Perspective

I had been warned for some time about the rains in Mumbai. Bob’s co-workers have horrific tales about what they saw and experienced on 26/7, that is July 26th 2005 the day that Mumbai saw catastrophic flooding, which brought the city to a standstill. Our maid Biya has told me how she had to stay at her employer’s house overnight because the trains were not working and even her daughter, who was also a maid, stayed at her employer's flat. Phones were not working and people weren't able to let their loved ones know whether they were safe or not.

Part of June, all of July and most of August brings torrential rains to the city. The advantage is that the downpour brings some relief from the hot sun that beats unrelentously down on Mumbaikers in May. However, short distances, which already take some time to traverse due to poor roads and traffic, become almost impassable due to the almost assured flooding that follows soon after a couple of hours of heavy rain. Cars are lucky that they are still able to make their way, albeit slowly, through many of these flooded roads. In good weather the drivers of these same cars drive their passengers hurriedly through Mumbai roads honking and gesticulating impatiently. But during the monsoons these same cars have no choice but to wait patiently. A line of autorickshaws in front of them may stop suddenly in front of the newly formed pool of water, considering their likelihood of successful passage. The smart ones, with a quick maneuver, turn their vehicles 180 degrees around and seek alternate routes. Like a well-choreographed dance, the black and white autorickshaws, with flying blue tarps that beat in the wind in a makeshift attempt to shield their already soaked passengers, turn back one by one. As the stream of rickshaws that are almost literally ferrying their passengers about retreat, autorickshaws that are further back in the queue take their cue and turn around without waiting to catch a glimpse of the water firsthand.

Yesterday, we even passed a sabziwallah (vegetable seller) whose cart was perched on the higher ground of a sidewalk using what it looked like to be the metal pan for weighing his vegetables to furiously dump rising muddy water from the road into a ditch so that his cart wouldn’t be set afloat.

I used to enjoy walking around the streets surrounding our flat in the afternoons. It is always interesting to take in the crowds and hustle and bustle of sabziwallahs, fruit sellers and people on their way here and there and occasionally stop at small stores hidden in the side streets that beckon to me with interesting wares peering out from the window panes. During the rains, the hustle and bustle is still there. After all, this is a city that never stops. But the people walking hurriedly looking straight out have become people walking with outstretched arms holding in vise-like grips open umbrellas that undulate threatening with evey gust of the wind. Their stooped heads and dampened hair betray that their umbrella has not completely shielded them from the elements. Carts still display their owner’s fruits and vegetables while stalls display clothes, bags, and shoes. What has changed is that all is shrouded by a layer of blue tarp that mysteriously appears as if to cloak the city. The once dusty roads have become muddied and treacherously slippery for the unfamiliar. Mosquitos also buzz around hovering around puddles and other pools of standing water.

Sandrine attends an international school in Mumbai which follows the American school year. As such she is at home on vacation during the monsoons. As those with a 4 year old child can readily attest to, it is impossible to keep them fully occupied and you have to make every effort to curb their TV intake. It amazed me that Sandrine would happily watch her favorite shows as well as almost any other children’s show in Hindi. Mind you she doesn’t know Hindi, but I suppose it doesn’t matter to her. It bothered me more than her so she now watches a collection of Disney favorites on DVD in English. Anyway, to give her a break from home, me, and fighting with her 16.5 month old sister I enrolled her in a couple of evening classes: arts and crafts and gymnastics. She has attended one week of crafts so far and I am really impressed with the instructor and Sandrine looks forward to class and probably getting out of the confines of our flat.

