Monsoon Mania

One of the major flaw in my character is I prepare too much. A clear reflection of not-diagnosed-but-I-am-sure OCD. 

Since it is cloudy, I made some Darjeeling tea and it turned out to be so good I made another cup. But wait,  tea in a rainy afternoon is not enough to 'set the mood' so I made some fish fingers along with it. I also searched for some classical Indian instrumental to play from Spotify.  Finally after one and a half hours I sat down and opened my laptop. However, I had to check mails and my volunteer schedule. Then I gtalked my husband how good the weather is. Contemplated whether I should read a translation of Kalidas' "Megha Mallar" to myself or just recite some Tagore poems. Then at a point when my 'sane' side was literally bellowing at me to get to the point I finally clicked the 'New Post' sign in my blog page. 

Trust me, life is not always so dramatic; however  OCD makes it. 

Or is it the rain, the clouds or... the monsoon. 

I wanted it to be perfect and it was no ordinary event of nature. Its rain. Its monsoon. (at least to me)

Its a rainy afternoon in Philadelphia. 

Not like our usual monsoon in Kolkata, India. Still its rain and it reminds of home and makes me go nostalgic, thoughtful and happy. Especially because of my window seat in the living room which looks out to a beautiful green grove and houses with cute roofs (minus the parking lot). As I sat through pondering when to start writing and how, not to mention in which language; my brain started screaming at me that 'just move you lazy bum' (read fingers over keyboard)! My brain was hurrying me precisely because the sky was changing its light and shadow game in a more dramatic fashion than my lousy 'setting the mood ' process. At first the cloud cover was so dark it did reminded of August afternoon in Kolkata, when broad day light instantly turned to evening thoroughly confusing the bird and the tree tops swayed , nay, danced to usher in the mid day shower. Ah! those four heavenly months of June-July-August-September! Heavenly in terms of beauty of nature and people even in a concrete jungle of Kolkata. Alright I admit the heat and sweat is disgusting but when mesmerized by a overcast EM By-pass the sweat takes a cooling effect. Not to mention the 'tele bhaja, beguni , peyaji' (deep fried potatoes, eggplant or onion in a batter of gramflour) 'shingara' (conical fried thing stuffed with potato) and 'cha' (ya, you guessed it right, tea!). In spite of cursing the municipality and local residents when I had to wade through water logged garbage floating streets to my home in a wet cotton saree weighing more than me; I loved, still love monsoon my city of joy. Or for that matter, anywhere in the world. 

Because monsoon is not just a phenomenon of nature. Its a culture. A way of life. Especially in those parts of the world where monsoon decides the food, the economy and the very survival for thousands. Whether in form of disaster or celebration, monsoon plays a crucial role for many of us. Since ancient times art, architecture, music, literature, folk in South Asia  has made monsoon an inevitable part of life (not even mentioning economics and various streams of science which focuses on monsoon and its tangible effect on human life). Hence its not surprising that the monsoon mania will trickle down to tweets, status update or blogs in the internet dominated age. I really feel that this is the beautiful charm of monsoon. Whatever be the age, language or medium of expression monsoon still plays a major role in our psyche. Yes, I am totally psyched by monsoon! 

Am I digressing? Oh its the rains! I blame it on the monsoon for making me thoughtful. I'll come to today's tale rather than giving a lecture on monsoon and its effect on life of humans. Let me share its microscopic effect on my life. 

 I underestimated the temperate climate thinking that it can never have the 'monsoon effect' of the tropics and hence did little to 'enjoy' the rain before. Today was different. When I looked at the tree tops in front my window after a while I could feel they were swaying to the tune of Hariprasad Chaurasia as gracefully as did the trees of tropics set against the backdrop of a wet, blue rain clouds. It made me smile and and I kept staring and smiling for many milliseconds to come. 

The rolling clouds were not cumulonimbus but had the lovely wet, dark, heaviness in them which seemed like a dark kohled eyes of an enigmatic woman. The sudden pitter-patter of rain did make my heart skip as I settled down with the second cup of tea, however it was not long lasting this time. The temperature outside cooled down and the sky remained dark and overcast in spite of the rain. 

The sky then decided not to reach the evening hours so soon. Its just 7pm and the skies of East coast is alight till almost 8.30. Hence the deep dark clouds were dispersed (who knows even man handled!) by an obliging wind. And the sunlit white clouds of the upper atmosphere began showing off its golden hue a midst the pissed off dark blue clouds. Hence, the effect was more of a spot light without an exact spot. No, its not "kone dekha alo" or the rambunctious play of sunlight through monsoon clouds which we often see in India (one of its meaning is 'bridal light' when this magnificent soft light makes a not so good looking bride also seem beautiful). However, the sun rays were no less asserting than the tropics. They too tried their best to pierce through the conglomeration of the blue clouds near the horizon,  who were more than unwilling to leave without a shower to please this lover of tropical monsoon. Although it didnt rained pitter-patter or cats dog, I still enjoyed, I will call it a 'monsoon' evening. Even though far away from the Asian tropics, my home city and its sweltering hot monsoon, I am still charmed and mesmerized by this natural phenomenon and like old times felt like expressing my heart's content. 

