The sound of rain is a most welcome one. For someone who was brought up in the desert, the smell of the earth after the first drops of rain is as intoxicating as the bouquet of 200 year old Scotch for an alcoholic. For the first time in a very long time, I arrived in India to a very pleasant weather; cool moist winds, bringing in the scent of clouds heavy with rain was a pleasant surprise after many years of dry monsoon, and I found myself wishing to a rain God (if there is one!), that the it would rain here rather than elsewhere.  And the rain God answered!!! By mid-afternoon, the rains started slowly but then gathered its full strength and went on till early next morning. It made the atmosphere cozy, something that only rains of this nature can create. My mum, sister and I, settled down to a typical rainy day behaviour armed with cups of hot tea (lemonade and chocolates in my case) and pakoras (fried vegetable fritters), for gossip/catching up sessions. Before my sister was married, and rains were plenty, there were always days like these; we would talk about our lives, our friends and troubles we were having at that time and discussions and argument would be plenty and be conducted at the top of our voices.

However this session yesterday initiated a new member into our routine, my one-month-old niece, Niharika. So, much time was spent on all of us observing the smallest gestures she did. My mum and sister had, what I am assuming to be a normal one, a good sentimental session on the joys of being a mother, which left me to be the one to run for tissues and the offerer of the shoulder, or just simply be enraptured by the baby. When the thunder was loud enough to scare her, we took turns rocking and soothing her, while the tea got colder.

This session also made us recall the times of when we had been younger and our grandma had been able, she would regale us with stories of her youth and her life. How she and my grandfather eloped almost 50 years ago; the struggles of bringing up 4 children; the fun they used to have running their shops; tales of their friends we are not inclined to believe at all (who would believe that old, grouchy, toothless, fiend Mr. X, had actually written poems for the girl who would become his wife, in order to woo her!!!!). In these stories, there were always lessons to be learnt; about life, love, how to manage ones’ responsibilities; how to have fun, to laugh, to enjoy life’s littlest pleasures; value one’s friendship, to never ever take advantage of a friend’s generousity and even if one had, to always remember that favour. Nowadays, she is mostly bed-ridden and under care, and cannot sit with us to tell us any more of those wonderful stories… but she has told us enough for us to pass on to the future generation; to our children, babies of our cousins and their respective spouses… something to be cherished, and remembered with love….