One problem is the location of the class. It is in a small lane in Bandra, which is difficult to find. Two of our drivers, Roshan and Rahul both needed me to ask people for directions to get there. Our permanent driver Roshan even requested that I call Rahul so that he could find out how we finally reached the place. Rahul who is well-versed with locations all over Mumbai was actually stumped! Anyway, I finally came across a young man who knew where it was. Although he spoke English, I requested that he speak directly to Roshan since I was not familiar with the area. Roshan spent a couple of minutes talking to the man from his driver’s side window and then walked out with the man and both gestured at various roads shaking their heads affirmatively for another couple of minutes. Finally as I thought we were ready to go, Roshan requested the passerby to get into our vehicle and personally guide us there. The narrow roads and shortcuts he pointed out resulted in our speedy arrival. Nonetheless it was good we had our personal guide. I am certain that we would have gotten lost as I consider the narrow roads and side roads we took. After the 40 minute adventure, I was chagrined to find that the class had been cancelled! Our next trip to the first class took exactly 9 minutes door to door.

I was excited about the proximity until the second class, when it was raining. The major road in front of our flat was flooded in parts and Roshan had to wing his way taking roads that were accessible. In total, three roads gave us trouble. One had an electrical post down and two were fully flooded. I suddenly realized that this 9 minute journey would not be 9 minutes again until this season ended. For the third class I had to carry Sandrine out of the car since she would have been submerged to her ankles in a puddle. I had been wondering why there were only a few students in the class, especially since the instructor and the class were both really good. It suddenly hit me that parents must be much more familiar with the weather in Mumbai than I.

The tide beats violently on the sandy shores. The clouds gray ominously. The flighty wind heaves the coconut tree leaves inward and outward in turns revealing and hiding their heavy, round bounty. Heavy rain beats down suddently. I am surprised by how the rain does not begin with a drizzle and culminate in a torrential downpour but begins with the climax first. I suppose that the surging tide and gray clouds are enough of nature’s warning. I take in my breath not in fear but in awe.

It is monsoon time in Goa and we were there for the weekend. We were staying at a beautiful resort in South Goa. We wanted to see Goa in the monsoons and have plans to return to see the famous churches and experience the world-reknowned waters during better weather. As such, we had accepted that this would be a vacation about enjoying the food and other amenities of our resort. As those who know me can attest, it is only recently that I have acquiesced to taking what I call “beach” vacations. My idea of a vacation used to be (probably still would be if Bob let me get away with it) a full itinerary from 5 am to 11 pm printed on photocopied itineraries that each of us carried. The purpose was to experience another place but in a calculated, methodical way that left nothing of importance out. On the other hand, a beach vacation is where you enjoy good food, sleep, each other’s company, and above all relax.

This trip to Goa was a beach vacation but ironically the persistent rain made it impossible to spend time on the beach. During the soggy first day I was starting to feel that we had come in vain. However on or second day, when there was a reprieve in the rain Sandrine, Nikhitita, Bob and I took a leisurely family walk down the man-made footpath to the beach. On the walk we passed dewy green lawns fresh with life from the rains. From these fields rose tall coconut trees that formed a picturesque silhouette against the gray blue sky. When we reached the beach a red flag, put out by the resort staff, warned guests of the dangerous surf. A little redundant since the waters beating down on the sand were warning enough. Suddenly the winds picked up, the leaves of the coconut trees swayed dangerously and the skies opened wide letting down a deluge of water. I sigh thinking, “Our trip was worth it.”

Why is it that monsoons in Mumbai and monsoons in Goa elicit such different reactions? Perhaps it is because in Mumbai the rains slow people down from their day to day tasks. On many an occasion when I am in Mumbai I find myself looking straight out through the water blurried front windshield and then nervously at my watch hoping that there is no road blockage. Or as a pedestrian I grip my umbrella tight with one hand and my bag of groceries with the other looking down as I trudge my way through the slushy streets hoping to get home before the rains get worse. In Goa, I was in no rush. I was able to think of more than getting somewhere on time or trying not to get drenched. I actually looked up at the beautiful ominous sky, down at the tide rising higher and higher onto the sandy beach, and out at lush greenery and majestic coconut trees. What seemed dreary and depressing in one place seemed absolutely magnificent in another. I guess it truly is all about perspective.