My parting words to the thunderstorm that didnt happen and to the now grumpy looking sky which kind of saying 'I did my best to rain'-- Its okay, I understand. We can always meet another time over another cup of tea and Pandit Chaurasia. Because whether Philly or Kolkata rain, aka, monsoon will make my heart hop,skip and dance. Always. 

Treasure Trove in the Old City of Philadelphia

Even before setting foot on this side of the Atlantic I had little regard for the metropolis of America. I mean, I have practically grown up seeing the skyscrapers in TV either a Godzilla bursting out of it or a busy office hours. The tall buildings didn't attract me at all. Hence when I saw center city Philadelphia I did marvel at the tall buildings and the engineering but somehow the awe was gone within 60 seconds. I kept nagging myself, where is the character of the city? where does the city come alive? Only during office hours? impossible! there must be the really "Philly" some where out there which I am unable to discover. The 'real' Philly to me is the art galleries, the theatre, the old pubs.

Walnut Street somewhat did quench my thirst (and literally too) with their ubercool pubs and theaters but it was only 2 months later that I bumped into a sun-kissed Old City of Philadelphia. I had visited this part of the city by the river where 'Front Street' start, but I was too cold to take a look at the buildings or the streets. Today when me and Snigdho went for the orientation at Philadelphia Animal Welfare Society of PAWS we got the chance to cultivate the streets ( a small section though) of Old Philly. In a span of 2 blocks we came across almost 7 galleries, 2 theatre, n number of Irish pubs , 2 book and 3 antique stores.

What caught our eyes and nose was the store with both antiques and books. Speaking of books, we already had got "free" books from a bookstore which laid out boxes of books of various subjects outside for people to "take" it! yes miracles do happen! ;) Anyway I am digressing, when we entered this Art-cum-antique-bookstore I felt like entering the treasure trove of Alibaba!! Not just paintings, old paintings, books, boxes, glasses, vinyl, toys, photographs, cameras, plates, mugs, mirrors, chairs, collectibles...what not! you name it and its there. any non-perishable good. the most interesting staff that had caught out heart was old post cards. Letters written almost a 100 years back...lying just like that. We picked up a letter from Paris in which the salutation and ending is written in English...to some "darling bill" from some "with bestest love". Snigdho, with his newly discovered 'Sherlock' gene, had since then got glued to his Google translator trying to decipher this French letter thinking it to hold some dramatic history changing exchanges. For all it may hold a simple letter of a mother asking about his son's welfare in during the tropical storm of 1911. That's also pretty precious.

Nevertheless, when we entered this store he first thing I did was to inhale the "OLD" smell. May be I took in some viruses who cares it was OLD, tattered, peeling off yet so so so attractive that I wished I was a billionaire or at least had a billionaire, tasteful husband.(although later I will be proved that I do have a tasteful loving husband if not billionaire). However, the next moment I was anxious that I may like something madly and would get scolded by Snigdho again for buying impulsively. So I held my breathe ( read "ooh" and "aaah"s and "wow"s) and meandered from shelf to shelf crisscrossing paintings and furniture. I did liked a piece of clay model of a breakfast table framed and the paint peeling off the frame reminding of an old French villa by some lake where you can smell fresh blossom of spring carried in by the gentle breeze of the lake. The nostalgic, old school charm totally swept me off my feet and I realised I am not the only victim my husband too did not flinch and eye against it. Readily agreed to buy. and guess what we got it for $5 !!! That's why I call it a treasure trove. Cheap and AMAZING staff!

We hurried out of the store as we were getting intoxicated and had a fare chance of losing out our already dwindling bank balance in one shot. but we promised to go back. The lady, in all probability the collector's wife was a sweetheart by default, who promised us to give us more such old, forgotten post cards if we go back. I was happy to find that my husband too was equally mesmerised by the old school charm and the aroma of the antiques. Finding this book-cum-antique store was no short of a discovery for me. And it became all the more memorable for the lovely wintry sun and the surrounding art galleries which acted like a bougainvillea boulevard adorning the streets.

I am sure like Ali we too will be going back to this treasure trove with "Chi Ching Fnak"  in our drooling mouth.