The smell of the first drops of rain on parched earth. Summer holidays in Calcutta. My earliest memories seem to be woven around that divine smell. Of Nor\u2019westers.<\/p>\n
The sudden ominous dark clouds after days of relentless heat and spotless blue skies. The thunder and finally the downpour. Someone somewhere would call out, \u2018the clothes, the clothes. They are almost dry!\u2019<\/p>\n
We would rush to the verandah to imbibe the smell and the sound of pouring rain. Sometimes sit by the window, with our faces against the cool wet wind. Reading, or playing snakes and ladders. Or biting into a rock-hard guava with a pinch of black salt.<\/p>\n
The mango tree in the garden would shed many half ripe mangoes. And that always meant the deliciously sweet mango chutney with lunch the next day.<\/p>\n
My mother\u2019s childhood home. The soft clanking sound of my grandmother\u2019s knitting needles.<\/p>\n
\u2018How do you do this? Doesn\u2019t touching the wool feel uncomfortably hot?\u2019 I would ask.<\/p>\n
\u2018It does. But how else will I have the sweater ready on time?\u2019 she would say as she squinted her eyes at the much-used Mary Thomas\u2019 Book of Knitting.<\/p>\n
All grandchildren would have something new to wear in the winter. Every year. Some with intricate knitted patterns, all in dazzlingly bright colours.<\/p>\n
The smell of the fish curry would drift in from upstairs. Someone was in the kitchen, conjuring up the magical four course meals.<\/p>\n
****<\/p>\n
It had been raining since early afternoon. I knew it would only be an hour before the roads went under water. I was getting ready to find some paper to make boats.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t take more than two pages,\u2019 Didi said sternly as she handed me her notebook. Her holiday homework would always be done within the first two days. Mine was usually left for the last two. Right now my notebooks were perhaps somewhere in the unpacked suitcase.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t worry,\u2019 I said. Of course, I was going to take more than two.<\/p>\n
\u2018Can you put something cool on my ears? They are getting hot again. Perhaps the geometry box?\u2019 Bhutda<\/em> said suddenly. He had been sleeping.<\/p>\n \u2018No. I need to make my paper boats. I am going to make five today,\u2019 I said.<\/p>\n \u2018Five? Don\u2019t take more than two pages, I am warning you again,\u2019 Didi looked up from her equations. I didn\u2019t reply.<\/p>\n \u2018If you put the geometry box on my ears, I will give you more paper,\u2019 Bhutda<\/em> spoke again. \u2018And then we can all go for dosas for dinner tomorrow,\u2019 he added.<\/p>\n \u2018At Prema Vilas?\u2019 Fulu asked.<\/p>\n Prema Vilas was near Lake Market. That\u2019s where all the South Indians lived. When we were children, the big crisp masala dosas at Prema Vilas were perhaps the only things we ate out. Chicken noodles at Peiping on Park Street, sometimes.<\/p>\n \u2018You need to massage my head if you want that,\u2019 Bhutda<\/em> looked at Fulu.<\/p>\n \u2018Perhaps I can pull your hair instead,\u2019 she retorted.<\/p>\n ****<\/p>\n It rained the whole night. Fulu and I had volunteered to sleep in the little room on the terrace. We locked all doors with precision, except the little window that opened onto the water tank.<\/p>\n It must have been about midnight, we were still awake. I was reading Murder on the Orient Express<\/em> by Agatha Christie, Fulu perhaps something more intellectual. There was a loud thud, punctuating the falling raindrops. As if somebody had jumped on to the water tank.<\/p>\n \u2018What do you think that was?\u2019 Fulu looked up from her book.<\/p>\n I was sitting motionless and obviously speechless.<\/p>\n \u2018What should we do?\u2019 she asked again. There was another rustling sound. Someone was walking all over the tank, barefoot.<\/p>\n Finally, I forced myself to look at the window. In my mind I was sure I would see a deathly face peering at us through the opening. Instead, there was just darkness.<\/p>\n \u2018Cover the window with the blanket,\u2019 I whispered.<\/p>\n Fulu hurled the blanket at the window. Somehow the two panes caught on to it. Whoever it was couldn\u2019t see inside anymore. Strangely, we had felt safe.<\/p>\n ****<\/p>\n I looked out at the spotless blue sky. It never rains here in the summer. There is a mango tree. If a mango falls, I give it to the little boy who sweeps the garden.<\/p>\n There is always something missing in the smell from the kitchen. It\u2019s as if I have forgotten to add the most important ingredient. There is no knitting, no new sweaters or mufflers every winter.<\/p>\n There are countless sheets of paper, but no intention of making paper boats. There is no unwanted homework to finish. No conversations. No room on the terrace.<\/p>\n I was somewhere else. Years later. I was no more a child.<\/p>\n ****<\/p>\n The next day Bhutda<\/em> kept his promise. It wasn\u2019t easy to convince my grandmother.<\/p>\n \u2018Home food is the best. Don\u2019t waste money. Also it might rain and it will be dark,\u2019 she scolded.<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s just one meal. We will be back before you even realise we are gone,\u2019 Bhutda<\/em> reasoned.