Rivulets of water streaming down green leaves. Tiny paper boats floating around in muddy puddles. The sharp rat-tat-tat of droplets against tin roofs and the scent of sweet jasmine rising through the air. Back home in Kerala, the monsoons had been a time of celebration. The bright and lush paddy fields, car rides filled with the cheer of raindrop races, and the pleasure in consuming all the kozhikotta and chaaya that my grandmother made. Board games and splashing puddles colored my monsoon. Yet when I arrived in Mumbai, it all came to a pause. Dancing in the rain turned to rushing for shelter, my puddle splashing transformed into cuffing my jeans and my previously abandoned umbrella found a new purpose. Mumbai had taken away the joy of my beloved monsoon. Or so I thought. The monsoons in Mumbai were different. While in Kerala, the cities came to a standstill in the face of storms, the hustle and bustle of Mumbai remained unwavering. A phenomenon I’ve slowly be...
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