Another Monsoon

Asmita struggled with the cloth dryer stand, half pulling, half lifting with the heap of wet clothes stumbling upon her, dragging the stand through the narrow balcony door, then bedroom , finally dumping it in the guest room. The house was blissfully asleep basking in monsoon glory. She sighed deeply..the phone buzzed just then. Who could be at this time.... looking at the number on the screen...her heart sank! No...not again!!

' Didi...it's raining here since night ' Asmita felt like crying, ' Aaj nahi aa paungi Didi'
Her head did a quick spin, the sink full of dishes gleamed at her, ' Yeah...ok...Gita' She agreed feebly, ' May be in the evening Gita...' she had lost hope by then....Gita's mumbling was almost inaudible after that , Asmita hung up in despair.

Breakfast, dishes , cleaning... where would she begin! Wasn't this her holiday as well... wasn't monsoon meant for her... Slowly she mustered up courage for her chores, glancing through the newspaper and checking today's Sudoku. She opened the kitchen window ajar, it was raining heavily. Gurgaon doesn't witness this kind of rain always... every monsoon they wait eagerly for bouts of showers...chai pakoda, the romantic oldies, quintessential bong khichdi bhaja platter and the mystic monsoon memories!

Asmita turned on the radio in the old mobile. Monsoon and old mushy movie songs. She started chopping, peeling for breakfast humming along with radio. Her high school college days did a quick flash back. The mud ridden roads, her flip flops, the pattern of mud in the back of her suit... Asmita fumbling with umbrella, books! Was that when she met Rajat first...on a madly monsoonituous morning. Boys were hollering about staring at the girls of course. Asmita's flying umbrella, mud ridden suit...she could hear the group near her hooting. What a patriarchal time it was back then... conscious and irritated, Asmita had glared hard at the boys, trying to take shelter under roof. He was there among others smiling, though the eyes had a kindness and glint in them.

Their romance bloomed in the twirling monsoon of the city. Romance without mobile phones or social media, romance with a landline and public call booths, romance without text or messages, romance with exchange of audio cassettes! Rajat had wooed her as best as he could! Come to think of it there were many guys back then...but Rajat won hands down! Was it his uprightness..honesty....


Should she have chosen someone else... someone who'd have been in the kitchen with her now nineteen years later! Helping her with dishes, humming along with her!! Humming part still he could do, Asmita smiled to herself! Was she complaining really! It's not that Rajat wouldn't step in the kitchen but obviously it wouldn't be regular. He would insist on hiring more helps. He would cuddle his daughter, take her to the pediatric but he wasn't a hands on dad.. They had love, trust... little bit of romance at times...how whining brooding nagging wifely she sounds!


She was tampering the spices, washed the potatoes in between  and then next job was to make the dough for the luchis ready. How can they sleep so long....baap beti both. It was high time she called them..she was alone wading through the chores. On the hindsight them sleeping more would allow her to wrap up the chores. She dropped the potatoes in the pan and continued stirring. The wind from the window was blowing away the flame, she had to shut the window. Ah it was humid , she began to sweat. Now the dough for luchis. How the domestic helps do it so fast...and their luchis turn out as good if not better! Come on she chided herself...do I need to mould myself like Roopa, her cook!! Deft puris, perfect sabji and the smile on her face! It's a matter of one rainy day, Gita would be there tomorrow and Roopa would join soon after her annual leave. She can be her own self then. With her profuse sweating, hollering chimney the radio was turning out a cacophonous outburst! Asmita pulled the plug in exasperation. Next in line were the dishes peeping from the sink.


She should ask help! Shouldn't Rajat help, her temple throbbed in frustration. Just then the object of her thoughts was seen stretching in the living room.


' Uh what a mausam Asmi...just like..'

He stared at her with the pile of dishes.

' Where's Gita...'

' It's all water choked, the roads to juggis!' Asmita sighed, ' Happens every monsoon"
She turned towards the dishes..
'Go and freshen up, brewing tea'

The tall frame hugged her from behind...

' Remember...our first monsoon in college '

Asmita stirred.... next moment she wondered if she was stinking ..the sweat..

' How you were Asmi then...' His warm voice swept over her... and a sheepish smile slipped out .

' Maaa...'. the second voice echoed in the hall now....' Maa breakfast '

Rajat was at a safe distance now.

' Luchi and alu dom Disha' Asmita turned towards the dough, making balls. ' Brush and wait in the dining table...I will fry the luchis.

' Tea first please ' Rajat spread the newspaper in the dining table.

Another monsoon! Traffic snarls, water logging Asmita was sure Gita would not make it tomorrow as well! Puris were not swelling as she would like them to. She tried all tricks she knew! Well finally they were taking shape!

Did she know in the first monsoon she met Rajat... this was how it was going to be! Was she cribbing... could it have been otherwise...


Ah the luchis, just the right amount of flame they need! No time to ponder...Asmita rushed with the plate of hot luchis to the dining table. Would they learn to help her in the kitchen, she watched the duo munching away the luchis merrily.... She had to insist, ask... Rajat would understand...

Seventeen years she didn't make much sense to him! Asmita sighed.... you don't ponder and nag over such things, the feeble voice inside spoke slowly. Yeah... Asmita brushed the voice off in a distant corner and joined them on the table.