As I sit here by the window watching the skies open up, I feel a giggle bubbling up at the sight of well-dressed people scurrying to shelter. But then, not everyone loves the rain like I do.
The older I get, the more my heart remembers the monsoons of my childhood and youth. Six year old me being allowed to join my cousins in the inner, open courtyard of my aunt's house in Delhi to squeal and play for hours in a sudden downpour.
Making paper boats and filling them with whispered hopes and wishes, then floating them down flooded Madras streets hoping they would make it all the way to the ocean.
Getting soaked in my blue uniform tunic while walking home from the bus stop, knowing Rani would be making chili-dusted fried potatoes for my afternoon snack.
A steaming hot cup of chai in an auto rickshaw while sheltering from a raging storm.
Swimming in the ocean during a heavy downpour.
Returning from a Valentine's party in my early twenties, wearing a red dress and heels when my favorite song played over the radio, and I kicked off my heels, jumped out of the car and danced with abandon in the pouring rain.
The view out my window is different now, and the rain is cold, not warm. But I still refuse to carry an umbrella, and hot chai is still my preferred drink on a rainy day. My love of rain has never changed, and I hope that when I am an old lady I will still turn my face up to the first drops falling from the sky, and still give my whole self up to dancing in the rain.
Wife, mother, baker, jam maker, hug dispenser, reader.