<\/p>\n The dark clouds were only threatening when we reached Prema Vilas. It had been difficult to get a taxi so we had walked up to Lansdowne Road. Near Shishu Mangal Hospital, where all of four of us had first seen the light of day.<\/p>\n Prema Vilas was not a fancy restaurant by any standards. But that day the excitement was all about eating out, without a grown up.<\/p>\n The waiters spoke in their own language. One of them handed out the turmeric stained menu card. Just one per table, he gestured as he raised one of his forefingers.<\/p>\n The dosas, served with sambhar in clanking\u00a0steel bowls and white coconut chutney, had been as delicious as ever. I had the one with the red paste inside. The thrill of the burning spice was part of the experience.<\/p>\n At the manager\u2019s counter was a little steel bowl of fennel seeds with little cubes of sugar. I always looked forward to the cubes of sugar. I picked them out and wanted to save them for later.<\/p>\n \u2018Tie them in your handkerchief. They will stay safe, even tomorrow,\u2019 Bhutda<\/em> suggested.<\/p>\n While we were inside, the heavens had broken loose. The water was up to our ankles as we stepped outside. Within minutes it was up to our knees. There were no buses, no taxis, no trams, no rickshaws. We decided to walk.<\/p>\n \u2018Everyone must already be very worried,\u2019 Bhutda<\/em> said. \u2018We really need to hurry or this might be the last time we are allowed to do this.\u2019<\/p>\n Rain was streaming down Didi\u2019s glasses. She grabbed on to Bhutda<\/em>\u2019s shirt from behind. Fulu and I held on to his hands.<\/p>\n The water was now almost up to our waists. One of Fulu\u2019s shoes had fallen off.<\/p>\n We were scared, tired and completely drenched when we reached home. My handkerchief with the precious cubes of sugar had been washed away somewhere. I cried for days.<\/p>\n ****<\/p>\n My daughter\u2019s childhood home.<\/p>\n \u2018Ma, we need to buy new umbrellas. Remember two of them overturned because of the strong winds yesterday?\u2019 Brinda said one day.<\/p>\n Her older brother Arjun snorted, \u2018It was because you went near the sea in the heaviest of downpours.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You keep quiet! It was as if the sea was raging with anger, Ma. Then suddenly it rose and drenched me thoroughly. The wind must have felt left out because it rammed into our umbrellas. And that was it,\u2019 she giggled.<\/p>\n \u2018She has been taking all the good printer paper to make boats. Please tell her not to,\u2019 Arjun said.<\/p>\n \u2018I took only two. Then you put them away somewhere,\u2019 Brinda made a face.<\/p>\n \u2018Okay, if you bring me a glass of water, I will give you one more,\u2019 he said with a smile.<\/p>\n There was huge commotion outside. Brinda ran to the window with a shriek of excitement. A new set of Govindas had arrived to try and break the dahi handi<\/em> in the lane. After every failed attempt, they put the handi a bit lower.<\/p>\n \u2018Do you think they will manage to reach it,\u2019 Brinda whispered.<\/p>\n \u2018No chance,\u2019 Arjun whispered back. \u2018If I was one of them, they might have,\u2019 he added.<\/p>\n With water running down their faces, the Govindas balanced on each other\u2019s shoulders. The little boy climbed right to the top, his head guarded with a flimsy helmet. By this time, Brinda\u2019s eyes were tightly shut.<\/p>\n \u2018Scaredy cat!\u2019 Arjun teased her. \u2018Look, he has broken the handi!\u2019<\/p>\n Brinda let out the breath she was holding and peeped through one eye. The boy was still climbing.<\/p>\n \u2018You liar!\u2019 she screeched.<\/p>\n She watched the boy through one half-opened eye. He was precariously balanced on the trembling shoulders of the two men beneath him. Soon he had reached the top, breaking the handi with the stone in his right hand. The dahi poured out on to his head, amidst cries of joy and beating of the drums.<\/p>\n The house filled with loud cheer and laughter. \u2018They made it!\u2019 shouted Brinda.<\/p>\n \u2018What is that smell coming from the kitchen?\u2019 Arjun asked.<\/p>\n \u2018Lata Aunty is making fish curry,\u2019 I smiled.<\/p>\n \u2018No! Not again,\u2019 they cried together.<\/p>\n \u2018Can we go out for dosas? I want to bring back those little sugar cubes.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Are you going to tie them up in your handkerchief?\u2019 Arjun rolled his eyes.<\/p>\n It was still raining.<\/p>\n ———-<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The smell of the first drops of rain on parched earth. Summer holidays in Calcutta. My earliest memories seem to be woven around that divine smell. Of Nor\u2019westers. The sudden ominous dark clouds after days of relentless heat and spotless blue skies. The thunder and finally the downpour. Someone somewhere would call out, \u2018the clothes, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":112,"featured_media":3407,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[27],"tags":[],"adace-sponsor":[],"class_list":["post-3406","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-story"],"yoast_head":"\n