The Mango Showers
I used to believe that the season of summer began abruptly in India. Perhaps it was my childish naivete, but I sincerely believed that the summer only began after the end of the school year. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation considering that the break was called the “summer vacation.” For many years, I had a definite date marked in my calendar as the beginning of the season. As I toiled through the last few weeks of final exams and project deadlines, I couldn’t help but let my imagination run wild concocting plans for the summer – the mangoes, the ice creams, the picnics, the traveling – the possibilities were endless! You really could not fault a child for their excitement. In fact, the Indian summer has captured the imagination of poets and artists from across the globe for several centuries — to the extent that over the years the season has gained an almost mythical nature. Thus, as the temperature rises and the sultry winds sweep through your neighborhood, you intuitively know that the summer brings with it a time of transformation.
The truth is, no transformation is abrupt. It happens slowly and steadily. Sometimes you don’t even realize it till you are halfway through it. But there are always telltale signs. For instance, you know that summer is on its way when the neighborhood ajji (grandmother) steps out just a little bit earlier than usual to draw the rangoli in front of her home. Or, when your mother starts making the grocery list of all the ingredients she needs to make her world-famous mango pickle. Or, perhaps the most obvious of them all, when you begin switching on your fan at full speed before noon. And once you pick up on these signs, it is time to face the question – “What are your plans for the summer?”
It seems like such an innocent question. While the possibilities are truly endless, I often feel overwhelmed by this question. My answer could determine who I become this summer. So, what would I like to do? Who would I like to be? I guess it is always fun to try your hand at something new – maybe learning how to paint? Or how to play the ukulele? Applying to a prestigious internship? What about learning a new language? Italian? Or maybe even joining the neighborhood jiving classes and pretending that you do not have two left feet? Another option would be to visit old friends and family members. You know, the ones you’ve genuinely wanted to meet but just could not work around your busy schedule. Maybe it is finally time to cash in that rain-check and visit the past and the version of you they hold in their memory. Another popular option is to travel to distant places and learn about a new culture, try a new cuisine, dance to foreign music, and maybe learn a new way of living. Whichever option I choose, I will emerge as a much more enriched person by the end of the summer. So, what do I choose? Who do I become?
My answer may be a little less savory. I too get caught up in my summer agendas, yet by the later weeks of April – right in the middle of the summer – I am overcome by the heat and the uncanny lethargy that comes along with it. No matter how intently I stare at my laptop screen I cannot seem to inspire any sort of productivity. The fluorescent yellow post-its on my wall with its capitalized “TO DO LIST” flutter in the artificial wind created by my ceiling fan. The mechanical whirring of the fan is accompanied only by the song of the Koel bird outside my window. A unique blend of sounds that I associate with the hot breeze and the mirages that transform my familiar neighborhood into a distant dream. As I watch tiny beads of condensation form on the cool surface of my glass of lemonade, I am often filled with guilt. After all that planning, how am I still not able to accomplish my goals? Did I underestimate the time I needed? Or worse, did I overestimate my capabilities? Just as my anxiety and the mercury of the thermometer reach a crescendo, the winds change bringing with it the dark clouds of relief and the mango showers.
The mango showers are perhaps my most favorite natural phenomenon. The light pre-monsoon rains help in ripening the mango from its raw sourness to its golden sweetness – the very essence of the summer in India. Once the rain starts, I always shut my laptop and look out of my window, grateful for the cool breeze and the smell of petrichor. I see children run out of their homes with paper boats which they float on shallow puddles that form on the streets. The adults start moving their flower pots, which they had hidden from the harsh sun, back into their gardens. My home too bursts into celebration. My mother begins signing celebratory folk songs about the rain while frying crispy pakoras. My father opens all the windows and doors of the house and takes photos of the rain from all the different angles. I switch out my cold lemonade for a hot cup of masala nimbu chai (tea with spices and a hint of lemon) and join my family at the front porch to soak in the change in the weather.
Even though a single burst of rain lasts only thirty to forty minutes, it rejuvenates the neighborhood and gives us the courage to face the remaining months of the summer until the monsoon begins in July. The mango showers are moments of rest in the summer. In those few minutes I am filled with gratitude – I am grateful for the falling temperature, for the roof over my head, for my family, for the warmth of the tea in my hands, and even for the wonderful sweet mangoes that are to come. It is in these moments of rest that I take stock of the summer – recounting all that I have done, all that I have achieved, all that I have lost, and all that I have overcome. The mango showers allow me to be grateful for the person I am. Without those few moments, it is easy to get burnt by the sun and crushed by the daunting path ahead. So, as I struggle with the heat and carve my path into the future, I make it a point to reward myself with a fresh golden mango – a reminder that even though the summer is a true test of patience and endurance, it would be nearly impossible to get through it without the mango showers.