Of monsoons and comfort zones
It is frigging hot here in Dilli and I am missing the monsoon in Kerala. Come beginning of June and the monsoons will hit Kerala. My favourite memory of the monsoon is sitting in Salimmama's room in our grandmother's house with my favourite Chinnamma (=mother's sister) just taking in the rains as it wet my grandmother's flowerpots, the chambakka tree and the rubber trees. We sat in silence, an adult and child enjoying the spectacle, perched on mama's bed.
I met a Malayalee for coffee yesterday and he is going home on vacation. Ithu Vare njan Mazha seasonil nattil vacationu poyittilla (= Until now I haven't gone home on vacation during the rainy season) he told me. I realised with a pang of regret that I had missed the monsoon season for several years now. But wait, I am not like the woman who looked at a garbage heap near Purana Qila and said "nammude nadu poleyalla"(=not like our place) as if there are no garbage heaps in Kerala. The standard immigrant story is that of the person who romanticises home. I wonder whether there are stories of people who don't romanticise, who realise how much they have grown having left their comfort zones.
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