starts filling up with divine smells of khichudi and begun bhaja - nothing else goes as well with the pitter-patter of rain on your window pane.

When you wake up on a weekend to realize it's rained all night - and you curl back under the blanket with a good book and that must have cha...or in my case, coffee

When the man of the family goes running to buy that perfect ilish for lunch - it's rained after all.

When the maidan goes all green - looking like a blanket that's been freshly washed and laid down on the ground. So that youngsters can play muddy football while the pristine white Victoria Memorial looks on.

When the old city becomes new again - a lilt in her steps, a nip in her attitude, a freshness in her soul.